Wattys 2022 Boot Camp

Thunderbird Road - @samluna87

Logline

Two teens whose fathers work at a vintage car shop become involved in the mystery of a series of violent crashes around their city, in which the police believe a car from the shop might be involved.

Blurb

Tammy Curry is a teen girl who lives in Huntington Park, California with her parents. She goes to visit her father at his new job in Vernon, where is working as a mechanic for a vintage car repair shop called "Vinton's Vintage Repair". There she meets Mr. Vinton, the owner of the shop, and his son Zack, who's a real cutie. As Zack and Tammy become acquaintances, their fathers bring a new car into the shop, a 1957 Black Ford Thunderbird, which they'll be repairing for a TV producer. The producer tells them the story behind his newest collective item and it's quite the gruesome one.

One day, as Tammy is being taken to school, she sees the aftermath of a tragic car collision, which she thinks at first was an accident, but as the story develops it seems to be something more sinister. As more suspicious crashes begin to occur around their neighborhoods, Tammy, Zack, and the police will soon realize there's something very wrong going on and it might be related to the old car the shop is fixing. 

First 1,000 Words

As I arrived at the car shop I stopped, got off my bike, and stood on the sidewalk, looking at the building.

I was quite surprised.

I knew Dad had gotten a job working on vintage cars, it had been his dream since he was a kid, but I never expected the place would be so attuned in theme.

I looked at the old metal building and listened to the retro music playing inside the garage, muffled by the sound of tools and motors. The faded pastel blue of the metal paneled building, with its large red letters on the front indicating it as "Vinton's Vintage Repair", made me smile. Along with the enormous garage where the cars were kept, of a cool white paint over the metal and wood, it certainly looked like I had stepped into one of those old movies about street gangs and old diners.

I thought I might look more in style if I was wearing a pink sweater and poodle skirt instead of my school uniform, but I walked inside, through the open garage door, to see if dad was in. It should not have been a surprise that the inside of the shop would be similar to the outside, but I never thought the owner would take the effort to decorate it in such an intricate way.

Covering the panel walls were old vintage calendars, pin-ups and all, posters remembering old Americana, racing flags, and uniforms. A few old hot rods and motorcycles stood displayed on the side of the large garage, one covering over a big neon sign that leaned against the wall. While on the other side, stood a wide workstation full of shelves and drawers, with hanging wrenches and probably filled with sockets, screwdrivers, and hammers, everything a group of mechanics would need to fix a car. At the end of the row, an old cooler in the shape of a soda bottle stood filled with bottles of cooling liquid, water bottles, and other chemicals for repair.

I looked at it amazed, while a group of men calmly worked on two cars, a Beetle and a Corvette. I then shifted my eyes to them and noticed that none of them was my dad, they were too short. Then I saw that, besides the ones that were working on the interior of the car, there was one beneath the Beetle, using one of those flat beds with the wheels that mechanics use to pull themselves underneath the vehicles. That was my dad, because of the long muscular legs popping from under that car, like it had run over a giraffe.

"Señorita?" a young Hispanic man asked me as I looked at the man underneath. I looked at him, smiling, surprised. He looked like a nice enough man, staring back at me with a questioning gaze. He probably wondered why there was a strange girl dragging a bike inside his place of work.

"Oh I'm sorry," I laughed. "I was just looking for my father, Joe Curry."

"Oh, Joe. Yeah, he's down there," he said, pointing to the Beetle. I smiled nodding, "Yeah, I noticed, but thank you."

"Joe!" The young man yelled down, "there's a lady here to see you, man." He said, nodding at me and then returning to his job.

It took Dad a few minutes to get out from under the car, as the thing with wheels couldn't pull his entire body, but when his face finally emerged from underneath, covered in sweat and oil, he looked surprised to see me.

"Tammy, baby, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, daddy. I just came to see you and bring you some food."

My father took his time getting up, fixing his suit, and cleaning his face with a crusty old rag.

"Baby, I'm working, don't you see?" He said, wiping his hands. "Anyway, did you tell your mom that you were coming here?"

"Yeah, I messaged her so she wouldn't worry. I know you are working, but I wanted to see where you worked. Is that bad?"

"No, no, baby. It's fine. It's just a bit awkward, that's all," he said smiling and leaving the rag on a big, red metal toolbox with wheels. "So, how's grandma? Did you see her?"

I nodded at my father and I heard him say "great" under his worked breath. As always, after classes were over, I would pass by to see my grandmother Ariana, who lived near my school in Lincoln Heights. Then afterward, I would take the bus back home. But as I had no homework that day, I decided to come to check on my father.

"This place is cool, Dad!" I said enthusiastically and I saw my father's eyes shine with pride and happiness.

"I know, right? I kinda love it here." He said, looking around.

He then pointed to the Beetle, showing me its progress. He and another mechanic had been working on the car for a few days and they were almost finished. The car looked pretty good for how old it was, although the color of the car still lacked shine, but I assumed it was because it would be one of the last details they would work on.

"It really didn't need a lot of work. The owner kept it pretty good for its age." Dad said, rubbing his hand on its side-view mirror.

"How old is it?"

"1979. It used to be white, but the client said it preferred a darker color. So we cleaned it, painted the base, and then added dark green. I think he's going to be pretty happy about it. "

"I bet," I said, smiling at my dad. I enjoyed seeing him happy, after years of spending time working in jobs he wasn't that comfortable with. Who would have known it would have taken a chance encounter to change all that?

"So, what did you say about food?" Dad then asked me, looking at the large basket of my bike. I had a piece of bread inside a Ziploc bag, wrapped in napkins.

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