The people and stories depicted in this series are purely fiction. Any resemblance to real life people or situations is not intended, I swear.
Wayne and Jules did eventually escape New York City, scrounging together enough money for a pair of bus tickets. They could only afford to get as far as Harrisburg, Pennsylvania as the night before had been murder on their wallets. Hiring a private helicopter ride over the Hudson river probably wasn’t the soundest financial decision.
As the 1982 MCI MC-9 motorcoach rumbled across I-78, the duo contemplated how the hell they would get to Los Angles in time. Neither man was in any position (or shape) to become a gentleman of the night and neither had any particularly useful skill-sets.
Their situation was bleak and spiraling out of control. But, forty-eight minutes from bus journey terminus, Beverly tapped them on the shoulder.
Bev, as she liked to be called, was in her mid-80s. Her and her late husband had owned an operated a successful chain of coffee shops all over New York City until his untimely passing a few years ago. Ready to retire, Bev sold the business for a hefty sum of money.
Since then, she had been splitting her time between her condo in Manhattan and visiting her grand-kids in Memphis, Tennessee. She would love to hit the open road in her prized 1973 Lincoln Continental Coupe. But last year her license had been revoked by the state of Tennessee. Not because of her advanced age, but rather her penchant of hitting triple digit speeds, and flipping the bird to any state troopers that dare pursue her.
Without a license, Bev had been traveling back forth via bus. This was her third such journey and she absolutely hated it – even more than that shite new wave music the kids were into. As she daydreamed about stealing the bus and taking it for a joyride, she began to inadvertently overhear Jules and Wayne’s conversation.
After thirty minutes of listening, a plan took shape in her head. Bev always considered herself an excellent judge of character and could see these two youngin’s were kindhearted souls, but not overly bright.
J and W Driving Services
“Are you serious?” Wayne replied after hearing the plan. Bev was offering a way to help Jules and Wayne get at least to Memphis, Tennessee. All they had to agree to do was drive Bev all the way there. She would supply the money (lord knows she had enough of it), and Jules and Wayne would locate a car in Harrisburg to take on their journey.
Upon arriving at Harrisburg, Bev headed off to a local martini bar to get sauced while Jules and Wayne set off to find a suitable vehicle.
Great success had been achieved that afternoon. Bev was able to down 5 appletinins, led a chorus of Pistol Packin’ Mama, and flirted with four separate men. Jules and Wayne had located three potential vehicles for the upcoming journey and return with the good news.
A ‘Bev’ Car
The first car they presented to Bev was a 1978 AMC Gremlin. Inebriated and belligerent, Bev scoffed at the idea that she would willing ride in a ‘shit-car-crap-can’. So, that was off the table.
Next, Jules had found a 1980 International Harvester Scout. This intrigued Bev as she liked the trucks rugged, macho looks. But her husband had owned a Bronco before his death, and she described the ride quality as a kidney-killer.
Finally, Wayne presented the last car they had found. A bit older, it was a 1973 Jaguar XJ6 sedan. Bev’s eyes became slightly less glossed-over at the suggestion of this vehicle. “Oh yes, now that sounds like a Bev car” she responded.
So that was that. Jules and Wayne purchased the Jag and agreed to meet Bev first thing in the morning to begin their expedition. There were 16 days left until opening ceremonies.
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