The Boss and the Judge

Sunlight scorched the canyon floor as the Boss and the Judge met. Bitter rivals that they were, everyone around knew it wouldn’t be pretty. Words were exchanged; shoves were traded back and forth. Cooler heads managed to intervene before the situation could escalate further. After some debate, it was decided that the pair would settle their differences in the usual way.

Paint gleamed in the bright light as the crowd pushed the Boss and the Judge to the line. The Boss’s smile stretched ear to ear as he came to a stop. He had the horsepower to win this and he knew it. He reached over and slid the key into the ignition. A moment later, the loud rumble of his 429 echoed off the canyon walls.

The Judge’s lips didn’t form a smile, but rather a satisfied smirk. He knew that the Boss had the horsepower to win, but he had the torque and the gearing. Soon the echo of his Ram Air 455 joined the Boss’ 429 in thundering off the limestone. Oh, the Judge almost forgot; he also had his secret weapon. He had The Humbler. The Judge leaned down under the dash and pulled a small switch. Immediately, his rumbling changed to a deep, throaty growl. A few blips of the throttle, and the growl became a bellowing roar.

The Boss’ smile began to falter. No one had told him that the Judge had The Humbler. Now he was nervous. He knew what The Humber did for the Judge’s performance. A moment ago, he was sure he could win. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He glanced over at the Judge. The Judge didn’t look back; his eyes remained fixed down the asphalt ribbon ahead of them. The Boss turned away from the Judge and began revving is own engine. Twin roars shook the canyon walls; some of the onlookers winced and covered their ears.

A girl emerged from the crowd, her long brown hair whipping around in the heat-stirred wind. Stopping before the feuding pair, she unwrapped a scarf from around her neck and held it aloft. A hush fell over the crowd, broken almost instantly by the Boss’ bellow and the Judge’s roar. Wheels strained against their brakes, tach needles hovered just above their sweet spots. All eyes locked on the scarf. For a long moment it hung there, whipping back and forth over the girl’s head. Then she released it, and the canyon came alive with the scream of big-block V8s, and the Boss and the Judge raced off in a cloud of exhaust and burnt rubber.

———-

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This was written originally as an assignment for my Advanced Writing course in school, but I didn’t like how it had turned out, so I turned in another story (my original idea) instead. I’ll post that one as soon as I get a grade back on it. And just so there’s no confusion, “The Boss” is a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang, and “The Judge” is a 1970 Pontiac GTO Judge.
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s