Wheat harvest is finally over and I'm geting some writing done! In celebration of that fact, here is an excerpt from "Wanted: Undead or Alive," the urban fantasy project starring Josey Jackson. Enjoy!
The narrow state highway stretched across the flat plains in either direction, cutting through the countryside in odd angles and pointless tangents as only a true New Mexican piece of pavement does. I waited for maybe an hour before I saw the dust on the horizon. It took a delightfully short time after that before Tommy slid the car to a stop in front of me. And what a car it was. Orange with a blacked out hood and two matching stripes that ran down and along the sides in a line that was broken only by the words Boss 429. It looked mean and fast, but as good as it was on the eyes, the sound was heaven. It growled low and deep, 429 cubic inches of big block muscle that shook the body as if it could hardly be contained by the car; like a wild animal trying to escape from under the hood.
I felt a surge of emotion break out of my heart as it hit home that I had finally got it. The legendary 1969 Boss 429 Mustang, built not for practicality, but because Ford wanted to run the 429 in stock car racing. They needed to sell at least 500 of them to the public for the engine to qualify as stock. Extremely rare and expensive, I had been trying to lay my hands on an original for a long time. Just my luck that poor Freddy’s papa had one and was willing---if reluctant---to pay his debts to me in the form of classic muscle.
“Hope you enjoyed that, Tommy. Cause you know I won’t let anyone else touch it again.”
He leaned against the hood and smiled, his clear blues eyes twinkling. “My dear, Josey, I do believe that you mean that truly. I can’t say that I blame you. This is a monstrous work of machinery. I must inform you that I was unaware that we were working for such a nondivisable payment.”
“Pop the trunk, fangs, and I’ll see what I can do.” He did. The small trunk contained a duffel with $100,000 in nonsequential bills. Twenty percent of the fee, Tommy’s standard cut for backup duty.
“Where’s yours, Josey? I don’t see any more,” he drawled in mild puzzlement.
I grinned and flipped the keys around my finger. “You’re lookin’ at it. This car’s worth about 400 grand easy. Much more fun than cash.” I started the engine and the torque shook the car. “You want a ride home? It’s on my way.”
Tommy climbed in and we sped away. I just leaned back and let the magnificent sound roll over me.