Free Project Northwest by C. B. Carter Page B

driver’s side wheel flair was ripped and smashed, with
the entire quarter panel being held up by the ground. The front
left tire had been pushed in and was now several inches closer to
the driver’s seat than it should be. The driver’s side mirror was
completely missing, most likely in a pile of parts nearby, and the
door looked like it had been kicked repeatedly. The interior wasn’t
bad, but the progressive insurance adjuster was disappointed,
noting that the entire frame of the vehicle had shifted.
    Bridget was floored and stopped in her
tracks, only able to mumble out a few “Oh, my God’s” as she
surveyed the damage. She grabbed James’s hand and arm and squeezed
tightly. “Thank God, you’re okay. I had no idea it was this
bad.”
    “Neither did I,” James replied, his jaw wide
open as he looked at the car he and his dad had rebuilt, put their
sweat in to. The '69 Boss 429 Mustang was a numbers matching car
and James had always told friends, with great pride, “Only 858 of
these babies galloped off the production line.” It was his first
and only car. His dad found it in a barn in Arizona and had it
delivered the day before his sixth birthday. He didn’t drive it
until his eighteenth birthday.
    “Raven Black,” said James in the direction of
Harry. “That’s the color, original color, Raven Black, only 858 of
‘em made.” Harry didn’t respond and Manny made a note of some
sort.
    The adjuster was instantly at work, taking
pictures of the front of the vehicle, the driver’s side, followed
by close-up shots of the exact same areas. He then took a picture
of the interior, focused on the gauge panel, noting the odometer
showed 84,322 and moved to the car’s undercarriage. He then moved
to the back and took a couple more shots. “How much do you think
it’s worth, Mr. Spain?”
    James wanted to say priceless, but gave a
ballpark figure. “I’ve seen them go for eighty thousand plus when
completely restored, but no one ever sells them and the prices have
dropped recently. My dad and I fixed her over a twelve-year period
and I was planning on never putting her in a stable. She loved to
run.”
    James absentmindedly began polishing one of
the smaller scratches on the driver’s door with his shirt tail,
caught himself in the act, and iced over. He could only look at the
broken glass in the driver’s seat. He reached in, took his mp3
player and phone charger cord, popped the trunk, and collected his
dry cleaning.
    He moved to the passenger side and picked up
the vehicle’s manual, registration, and important data cards from
the glove box. He rounded the front of the car and irately kicked a
detached headlight lens toward the pile of other parts. He walked
around the vehicle once more thinking that if he had a gun he’d
aim, pull the trigger, and put the wounded mustang out of her
misery.
    “Well, that’s it,” he stated as he walked
toward Bridget, who was still motionless. She could only nod and
appeared frozen in time. He wasn’t sure whether she was in some
type of shock. He placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her
close.
    “Do I need to hang around?” James shouted to
the adjuster.
    “No, Mr. Spain, I will be in touch in a few
days. In the meantime, you can get a mid-sized rental if you’d
like.”
    “Thanks,” James shouted back.
    “Do I need to do anything?” he asked
Harry.
    “Yeah, sign here saying that you collected ya
belongings and I gotta make a copy of your driver’s license. Also,
if the car is considered totaled, I can buy it from you for scrap.
I’ll work with Manny over there on the deal and he’ll call you.
Here’s my card.”
    James accepted the business card and
clipboard. He was stunned to see what appeared to be a dot-matrix
printout. Normally, he would’ve got a kick out of seeing such
antiquated gear. He was even more surprised that they still made
paper for it. He found the big X and scribbled his signature.
    Harry returned and traded the