Midnight

The next few nights are going to pose some rather tense moments for Midnight and I – both in a good and bad sense.

I almost hoped we didn't have the parts to fulfill this Kenneth guy's replacement order – but just as Midnight assumed, we still had plenty of center caps and a few shifter knobs. All was not lost in my hopes to avoid even meeting the man who may have once watched over Midnight; but he was also more than happy to come pick up the parts at the end of the week rather than rely on a shipping service that ratfucked us once, particularly now since time had become a consideration for him.

At least for Midnight, one final nail in the coffin was her suggested line of conversation – mentioning my 'secretary' had overhead us earlier and thought she recognized his voice from her prior job at a factory. It turns out that is a possibility, admitting he's worked in a factory, but he shied away from talking about where exactly he worked.

That's understandable for more than one reason – there's the obvious, if this is work top secret and potentially illegal, if he is the man Midnight thinks he is. But considering I'm a genuine stranger asking into his personal life over the phone... I'd be quite tight-lipped, too.

So it would seem we have a possible question and answer session in store for Saturday evening; at least initially, it will be just me trying to make small talk and see what I can gather from that. Midnight plans to set up a hiding spot somewhere, likely a strategic junkpile set up nearby. Granted, this all came together Monday night, but now two days past that, Midnight hasn't been very chatty about the whole idea.

Just from her demeanor and lack of discussion, I can tell the novelty has worn off for her; this has become a serious matter, and anxiety is creeping into her like I've been fighting from the get-go. There's still a chance she decides this isn't worth the risk, and I guess that's my last hope. There's no need for her to be down here, and it doesn't change anything about Kenneth picking up his parts like any normal customer.

But I guess I know deep down, she's not one to shy away. This isn't a matter of arrogance or proving her toughness now – she really views this as a last chance to get some answers, assuming she feels it's safe to approach. Hell, I guess there's a chance that if he is apologetic about his work, we may find out more about this company.

But I'm trying to put that away, as that's not the focus for tonight. No, the big event for tonight is a positive sort of anxious anticipation – first startup of the rebuilt 392 Hemi, at home and complete in the Chrsyler 300C.

Every connection be it hose, hard line, or wire has been fitted and double-checked. All the builds have been filled up and topped off. By some twist of fate, the ceramic exhaust headers not only went in without a hitch, the fabrication work to fit them to the existing exhaust leading back to the tailpipes was minimal. Even the glass pack mufflers Midnight wanted fit with little issue.

Aside from fitting the new tires, flushing the brakes, and fitting the hood back on, all that's left requires the engine to be running – namely, giving the transmission a good flush. Then road testing can begin.

It's a moment of pride mixed with concern – things can still go wrong from here just from first startup – but I can't focus on that. I've done everything by the book, checking every clearance and tolerance of assembly two or three times just to be safe.

Midnight will be the lucky mare to turn the key and fire the engine. She's already taken her post in the driver's seat, and without the hood on, I can see her building anticipation and excitement clear as day.

I'm already busy at my self-assigned post – the front of the car. I'll be the one looking for visible signs of trouble once the engine starts up, as well as making necessary tuning adjustments to get the engine running smoothly; for now, everything from the carburetor mixtures to the ignition timing has been set to what could be considered 'default.' The exhaust changes alone will mean the factory settings aren't going to be the best option, but it's a good start.

More importantly, assuming no problems requiring immediate shutdown occur, I need to keep the engine running for a while; all of the new bearings and surfaces in the engine need time to 'wear in' to set it up for a good, healthy life. But it goes beyond that – we also need the car to start up almost immediately to ensure good oil pressure and lubrication at this critical period in time.

So I suppose my nerves are justified to a certain point, and as I pour a bit of gasoline into the throat of the carbs to expedite the starting process, a casual glance up reveals Midnight's excitement has died down a bit, too; with the quickly approaching moment of truth, I'm sure she's reflecting back on all the significant details I've explained to her.

Speaking of which...

"Alright Midnight, I think everything's set now," I announce to her. "I know you remember my instructions, but repeat em back to me, please."

"Stop cranking if it doesn't fire within the first five or ten seconds, make sure we have oil pressure, and once it fires up, aim for two thousand RPM," she drones, flashing a smile to show me she's not actually annoyed with me. "Got it down pat. I'm as ready as you are."

"In that case, the ball is in your court. Go ahead whenever you're ready."

Midnight takes a breath, peeling her eyes off of me to stare down at the dashboard in front of her and all the gauges situated within it. After a few moments of focus, the starter suddenly comes to life, kicking over the engine for the first time in over fifty years.

I quickly open the throttle with no sign of fire after a few seconds, hoping more air is what the combustion chambers are looking for.

*VRrRRrrRRrrrOOOOM!* The silver and gold heart finally comes to life with a roar after a couple of false catches.

"Oil looks good! Close to the max!" Midnight shouts over the engine. It's hard not to notice the sudden touch of giddiness that blemishes her voice now.

But the engine is a bit rough – I lean over to my right for a screwdriver, ready to focus on carb adjustment. "What's the RPM right now, Mid?"

"Around eighteen hundred!"

I start to turn the mixture screw of the front carb in – then quickly back out as the engine starts to sputter. I had it set to one and a half turns out to start – going back exactly on the adjustment I made plus a half turn instantly brings the RPMs and the smoothness up.

"Twenty-one hundred now!" she shouts again. I watch the linkage retract a bit as Midnight eases off the throttle, the engine slowing down just a hair in turn. Further adjustment out doesn't serve to change the idle, so I set it back to two turns out and leave it.

Turning my attention away from fuel and air, I focus on the ignition distributor, having left the clamp just a bit loose for my benefit now. Much like the fuel, I expect the engine is going to prefer a little more ignition advance on account of the better flow of the exhaust headers. But it takes a steady hand and methodical patience to bump the housing just a tad clockwise – easily enough for a degree or two. Judging by the increase in idle speed and a little more of the rough edge knocked out of the sound, my informed guess is right on the nose.

"Oil pressure still good?"

"Yep – everything still looks good on my end," Midnight confirms, just a bit quieter now; some of the excitement and nerves have melted away at this point on my end, and I'm sure the same can be said for Midnight.

But with the vitals now out of the way, it gives me some time to look for other signs of possible trouble, but of the visual sort. Grabbing my flashlight, I start scoping out the engine bay, scanning for smoke, fluid leaks – anything out of place. It also gives me a chance to listen, now that my focus is not tuning for smoother running.

Audibly, it sounds great at the RPM it's currently holding – that may change when the engine drops down to proper idle, half or less of what it is right now. More importantly, there's no rattles or ticking sounds; I can hear the valvetrain ever so slightly through the valve covers, but that's normal, particularly as I'm purposely listening for things.

But now with a bright flashlight at my disposal, I do see one concern – the slightest bit of haze emanating from the passenger side, around the exhaust header. Directing the full power of my light to that area, the culprit is exposed – a bit of oil seeping out from under the valve cover, near one of the mounting bolts.

That's no biggie in the grand scheme of things, but I'll see if I can't knock that out right now. I head back to my toolbox for a ratchet and appropriate socket; my sudden movements away from the car put Midnight on notice, her head jerking up to track me now rather than the dashboard.

"Little oil leak, nothing to write home about," I allay her fears while walking back to the problem area. It's a fine line when it comes to gaskets; overtightening can be as detrimental as having fasteners too loose. But I get a quarter turn out of the bolt with ease, and a bit more pressure on the ratchet handle – the gap spits out another drip of oil, then nothing. I relax again, setting aside my tools after another quick once over.

"Sounds pretty damn good, right?" Midnight comments from the driver's seat. A smile has again dared to wash over her face with a few minutes of relatively trouble-free runtime.

She's not wrong; it sounds really good, even beyond the obvious lack of mechanical concerns. The Hemi produces an aggressive rumble – but it's not all-out raw fury. There's a distinct touch of refinement in that angry thumping.

Satisfied with everything up front, I decide it's a good time to check around back of the car; the finned derriere of the Chrysler sticks outside of the bay doors to avoid fumigating the garage. I've done that one before – a stupid mistake, but one that thankfully only led to a headache and a wake-up call.

Now. out in the afternoon sun, the glasspack mufflers Midnight insisted on make their presence known loud and clear. There's a throatier rasp to the exhaust note that hadn't been present near the engine bay. Thankfully, I didn't quite follow Midnight's advice on the purchase – with multiple options available for sound and loudness, I chose something in the middle of the range, rather than the 'top sound' choice. As a result, it has a good sound, but it's not obnoxious in tone or volume, something that I was concerned about.

While the paint is still weatherbeaten on this old car, the sound and smell announce to the world this 300C is finally reborn after years of sitting comatose.

Everything seems to be well in order, but I head back into the garage for another check. Passing the driver's door, which Midnight awkwardly leans upon, I can sense how badly she wants to check things out, too. And I can't blame her – this project only sits here now nearly complete thanks to her efforts. I'm not a cruel man...

One more visual with the flashlight around the engine bay shows everything to be clear and in order. The sounds haven't changed either, so I think it's about time Midnight got to bask in the fruits of her labor. "Everything still look good in there?" I call out, raising my head briefly to glance at her.

"Yep. Oil pressure good, temp is finally reading but still cool, RPM two k," she rattles off. I nod my head and reach down to the throttle linkage, grabbing hold of it to keep the position.

"Alright, I got the throttle – hop out and take it all in, Middie."

There's certainly no hesitation in her I think she had the door open before I finished speaking. But now she's in full excitement mode with a big energetic grin while walking up to my side and peering into the engine bay with me. I can't help but laugh, watching her ears perk up just a little bit more, taking in as much of the auditory symphony on display as she can.

"Make sure you head out back, too – I'm suddenly glad you talked me into glasspacks."

So enamored with even having the car running, her eyes go wide at me for just a moment – then it clicks in her head. Like a bolt of lightning, she's off to hear the pipes for herself.

We've come a long way with this car – a car I was skeptical of even purchasing. Sure, it's looked like it was in good shape, but the gremlins and true horrors have a nefarious way of hiding themselves at first sight. Not to mention the engine; there was never a guarantee it could be salvaged, depending on what had gone wrong. On top of it all, the rarity of this car meant that any parts needed might be a treasure hunt at best or an impossibility at worst.

Yet somehow, Midnight and I have pulled it together. It really has been a gem of a car to work on with relatively few hiccups despite the odds, and I dare say it's turned out better than I could allow myself to imagine.

But there's still more to be done, that fact isn't lost on me. However, having the engine running and sounding this good... it's not only a major hurdle to overcome, but a significant motivator to keep up our progress.

But my senses are drawn to the present now – suddenly, the pressure on my thumb from holding the throttle linkage in place vanishes. But it makes more sense when I turn my head and see Midnight standing next to me, so giddy she's prancing in place. She pauses long enough to nod her head at my minor bit of confusion, allowing me to let go of the throttle and pass the task onto her unseen ability.

I don't get to make any other moves once I stand up straight again – Midnight giggles and rears up slightly, just enough to wrap her front legs around my upper torso and squeeze me. "John, we did it!" she shouts. "Holy shit, it sounds amazing!"

"Well now, let's be honest here – I did it," I proclaim with exaggerated arrogance. For good measure, I muster up the most disgustingly smug face and posture I can come up with for the full effect.

Midnight doesn't say anything to counter me, preferring to reach up to my face and boop my nose with her hoof.

"Joke aside, you should be happy – outside of the engine internals, which is the only thing I can take credit for, you've tackled every inch of this car that's needed attention. That's just as important if not more so than getting the engine to fire."

"I'm still gonna go with 'we' on this," she replies in a calm, almost bashful voice following my compliment. "You still gave me a lot of input and info when I needed it. I could argue that given enough time and web browsing, I would have figured things out... but I don't want to. It means more that you were there."

"I can go with that – I like the sound of that. I'm always here for you, Mid," I remind her, wrapping my arm around her. "You're right – we did it, and we should both be proud."

It's a weight off the shoulders for sure with a positive outcome. Here's hoping the end of the week delivers the same results.