Midnight

"I'd say that went pretty smooth, how about you?"

"There weren't any frightened kids or arguments in the parking lot, so I'll agree with that."

Midnight and I are on the way home in the Trailduster after an uneventful trip to the grocery store this morning.

Midnight wanted to give being in the public eye another go, having finally put to rest the sour taste left in her mouth by the first trip once upon a time.

"I still can't get over that old lady commenting how cute you were in the deli section," I remind Midnight with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah, she must have been blind, because I don't do cute," Midnight huffs. The relaxed smile she's been sporting virtually all morning diminishes just a bit with my comment.

"You're just so cute when you're grumpy!" I babble, reaching over and pinching her cheek.

"Hey - watch the road, you retard!" she snaps, flailing a foreleg to knock my arm away.

"Midnight, I can drive home blindfolded. It's muscle memory at this point."

"Really?" she asks, eyes widening.

"Well, not really. But close."

"Not close enough, because you just missed our turn."

I look in the mirror to see the familiar dilapidated shanty at the intersection getting smaller in the distance.

"Fuck."

"I don't feel sorry for you," Midnight interjects, turning her nose up at me.

"You're screwed out here and lost in the desert if I am, Middie."

"If you get lost when all we have to do is turn around or use your phone, I'll be impressed," she answers back, lowering her sightline back to me. "Besides the fact, I can leave your ass and just fly home."

"You know, I haven't seen you actually fly yet - can you really do it?" I ask.

I recall there was the day after Midnight got smashed that she used her wings to glide from the top of the stairs down to the shop floor, but that's as close as I've seen to flight from her.

"Just as any bot with wings can, yes," she calmly asserts. "Now, to be fair, it's been a while since I've done it, but you don't forget something like that. As I've said before - it takes a lot of energy - and it's counterintuitive when you're trying to lay low and not be seen."

"You don't have to lay low anymore - at least not at home."

"True - I may just decide to prove it to you sometime soon," she says, looking quite smug. As her eyes dart back to the road, she abruptly raises a hoof, pointing ahead to the right. "There's another turn right here."

I see the sign denoting the road and start slowing down. However, I'm only able to view the asphalt amidst the flat landscape of copper sand when I'm practically turning onto it.

"Sure hope you know what you're doing, captain," I say, staring forward and saluting.

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"The Hills Have Eyes."

"...what?"

"Don't worry about it."

The road is little more than a cracked run of pavement over an old cow path, forcing me to run in the middle of the road.

In reality, I'm not concerned for our well-being - but I don't know if I've ever bothered to go down this road. More than likely, I'll end up turning off to the right again and end up on the road I meant to turn on in the first place - it's just a matter of how far we gotta go.

... I could just hang a U-turn, but what's the fun in that? Backtracking is admitting defeat.

But neither of us says much as cacti and scrub brush pass by on either side; we're keeping a lookout for the next crossroad.

"Think that house is abandoned?" Midnight asks. She motions to a tired old shack that has popped up from the horizon in the distance, on the right side of the road.

"I dunno. Might be a hermit - you feeling social?"

"Not particularly."

When we get closer to the property, I see indecipherable junk scattered around the house, along with an old garage that looks to be on its last legs after years of neglect. Closer to the road, a few cars and a tractor sit in the sand. I slow down just a bit in curiosity as I get ready to drive by.

Either the individual that lives here is a crazy packrat, or this is an abandoned property used for dumping shit no one wants. Weird.

"John, wait."

"What?"

"I want to look at that," she spouts, pointing at one particular car in the line.

"Midnight, we got frozen food and other cold shit in the back, I'm already kinda pushing my luck taking the long way home," I remind her. "It's probably all junk anyway."

"It will be fine – just stop," she instructs.

With a sigh, I heed her request, unsure whether this is a good idea. If someone lives here, they could legit be crazy – and there's no 'for sale' signs out.

As I put the truck in park, Midnight practically bolts from the passenger seat, running over to a... actually, what is that?

My own curiosity drives my motions as I step out of the truck and wander to where Midnight is circling around in the sand

It's something from the fifties – the panoramic front windshield and the general body shape attest to the era. Once I get within arm's reach of the dust-covered car, I can finally make out the letters spaced out along the hood's leading edge. They offer a glint of chrome upon a dark blue-gray paint – which is more than likely a severely weather-faded black.

It's an old Chrysler.

Oddly, the windows are opaque, the glass backed by something yellowed-white on every corner. In addition, there's no chrome on the sides – very atypical for something from the era of glitz and glamour. But I do see holes in the sheetmetal where some trim likely once existed.

"It's interesting Midnight, but let's get going."

"This is it," she says, shuffling to the front of the car and staring at the trapezoidal grille.

"What is?"

She looks at me as if I just said something incredibly stupid. "This car! The project car!"

I initially think she's joking. But the look of anticipation and wonder on her face says otherwise.

Why would she want this?

"Midnight, do you see a 'For Sale' sign anywhere?" I hint.

"Why else would it be near the road?"

"Midnight, that doesn't mean an—"

The sound of a door slamming shut breaks my focus from Midnight and casts my eyes toward the house. What looks to be a frail old man steps off of the porch, ambling along with a cane through the yard.

"Hang on, sonny! I'm a-comin'!" he calls out in a rather hoarse voice.

Well, at least he doesn't seem like the serial killer kind...

The old man's liver-spotted bronze skin combined with his hunched-forward posture and bald head makes me more concerned for his well-being at this point than my own.

"Why would he be coming out here if it wasn't for sale?" Midnight whispers to me.

"To beat your ass with that cane for trespassing, stupid."

The old man finally reaches me and Midnight, straightening up a bit to at least stand at eye level with her. His gold-rimmed circular glasses on his deeply wrinkled face make his eyes look enormous – as if whoever made his spectacles used Coke bottles for the glass.

"Good morning!" he says, a little louder than necessary for those of normal hearing. His gaze shifts equally from Midnight to me.

"Good morning," Midnight offers back with a nod and a smile.

"Yeah, it is a nice morning. Didn't mean to bother you," I say apologetically.

"Oh, pish-posh," he replies with a laugh and a wave of his free hand. "It's a good thing for me to be getting out and about. And better yet, to have someone looking at what I got for sale."

"See?" Midnight says, looking over at me with a cocky grin.

"I suppose I'm a little out of the way for most folk, and I don't do that newfangled technology all the kids use - been a while since I had someone stop and take a gander," the old man continues, pausing as he turns to Midnight. "Oh, and no offense with the technology comment. Just not for me."

Midnight's expression instantly shifts to the same amount of befuddlement I feel for a moment, before realizing the guy thinks she's a pony bot.

"None taken," Midnight says, shaking her head as the realization hits her as well.

Good girl.

"Anyway - figured I'd head on out and greet you two. Like the look of the old Chrysler, eh?"

"It caught her eye," I reply, pointing to Midnight. "I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it - what is it?"

Looking at the grille, the old man motions to it for a moment, right before noting the empty circular socket at the top. He then waddles to the driver's side of the car, pointing to the rear quarter.

"Well, it says right here on the si—"

He stops and adjusts his glasses, while I look at the empty panel dotted only by the minute holes punched in the sheetmetal I had spied earlier.

"Well, it would say right here on the side. I must have put them inside the car," he finishes, reaching for the door handle. The latch opens with a healthy mechanical clunk, allowing the door to swing open and me and Midnight to look inside the car - and get hit with a wave of stale air.

First off, it appears that old newspapers were taped to the inside of the windows. While sun-faded on the outside to make that indiscernible, some of the ink on the paper is faintly visible on the inside. Regardless, their presence means that the tan leather interior – while showing some wear and tear from years of use and desert heat – hasn't been completely fried by the sun's rays.

Moreover, the chrome side spear trim from the sides lay on the front bench seat leather, with the red white, and blue medallions shining in the glare of the morning sun. Within those decorative medallions shines the chrome‐plated name.

300C.

Now I feel ashamed for not recognizing the grille - even if it's missing the emblem.

"Chrysler 300C. Bought it brand new in the spring of '57," the old man explains. "Boy, what a car."

"You kept this for that long?" Midnight gasps.

"Well sure I did - there were a lot of memories with this car," the man answers back. "Saved up a lot of money to buy it, and the honeys loved it, too."

He laughs again, a raspy noise that carries into a short cough. "Sorry about that. But it wasn't long after getting this car I met my love, Mildred. A lot of date nights in this car - drove it home from the wedding, too. Lord above, so many good memories - until I spun a bearing or something in it."

"You never looked into it?"

He shakes his head. "When you got a loving wife and two children to provide for and take care of, spend time with - cars don't mean too much, sonny," he replies. "I always thought someday I'd get back to it, once the kids grew up and started their own lives. But never did, I'm afraid. Truth be told, I sort of got into collecting all sorts of things after Mildred passed about - oh dear, probably thirty or so years ago. Something to distract the mind aside from the kids and the grandkids, when they couldn't be around."

Towards the end of his rambling, I hear emotions and pain creep into his voice - but a clearing of his throat makes it evaporate once he continues. "But enough about me - you didn't stop by just to hear an old coot share his life story, eh?"

"How much is it?" Midnight blurts out.

Dammit, Midnight...

I don't know a ton about these, but I do recall they were expensive when new and ended up quite rare. With as complete as this piece looks, there's no way it's going to fit into a budget no matter how much we stretch it.

"What she means to say is we were just passing by and were curious about it. Also, I'm sorry to hear about your wife."

"Oh, it's alright sonny. I appreciate it, but I'm fine. The kids come by pretty frequently, the grandkids too – that's how I still live out here without a license."

He pauses a moment, looking at me and Midnight. His gaze is curious as if sizing us up.

"Well, it's been out here for some time now, and heaven knows I don't have the body or mind to take care of it - you ain't gonna scrap it, are ya?"

"Absolutely not!" Midnight shouts, aghast by the suggestion.

It brings a smile to the old man's face. "I didn't think so, but better safe than sorry! I just want it to go to a good home... honestly, since it doesn't even run, I'll take fifteen hundred."

Fifteen hundred. This guy has to be fucking with us.

"Fifteen hundred, or fifteen thousand?" I cautiously ask.

"One thousand five hundred dollars. Might be worth more than that, but I'm getting old, boy. I don't need to be bringing in big bucks that I'll never do anything with."

'Might' be worth more than that...

I feel guilty.

"Sold!"

I look over at Midnight in shock, seeing her practically bouncing up and down with joy.

"Hey, I'm the one with the finances here, Middie," I remind her.

"And I'm the one that got us there," she replies, sticking her tongue out at me.

I look over at the seller, who seems perfectly content listening to the two of us banter in front of him.

"Just a moment, mister..."

"Ah, there's no need for formalities. Art's the name."

"Well Art, I'm John, and this is Midnight – and I think we need just a moment to discuss something," I reply, patting Midnight on the back of her neck to urge her away.

"Of course, take your time," he says with a nod.

After ten or so paces, we stop. Midnight turns to face me, looking mildly irritated. "What?"

"Is that really what you want?"

"You think this is just an elaborate joke on my part?" she warily answers back.

"It's..." I rub the back of my head, looking back at the old Chrysler. "I didn't expect a project from the fifties. We gonna cruise to the malt shop, me with a greaser haircut and you sporting a beehive, too?"

"Shut up, jackass – just look at it!" she cries, pointing back to the car. "It looks great, looks comfortable, and like you said, we can do an engine swap if it needs power."

Well, if I can put the engine back together, power won't be an issue. These Chryslers won races straight from the showroom floor. The transmission is a pushbutton shift, which is neat, too - and it is the first iteration of the reliable Torqueflite.

Those little notes go along with the simple fact it is a pretty sharp car, even in the rough. Would make for a nice cruiser, and it looks like most of the parts are there...

Fuck it. It's what she wants. Badly.

At first sight.

Which brings to mind...

"Midnight, you are not naming that car, and the first time the radio comes on by itself playing fifties rock and roll – it's gone."

"You need to stop watching movies," she replies, albeit with a smirk.

"I mean it, Arnie."

"You look more like Cuntface than me."

"Anyway, if you're really serious about this and that's what you want—"

"We have a deal!" Midnight sidesteps me and shouts.

"—I guess I'm in."

I can hear the ramps on the trailer rattle behind the Trailduster as I turn off the road and stop at the locked gate of our salvage yard.

"I'll get it," Midnight quickly chimes in. She hops out of the passenger side and trots over to the locked chain holding the path closed.

Needless to say, Midnight has been on cloud nine since this morning when spotting the old Chrysler.

Not that I'm not happy or excited about the purchase. Midnight is just on a whole other level. And it was a good thing she had that extra burst of adrenaline – it wasn't easy to load the 300 onto the trailer.

Two flat and dry rotted tires plus a froze-up brake – not to mention the two tons of weight this car hefts – meant the tired winch I had on the trailer wasn't quite enough to pull it up without some assistance. So Midnight and I had to strain and push while Art was kind enough to work the winch. Eventually, we got it there.

Offloading should be easier... fingers crossed.

Midnight flings both halves of the gate open, moving aside to allow access.

After rolling through and past the shop, I reverse and line the trailer up with one of the garage doors of the shop. Midnight waits to see which one I choose before she scampers inside through the man door and opens up the selected bay.

Once the end of the trailer is over the concrete floor, Middie signals to me with a wing to hold. I throw the truck in park and shut it off before meeting the excited mare by the trailer and its precious cargo.

"Ready for round two?" I ask, placing my hands on my hips and stretching my back.

"Well, we won't have to worry about it rolling away," Midnight jokes with a half-hearted smile.

"Ain't that the truth."

I circle around the back of the trailer and unfasten the chains tying the rear axle to the trailer, before heading up front and undoing those wrapped around the K-member. Midnight watches intently the whole time – despite checking beforehand to see if the car is in park and unable to roll.

"You know I started at the back to be sure if it did roll, it would be away from me – right?"

"It's not like I'm doing anything else right now," she says passively.

"I figured your mind would be full of ideas brewing about what to do with the car. No?"

Surprisingly, she shakes her head. With as adamant and ecstatic to buy this car as she appeared earlier, I anticipated something had clicked in her mind in regards to the finished product.

Of course, it isn't a bad thing she doesn't already have a plan, either. It means her mind is wide open to suggestions.

"Alright, chain is undone, winch is still attached to the front so it will go slow – or at least not allow the car to take off without us," I explain, slinging the last rusted chain off to the side of the trailer. The clang of metal on metal resonates for a moment.

I hop up onto the front of the trailer, followed shortly by the clatter of hooves with Middie on the other side. Winch remote in my hand, we both push on the sculpted front end in unison.

There's a slight metallic grind accompanied by the squeegee-like sound of rubber as the Chrysler reluctantly starts rolling off of the trailer. However, it only moves a couple of feet before being halted by the winch cable. I feed the line out a little bit – and am pleasantly surprised as the car continues to roll down the ramps on its own.

"Hell yeah!" I cheer, feeding more cable off the reel as the car heads down the ramp in a slow, controlled descent. It comes to an instant stop once it reaches level concrete.

"Well that went better than expected."

"Sometimes shit works out that way. Now, let's get it centered on the lift."

"Oh? And here I was thinking you didn't have any enthusiasm over this car," Midnight chides mischievously.

"You sucked me in – and yeah, I suppose this is sorta a whole new experience for me. I've never had the pleasure of really doing a deep dive into a car like this."

"Well in that case - perhaps you have a vision for it?"

"No, I don't want to intrude on your—"

"Our project car," Midnight interrupts. "Humor me, John."

I cross my arms as I look over the car, wandering around it at a leisurely pace. "First off, if it were me – I'd get better tires for it."

"Well no shit, Sherlock," Midnight replies, synchronized with a roll of her eyes.

"No, that wasn't me stating the obvious - I'm saying get rid of the skinny bias-ply tires they used back then. I don't have an issue with white walls- but more modern – and wider – rubber is going to be a hell of an improvement in ride and grip."

"That seems simple enough."

I can't help but grimace a little bit at that comment. "It sounds like it, but it's a matter of how much clearance we have to work with and how it fits," I cautiously explain, patting the front fender near the wheel opening. "You don't want the tire sticking out of the fender, and you don't want to hit the inside fender well when turning the wheel. So that's going to take time to figure out."

"Fair enough. What else?"

I back up to take the whole car's profile in, trying to get a better picture of what I would do if it were purely my canvas. "Honestly, most of the car I would keep the same. It's a clean design, chrome is already used conservatively. Maybe just a fresh coat of black paint in the future. But I could see lowering the car just an inch or two - nothing crazy, and certainly not slammed to the ground. Other than that, I don't really think it needs much in terms of personal touches as far as cosmetics. The car speaks for itself – I like the design."

"That was my thoughts on it. But I'm still surprised that John, the man with the silly anecdotes on every car, doesn't know much about this one," she teases, nudging my side.

"I know a fair bit, I just didn't want to throw you into a hissy fit."

"That sounds like an excuse, considering you had to ask what exactly it was..." Her smug grin grows into a proper toothy smile, looking downright devious.

"I'm rusty on my knowledge and identification. That doesn't mean I don't know anything.

"Excuuuses~" Midnight hums in response.

"The banker's hot rod."

My sudden utterance gets Midnight to halt her harassment. "What?"

"Affectionate name for the letter series cars from Chrysler – the banker's hot rod. Particularly the first few years, like this one."

"Any particular reason? I get Chrysler was more premium or luxury, but as far as power – was there something noteworthy, or were they just sort of ahead of the curve in terms of performance?"

"Ahead of the curve, I suppose, and because of..."

I trail off as I realize I made a major mistake. With Midnight's excitement and urge to buy the car this morning, I never took a look under the hood.

Good work, dumbass.

There's an engine under the hood – I know that from being underneath the front end to get a chain hooked up to the K-member. But the top end and condition of the engine bay...

Yes, this car was a good deal regardless, but what the fuck, dude? I feel sick as I quickly make my way over to the front of the car.

"What's got you bent out of shape all of a sudden?" Midnight questions as I fumble my hand around the top of the grille for the hood release.

"We got so caught up in all the banter and excitement, we never looked under the hood, Middie," I snap, in a harsher tone than I meant. I finally find the mechanism, pull the lever, and swing open the massive steel hood.

The hinges creak and moan in protest after years of rest, but the springs hold the hood taut in the raised position.

I can breathe a sigh of relief. Much like the rest of the car, the engine bay looks complete. The gold valve cover trim still has a nice sparkle to it despite the dust coating from years of sitting. Dual quad carburetors still sit atop the intake, capped further still by low-profile air cleaner housings, with the football-shaped filters themselves cast off to either side, a shade of gold also matching the valve covers.

I turn to face Midnight – whose ears are now folded flat against her head while a scowl stains her muzzle.

"Sorry. I wasn't blaming you, and I didn't mean to sound like a dick."

"Well, I suppose you blamed both of us for that," she says, her hard-edged expression softening up with my apology.

"And to be fair, you were caught up in the moment when we were looking this over."

She struts over to me, brushing up against my side before peering in to see the new discovery, ogling it in silence

"That's what put Chrysler and the letter series on the map," I announce, motioning to the silver and gold powerplant.

"Why are the valve covers so damn big? Dual overhead cams?"

"No, but the shape should look vaguely familiar for another reason – this is the first generation of Chrysler's Hemi engine – the forefather of the sixties and early seventies Street Hemi."

"So power won't be an issue, huh?"

"No way. These things went straight from the dealership to compete on dragstrips and dirt tracks – and won. These cars were outstanding in their time; the Tri-Five Chevrolets tend to overshadow that."

"So what size is the engine?"

"392. This was the last year, I think. Maybe one more – but it started out as... I believe a 354 cubic inch when they introduced it, at least in the letter series. But Dodge and DeSoto had their own smaller versions of the "Firepower," as Chrysler called it."

"Oh, but you don't know jackshit about thes— hey!"

As Midnight mocks me, I decide to cut her off by booping her nose. "What was that? Care to try again?" I crow.

Midnight hip checks me instead of replying – though she does offer a low growl as well.

"Oh stop that, you're much more sophisticated than a dog."

"As I recall once upon a time, you referred to me as a guard—"

"Anyway, with all of that being said – hopefully, we can keep this engine," I quickly continue, avoiding the completion of Midnight's musing. "I can almost guarantee I don't have any parts for this out in the yard, and I honestly don't know how easy it is to get parts for these. All depends on if it really is a bad bearing in the bottom end or something worse, but we'll figure something out regardless of that outcome."

"—dog."

There's a short staring contest with straight faces between us before I finally speak up again. "You will never let me live that down, will you?"

Midnight puts a hoof to her chin as her eyes dart upward as if pondering a physical manifestation of thought above her head. "Hm. Nope," she replies, offering just a hint of playfulness in her voice.

I drop the hood back down on the car, letting it rest unlatched on the striker plate. "It's gonna be a long road to getting it— well, back on the road," I remind her.

"I know it will. But that's all part of the fun, isn't it?"

"Fun, frustrating, fulfilling—"

"Probably some other words that start with 'F'."

I have to give a slight chuckle as I nod in agreement "Step by step, we'll get there."

"Yeah. But I get to be the first one to crank the engine when it's done."

I quickly snap my eyes to her. "The hell you will."

Midnight puts on an exaggerated smile as her eyes light up in the figurative sense. "Oh, I'm so glad you agree with me, John!" she cheers.

It's my turn to act irritated with that sassy response. "You are a pain in the ass."

The comment doesn't dim Midnight's attitude in the slightest. "You wouldn't have me any other way."

Throwing an arm around her, I aggressively pull Middie next to me. Meanwhile, I feel her wing brush against my back to wrap itself around my form.

"Yeah, you're probably right."