General Lee's Revenge

Chapter Four: Sorrel Walkmen

Rosco made his way over to Cooter's Garage. The sheriff had calculated a sum of at least one-hundred fourteen dollars the mechanic owed to the SD in fines. All of which were overdue, which would lead to Cooter sitting in jail for a minimum of five days, unless he paid Rosco the money to which he owed upon arriving at the garage.

Rosco opened the door a crack. The lights were off inside, and he could see the silhouettes of two cars, one being an older model judging by its length and the stylish tail fins on its back end. He walked inside, flipping on the light switch. He recognized General Lee right off the bat, but the other car, however, was as unfamiliar as it was unusual.

It was a 1958 Plymouth Fury, bright red in color with a white stripe down both sides. The glass was all tinted black, and its yellow license plate read CQB-241, California.

As Rosco was walking past it, he somehow sliced his hand on one of the chrome spikes that sat above the fenders in front of the rearview mirrors. He jumped away from the red car, his back end bumping General Lee. He put a hand on the orange car.

"S-sorry," he said instinctively, only to cringe realizing he'd just spoken to a car.

"Don't mention it," General rumbled.

Rosco jumped away from him, his back end hitting the red Fury. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and walked around to the driver's side of the Fury. He opened the door, and pulled out the lever, popping the hood. He walked back around to the front of it and opened the hood, curious as to what was underneath.

Just then, Rosco's keys dropped from his belt. He bent down to pick them up, keeping his right hand on the Fury to steady himself. The moment he grabbed them in his hand and began to lift himself back up, the hood of the car quickly dropped shut, crushing Rosco's hand in the process. The sheriff howled in pain, dropping his keys. He tried to pull his hand away but it was no use, the car had him good.

A set of footsteps echoed behind him, and he looked up through watery eyes to see who it was. Standing in the door was Cooter, smiling to himself and chuckling softly.

"It ain't funny Cooter, now get me outta this," Rosco growled.

Cooter shrugged. "Alright." He walked over to the red Fury and knocked on its hood. "Christine, would you be so kind as to let Sheriff Rosco go?"

"Oh, you're no fun," Christine rumbled.

Rosco looked at the car, then back at Cooter. "What was that? Alright Cooter, what're you tryin' to pull here?"

"Wasn't me, Rosco. You wanna get loose, take it up with Christine here."

"Christine? You named the car?"

"I didn't name her, she already had that name when I found her."

"Oh, what does it matter anyway, just get me outta this!"

"I already told ya, you gotta take it up with her."

"What're you goin' on about?"

Cooter nodded to the Fury. "I think you know."

Rosco followed his gaze, then looked back at him and shook his head. "It's a car, Cooter. I ain't crazy like you!"

Cooter shrugged. "Alright, have a nice life." He turned and began walking back out the door.

Rosco's eyes grew wide and he made a panicked noise, consoling the Fury as if she were his dog. "Christine! Open up, darlin'! Whatever I did, I didn't mean it, honest!"

Christine's hood slowly lifted itself. Rosco quickly pulled his hand out, holding it gingerly.

"Thank you, Christine," Cooter said from his place in the doorway.