vampire AU part three

[titusnowl]

Simon did not have a car anymore, the last one having been precipitated over the edge of a bridge by someone who was under the impression that Simon was in it at the time.  The lack, which had continued for some weeks, was a gross oversight on his part which he fully intended to rectify at some point in the near future, but it was sort of hard to keep within regular business hours under the circumstances, and he kept forgetting to make time with the local representative of the Furillac corporation to order a replacement.  Anyway, most of his business was conducted within the City, and he could move around swiftly enough for that under his own power.  The trouble was, just now, business was to be done out in Manchester, and they didn't want to be at the mercy of the train schedule.

Roger had had a car, but he'd sold it for cash to get out of some trouble a few weeks before he got into worse trouble.  And besides, it had been an Austin, an automobile to which the Saint declared himself opposed to driving on principle.

They were beginning to think they'd have to nick one when salvation presented itself in the form of Norman Kent.

"I've got a car," he said, nearly shocking Simon and Roger into silence - they'd rather forgotten he was there, although the fact that they were playing bridge and therefore there must have been a fourth man at the table to partner Patricia should have tipped them off.  It was his own fault for being so quiet.

"You're sure it's not a Ford?" asked Simon suspiciously.

"Of course it's not a Ford," said Norman, with a slight trace of heat that was the first display of emotion they'd seen from him since he'd accused them of cheating at Risk the week before.  "It is," he continued rather proudly, "a Hirondel speedster.  It has an altimeter."

"Does it fly?"

Norman was forced to admit that it did not.

"What good is it, then?" demanded Roger.  But Simon, at least, was impressed.

"It may as well fly, if it's as fast as the adverts claim," said he, with shining eyes.  "We need to borrow it, son."

Norman glanced at Pat, but she had already rolled her eyes in feminine amusement at the behaviour of boys with motorized toys and begun to clear the cards from the table.  And so the three of them went down to the road to look the car over.

Roger, having had enough experience with the Saint's driving to last him several lifetimes (even vampiric ones), insisted upon driving, and won the point by being the first one to reach the driver's door.  This was declared to be cheating by an indignant Simon, who had been looking under the bonnet at the time, but Roger responded only with a rude gesture, and carried the day.

He pushed the starter, surveyed the gauges, let the motor rumble a bit while he figured out which was the altimeter, stuck a hand out the window to wave farewell to Norman, and pressed the gas.

Unfortunately, he had put it in reverse.

An ominous thump ensued.

Simon said something notable for its obscenity - notable because it was said by Simon; had Roger been the one to utter it, no one would have been the least surprised - and decanted himself from the car with startling swiftness.  Roger had the presence of mind to put the lever into neutral before he followed.

He bit the knuckle of his first finger - a habit he'd had when worried as a mortal, and which he immediately discovered was a rather poor one for a vampire, as he managed to puncture himself in an uncomfortable way - and watched in a sort of detached misery as Simon did the only thing he possibly could to keep Roger from being a wanton murderer.

Pat was going to kill him.  She was going to break a chair-leg off and drive it straight through his ribcage as soon as she found out.  He was going to have to hide in the country and live off of deer and wild Highland cows or whatever it was that lived out in the wilderness. 

"Why the hell did you go behind the car, you stupid berk?" he demanded of the corpse.  Simon calmly passed behind him, killed the engine, and passed behind him again to sit on the boot and wait.

"He's dead, Roger.  He's not going to answer you."

"He's not dead, though, is he?  I thought you - "  Pat was going to kill him, resurrect him, and then kill him again.  Twice.

"He's dead for the next few minutes."

"Oh.  Why the hell did he go behind the car, the stupid berk?"

"Don't talk like a Cockney beggar, old caterpillar."

"The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain," mumbled that put-upon Londoner, and bit his knuckle again.

Presently Norman spoke.  "I heard that perfectly well, you arse."

"You didn't hear nothing.  You were dead."  Roger looked to Simon for support, and received none.

Norman opened his eyes and propped himself up against a fender.  "Don't blame me for your inability to use a shifting lever, arse."

"Berk."

"Children."

They settled down.

"I suppose we have to go tell Pat now."

She was going to stake him.  He knew it...