Dead Man's Curve

July 7th, 1962

The roar of the engine changed to a reverberating rumble as Ron Little put his foot on the break. One hand on the sleek, black leather of the steering wheel and the other hanging outside the opened car window, letting in a breeze of chilled air of the oncoming night. It danced through the clean interior of his stingray, swept through the curly mop of hair on his head, and ruffled his snow-white button-down.
The sounds of the city waffled on the air ways, carrying with it the distant wails of police sirens, the din of traffic, and a volley of beeping horns. Ron pointed his chin upward, glancing up at the red glow of the stoplight dangling above, before he peered to his left and into the Los Angeles Skyline. Just like the nearby row of palm trees separating the driving lanes, so did the towering skyscrapers stand in unison in the distance, giving off an electric glow that shone on the clouds above. Ron spotted the Maze Bank, the tallest tower in the line, before he slipped back in his seat, a small smile etched across his face, and glanced into his rear view mirror.
The twin roads of Sunset Boulevard stretched behind him, giving way to a strip of music studios and radio station headquarters. Pairs of shining headlights drifted up and down the stretch, though the roads were far from filled. For a moment, Ron recalled the humid air swirling about him and his friends as they walked down the streets of Guitar Row, a stretch of gray buildings highlighted by the deep reds and oranges and blues of neon signs and flashing adverts, and into the hard shift of air conditioning in Blue West Recording Studios.
You’re gonna be the next big thing! The producer had told them enthusiastically, like he actually believed it. I bet he tells that to all the poor schmucks who come in ‘ere, Eddie said when they were walking back out the doors. Ron scoffed, bringing him back to the present, and flicked his hand to the volume knob on the console and, with a simple twist, brought the radio to life.
We’ll be on the radio one day, Ron thought with a smug smile, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Just as he finished the thought, a roar of pistons and machinery echoed through Ron’s stingray as another car slipped to a stop beside him. He glanced over, peering through the passenger window.
Ron immediately recognized the car, a cherry red, XKE Jaguar. The oval lights, the smooth curves of the sports car's body, and the silver lining on the wheels, it all sent a sharp spine of jealously through his heart. There was something about the car, something different, like the way the red hue of the stoplight shimmered around the smooth painting of crimson or how it seemed to stand out in the darkness of the growing night. Damn, always wanted a car like that, he thought, licking his lips greedily.
Through the throws of a rockabilly guitar, the XKE’s driver side window of tinted glass rolled down slowly, revealing the shrouded silhouette of the driver, outlined by the white glow of the street lights. The man leaned forward, placing his elbow on the window and exposing his face to the shine of the city lights. He was a dark skinned man, his face thin and slightly wrinkled, denoting years on the road. A thin strip of black hair sat on his upper lip, just as measly as his eyebrows. Neatly trimmed and curled hair flipped in a wave across the peak of his head.
Both he and Ron peered into each other’s car and made sharp eye contact. For a second, Ron couldn’t help but stare into the dark pits that were his eyes. Then, a snake-like smile broke the man’s face in two, sending a ripple through his cheeks. Unconsciously, Ron placed his fingers back on the volume and spun it all the way back to zero.
“Name’s Lucifer Mammon,” said the man with a subtle southern twang.
“Good for you,” Ron replied sharply, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, “You want somethin’ or you just wastin’ time?”
“You know the answer to that,” Lucifer replied, “You done turned that radio for a reason.”
Sweat started to accumulate on Ron’s palms. He whipped his hands down the side of the leather of the wheel. What’s wrong with you, Ron? He thought to himself.
“I was wonderin’, you wanna race that stingray of yours?” He asked, still smiling.
A chuckle bubbled up from Ron’s throat, sending a smirk across his face. This better be a joke, Ron thought, looking over the stranger’s car and then back to the driver’s expectant face. He’s serious. He thinks he can beat me, huh?
“You’re on, buddy,” he said, patting the dashboard of the car, “She’s runnin’ just fine.”
“Well all right,” Lucifer said, placing both hands onto his wheel, “Say, where do wanna race ‘em to?”
“Don’t matter, pal,” Ron said.
“Let’s make it Dead Man’s Curve, down by the coast,” he said, before he quickly added, “If you’ve got the nerve, eh?”
“I said you’re on, didn’t I?” Ron snapped, glancing up at the stop light, still as red as a rose.
“Well, before we get to goin’, lets make it a might bit more interesting,” Lucifer called, leaning back into his car, his face now caught in the crimson, electric glow of the light overhead, “Let’s make this a bet, how ‘bout it?”
Ron couldn’t help but reciprocate the man’s smile. I record a single, win a race and some money all in one night. “Okay,” Ron said simply.
Lucifer’s smile widened, revealing a row of sharp teeth that glistened scarlet in the stoplight’s hue. A serpentine tongue slithered from further within his mouth and rolled over his fangs hungrily. Ron’s heart leapt from his chest and he flinched in his seat. Gotta be a trick of the light, eh? Ron thought.
“If you win,” Lucifer started slowly, obscuring his teeth again, “I’ll give you my car; no ifs, ands, or buts. If you want, I’ll get out right on the street and hand over the keys…”
The thought of sitting in the XKE, moving like a bullet down the highway, just a flash of cherry red to passersby, took hold of Ron’s heart. I always wanted a car like that, he repeated, his mouth watering. Is this guy serious? I’d be an idiot not to take that deal!
“Deal!” Ron shouted out eagerly.
A large smile still on his face, Lucifer said, “But you don’t know what I want in return!”
“W-what is it?” Ron asked, rolling his eyes. Can’t be worth more than that thing, he thought.
A quiet chuckle echoed from the car. “Your soul…” Lucifer said breathily.
A shiver passed through Ron’s body, dancing on the edge of his spine. Before he could respond, Lucifer pointed upward to the stoplight with a boney finger and began to roll up his window.
“It's a deal!” Lucifer shouted, a maniacal laugh bubbling up from his throat and rolling through the street, “It's a deal!”
Just then, the red hue that permeated the area shifted to a bright green with a simple click. Gears shifted, engines revved, and tires squealed. Lucifer and his XKE were already past the intersection and zooming into the night. All Ron saw was the blaring red of his tail-lights streaking down the road. There was no time to think or ponder, only action.
Ron kicked the car into gear, slamming his shoe into the gas. He lurched forward sending a blast of whistling wind through the car and an army of goosebumps on his arms. His heart hammered in his chest and sweat appeared on his brow despite the biting chill of the night. That car is mine, Ron thought with a feverish intensity.
The landscape around him turned into a hazy dream of dark colors and flashing lights. The bright headlights of oncoming traffic became a smear on his windshield, distorting the night. Only the road ahead was clear. Ron’s eyes flickered wildly in his skull, snapping from where his headlights shone to the cars on the stretch of road beyond. The red taillights burning ahead of him acted as a target, a beacon in the night, something to zero in on. As the XKE sailed forward, heading straight for the distant traffic ahead, Ron swore he could still hear Lucifer’s echoing laughter alongside the roar of the engine.
As the competing duo came to a dense line of traffic, Lucifer didn’t slow as Ron had expected. Instead, he spun the wheel of his Jag, weaving in and out through the lanes of traffic, disappearing and then reappearing in front and behind the cars. Ron, who was easing off the gas at the slight of the compact double lane filled with traffic, gritted his teeth and pressed the pedal to the floor.
The stingray’s engine roared, deep and guttural, and lurched forward, speeding headlong into the traffic. Lucifer had disappeared amongst the beeping cars and, instead, Ron focused on his fast approaching issues. He cranked the wheel, fluttering his hands across the black leather, as he came across the first car on the street. He shifted lanes, watching the speedometer rise, threading the needle between two incoming cars.
Their drag continued on as they soared for the ever approaching coast. The XKE, followed by Ron’s stingray, careened through intersections, zipping past cars, as both engines roared and rolled like thunder over the highway. They passed Beverly Hills, the road that led into Westwood and Bel Air, the streets of Brentwood, and into the oncoming Pacific Palisades. In the far distance, Ron saw Venice Beach and the silhouettes of houses around it lit up in vibrant colors that speckled the night.
And beyond that, the dark shifting murk of the ocean. Ron turned his attention to the road. Soon, it would split into an intersection, each road cutting both North and South at a sharp angle, riding the coast line. Dead Man’s Curve, Ron thought, looking ahead to the red lights of the speeding XKE.
The open road had become just that; open. Any traffic, any rogue car or truck, had gone to the wayside, left behind them to smell burning the drag’s burning rubber. As the road began to shift and curve slightly, Ron swerved into the left lane, slamming the gas with a hard kick. Sweat on his brow, he flickered his gaze from the open road to the fast approaching Jaguar.
It’s now or never, Ron thought, readjusting his grip on the wheel. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of salt water that filled the cabin of the car, just as he heard a muffled cry of a gulf overhead through the din of his booming engine. That car is mine, he told himself, finishing the thought. With one last hungry glance at the crimson body, just as the hood of the stingray came parallel with the Jag’s back wheels, he straightened out and stared into the oncoming doom of Dead Man’s Curve. The stretch of black road straightened as it speared toward the black, shifting ocean, moonlight shimmering off the wave’s surface. It forked soon after, curving sharply both North and South.
The turn signal on the XKE’s left tail light began to flash but Ron kept his foot on the gas. Slowly, the stingray inched forward until they both rode side by side. He looked to his right, out his passenger side window and into Lucifer’s car. There the man sat, one hand clasped around the wheel while he craned his neck back, an unholy smile resting upon his lips. Both vehicles entered the curve, bringing both cars together, almost scraping the paint off their sides.
Ron slowly turned the wheel, glancing between the twisting path and Lucifer, who began to laugh maniacally. Somehow, he heard the ear splitting chuckle over the whipping winds and gurgling engines. His palms slick with sweat and teeth gritted and bared, Ron didn’t let up on the gas nor stop spinning the wheel as the two cars careened through the bend. He watched as the ocean came closer and closer, as the car began to rattle, as wheels began to sputter and squeal, and finally, as the body of his car was thrown harshly against the guard rail.
Ron was buffed in the driver's seat, lurched forward and back as sparks flew from the side of the stingray. There was a metal screech accompanying the light show though Ron seemed not to notice or did not care. Instead, as he dragged the body of his car across the sharp razors of the railing, he continued to flicker his gaze between Lucifer and the road. That car, he thought, this guy can’t beat me. No way! I can’t fail now…
Then, another buckle rocked the car and Ron was jostled forward. A sharp pain arched through Ron’s face before he was overtaken by darkness.


July 9th, 1962

“Lucky? Lucky?” Ron repeated into the receiver, hanging his head low as he leaned against the sterile white wall of the hospital, “My car’s totalled, I lost the race, I spent a day in the hospital, and my head...ugh..” He placed a tentative hand to his temple, “Barely remember the night…”
“Yeah, lucky,” Eddie said over the line, “It’s called Dead Man’s Curve for a reason, numb skull. Look, I’ll be on my way in a minute, m’kay? Sit tight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said, rolling his eyes, “Thanks, buddy.”
“Don’t mention it,” Eddie responded before Ron hung up the receiver.
With a sigh, Ron rolled his shoulders and turned his attention away from the front desk of the hospital. The clerk behind the counter, an older woman with graying hair and a square jaw, leapt up from her chair and pulled the rotary phone back into the depths of her workplace without so much as a word. Ron barely noticed her movements, instead scanning the hospital waiting room for a place to sit and wait.
Morning sunlight shone through the doors on the far side of the room, lighting up the many rows of black chairs. Can’t believe I lost, Ron thought annoyed, just as the front desk’s phone rang again. He had gone over what details he could remember over the last day, scrutinizing every mistake, Can’t let Eddie tell nobody. Can’t let nobody tell nobody. Ugh, and my car…
“Mr. Little?” Said the clerk behind the desk, drawing him from his thoughts. He turned to face her as she looked up at him expectantly. “Your ride just phoned in and said they should be here now.”
“Wha- how?” Ron asked, “He bring the phone with ‘em? He just left.”
The clerk shrugged, quickly returning back to whatever duties she had left to perform at the desk. What kinda joke is this? He thought, hesitantly stepping forward. He peered out the doors, though only saw the sharp, blinding glare of the sun. Licking his lips, he started across the lobby, his shoes clicking in echoes across the space.
His heart started to beat and sweat appeared on his palms. What is wrong with you? He asked himself as he neared the door. Ron placed his hand on the handle and felt a strange feeling flutter through his body. Now hesitating, he stood at the door for another moment, listening to his own breath. Don’t be a coward, he thought before he twisted the handle and pushed forward.
Rays of sunlight cascaded from the bright sky, blinding his vision and warming his skin as Ron Little stepped into the parking lot waiting outside. He blinked his eyes rapidly and shivered as a cold, howling wind suddenly echoed across the area. He barely got a glimpse at the other cars and surrounding zone before he was stricken with the sight in front of him.
The engine was running like a warbling growl, each tinted window was rolled down, and its crimson body reflected the harsh light of the sun. His jaw hung wide, Ron felt his legs numb and his limbs jitter as he beheld the lonely XKE before him. He stared into the windows of the cherry red sports car and spotted the dangling keys still in the ignition. The car was completely empty and just waiting for a driver.