President's Day arrived, and my parents and I had a nice breakfast at the kitchen table. We discussed what we were doing that day, including the driver's practice that Mr. Vinton and Dad had planned for Zack and me.
Dad told me that we would be driving around Vernon. He said it was alright if I felt like not driving around certain parts if I thought it was too much, but I told him it would be alright. He then added that after the lesson, we would pick up some food from the burger place nearby, which made me very happy as I had been craving a cheeseburger for a long time.
After breakfast, we prepared and soon left the house in Dad's truck. We quickly arrived at the Vintons' home and parked beside their small house.
I saw that Zack was already waiting for us, sitting on the porch stairs that led to his front gate. He quickly got up, clearly excited, and waved at us. My father shook his hand, and I saw him look at him suspiciously for a few seconds. He then let go of Zack and asked him where his dad was.
"He's inside, getting ready," Zack said, shifting his eyes from him to me and smiling.
I smiled back shyly, peeking a bit at my dad.
"So, what car are we going to use?" I asked, rubbing my hands.
"Cam's car," said Dad. "You kids need to learn how to drive a normal sedan."
"Why?" I asked, confused. It was strange, as the truck had always been our practice car.
"Because that's probably the car you'll get when your mom and I have enough money to buy you one, and Zack here is getting access to Cam's car when he's of age."
"Yeah. It's pretty cool," said Zack, looking at his father's car, an early 2010s Nissan Sedan. It was a nice car with a shiny, dark red coat. I told Zack how nice the car looked, and he thanked me for the compliment.
"This is kinda cool, actually," I said. "I kinda wanna learn to drive something other than the pickup."
"You have never driven the Mustang?" Zack asked, baffled.
"Are you crazy!?" I said, laughing. "This one here would kill me!"
"No, I wouldn't!" Dad exclaimed, a bit offended, "You are just not ready to drive that car."
"You barely let Mom drive it!" I exclaimed.
"But I do, don't I?" He said, crossing his arms, "You'll get your chance, too, when you're older, and I trust you won't crash it."
I shook my head, chuckling at that idea, as I very much doubt it. At that moment, Mr. Vinton came out of the house, running up the sleeves of his long tee. He waved at us and then shook Dad's hand.
"Hey!" He told us. "So, are we ready to go?"
Dad and I nodded, and we walked to the car. Mr. Vinton told Zack to get in the driver's seat while he opened the door for me to the passenger seat. He then said to us that he and Dad would sit in the back.
"Don't worry, if you get nervous, just stop, and we'll change seats," Mr. Vinton said. And so we went.
I sat next to Zack, while in the back seat, Mr. Vinton got closer to his son and instructed him to take the car out of the driveway.
It took Zack a good five minutes to do so, as he was nervous. Still, with his father giving him instructions and me cheering him on, he finally began driving the car up East 55th Street. Zack's dad then instructed him to go up South Santa Fe until he reached East 52nd Street, telling him to be careful as it was pretty busy.
"Oh God," Zack groaned under his breath. "Why do I have to do this?"
"Well, boy, you need to learn how to drive in the streets along with other cars," his dad told him. "Just relax and take your time."
"It's okay, just drive slowly," I said, patting him on the leg.
"But not too slow, or we are going to have another shoutfest in our hands," his father told him.
"Don't talk about that!" Zack exclaimed, horrified, blushing like a tomato.
I looked at him and smiled, but covered the smile with my hand as I didn't want him to think I was laughing at him. I actually thought that was both sad and cute.
"Oh, really? I'm sorry," I said. "That sounds so embarrassing."
"It was!" he exclaimed.
"Okay, calm down, boy," said his dad, rolling his eyes and patting his son's shoulder. "It wasn't that big of a deal."
We began slowly, going up South Santa Fe Avenue. As Zack was focusing on the road and not paying attention to anyone, I turned my head and started looking out the window. The day was like any other in Vernon, with a lovely sun above us and a few people walking on the sidewalk.
I began imagining that we were going up the empty streets of an abandoned town as a few old, derelict buildings appeared in view, standing on one side of the road.
"So what are we doing?" I heard Dad ask Mr. Vinton. "Are we going up the junction as we talked about yesterday?"
"Yep, I think going in S formation could be nice. Zack could do the first four, five streets, and Tammy the last ones before going up the bridge."
I turned my head back to see Dad taking out his cell phone and began looking at the screen.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Going through Google Maps," he said, not looking at me.
"Dad?" Zack asked, worried, and turned back to look at him. He was shaking nervously. His father got his body close to his seat and stroked his shoulder, trying to calm him.
"Just focus on turning left when you get to East 52nd Street. And remember to look before you turn, okay?"
Zack just nodded, not saying anything.
As we reached East 52nd Street, the car stopped for a while, and Zack turned to look for any incoming cars. Then turned the steering wheel and moved the car to the left, going into the street.
"See? Easy." His dad said, patting him again as an encouragement. "Now go up the street until you reach Alameda and turn right, then turn right again into East 51st Street."
"So we are going to go like this?" I asked Mr. Vinton, doing a little path with my fingers, to which he nodded.
"When will it be my turn?" I asked, beginning to understand the plan for the driving lesson.
"Zack will practice his parking on East 48th Street, and then it will be your turn." Mr. Vinton said. "You'll take us back. It's harder, but your dad tells me you have much more practice than the kid."
"Dad!" Zack exclaimed, getting red as a tomato again.
"Okay, cool," I told him, smiling. Although inside, I was nervous. I had more practice, but it was my first time showing someone else my abilities besides my father. I didn't want to screw it up.
It took us over ten minutes to do the whole path that had been instructed to Zack, as he would constantly stop for a while before going into the next stretch. But it was understandable to be nervous. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself even in an empty street.
Finally, we reached the end of the path and stopped at the red light at the intersection of South Santa Fe and East 48th, where Zack and I changed seats. I felt much more comfortable and excited when I sat in the driver's seat. I finally had control of the car. After a few minutes, Zack's slowness had begun to get on my nerves. I knew he was newer at this, but I was beginning to get the urge to pee, so I needed him to hurry up.
So I quickly put on my seatbelt, and as the lights changed, I hit the gas.
The car began moving faster up South Santa Fe, and I began to prepare myself mentally for my part of the driving lesson. I assumed Dad had left the final streets for me as the path was not completely balanced, with some streets being longer than others, and because we had to return through Alameda, which meant crossing the train line, which was in use that day.
I don't think Zack would have handled worrying about the train well.
"Wow, you are doing great," Zack told me, looking at me with admiration.
I smiled at him and sighed, trying to keep my focus on the road.
We passed a few houses and a school, which served the small Vernon population. We also passed many parking lots and company buildings of all styles, including one company I had always seen as the most exciting thing in the city. It was a seafood company that held a firetruck on the top of its roof, and it had a large piece of the old New York subway train close to its parking lot. I think it worked as a restaurant; I wasn't sure, but it was certainly a curious sight.
In the end, my part of the driving lessons mostly breezed by, except when I had to wait a few moments for the train to pass. That indeed made me uneasy, having to stand there as the train cars moved so close to us that they made the car shake.
Soon, I felt a pat on my knee and looked down to see Zack's hand. He mimicked the gestures I gave him, so I smiled, blushing a little. He was trying to be nice and supportive, and I thought it was so cute.
Finally, I went back down through Alameda and up East 57th Street, ready to leave the car and walk to a bathroom. I had enough practice for today and felt everybody else was ready to stop, too, so I tried to do it as quickly as possible.
As we drove back to the Vintons' house and got closer to the shop, I noticed someone outside. A dark car was parked, and two people were looking inside the window of the main building.
"Dad," I said, trying to call for his attention, "Dad, look."
"Cam?" I heard Dad say, and Mr. Vinton told me to stop the car right there. It took me a few minutes to park the car as I was still a bit bad at it, but when I felt I was okay, I stopped, and everybody got out.
A tall black man and a small Hispanic woman were looking around the shop, seemingly looking for someone inside. They wore elegant suits, and when Mr. Vinton asked them what they were looking for, they introduced themselves as Detective Hudson and Díaz from the Los Angeles Police.
"L.A.P.D?" Dad asked, and they nodded.
"Are you Mr. Cameron Vinton?" the tall detective asked.
"Yes, that's me," Mr. Vinton told him. The man shook his hand.
"We are working on an investigation into illegal street racing, and the name Vinton Vintage Cars came up," the detective said.
"What?" I asked, shocked, and Zack gasped.
We then looked at each other, laughing nervously as we suspected it was related to the incident that had happened the week before.
"Alright?" Mr. Vinton asked, "What does illegal racing have to do with my shop?"
"Nothing, for now," the small Hispanic woman told him, moving forward. "We are looking for a lead on a car, and we thought you might know something, as your shop works on vintage cars, and it's close to the scene of the incident. Could you help us?"
"Oh, Sure!" Mr. Vinton exclaimed.
He then pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He invited the detectives in to be more comfortable as they talked, and they thanked him.
I looked at Zack and at Dad, not knowing what to do.
It seemed Dad didn't know either, and he entered the building, probably to ask Mr. Vinton if he should stay or leave. Dad and Mr. Vinton talked as the detectives walked around the building, looking at things in the tiny car museum, touching them, and laughing as they whispered to each other.
Suddenly, I heard Zack's voice and turned to look at him. He looked into the building, his eyes focused on the two detectives.
"Do you think they are talking about the car in the video?" He asked me.
"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "Maybe?"
"Should we go in and listen?" He asked, turning to me.
Zack looked like he was urged to go inside and listen to whatever the detectives wanted to discuss with his father.
"I don't know if it's wise to spy on them, and I still need to use the bathroom, so.." I said, a bit embarrassed.
He laughed at that.
"Then let me walk you, dummy," he said, waving his hand. "Come on."
After using the small bathroom in the back of the garage, we returned to the building, walking in through the front door. Mr. Vinton looked intrigued by what the detectives were telling him, but he clearly looked like a man who didn't have many answers.
"Are you sure?" Detective Díaz asked Mr. Vinton, who moved to the counter in the back and picked up some folders, looking inside them.
"We haven't received any cars like that in the last few months. The last few cars we repaired were a Fairlane, a Corvette, and a Beetle," Mr. Vinton said, and he opened the side door to the garage, showing the police the cars being fixed.
The two detectives got up to look at them.
"As you see, we now have an El Camino and a Thunderbird, but the cars are still being fixed," Mr. Vinton added.
"What are you talking about?" Asked Zack, walking to the counter.
"The detectives here are asking for a car. They think it might have come here for repairs in the last few months," he said, "but I don't remember anything like it."
"What kind of car?"
"Vintage, dark, maybe black." Detective Hudson told Zack as he sat back down, "The witness of the incident said it looked old, maybe mid-century."
Zack's dad shook his head as he looked into the old registry. Zack stood there, thinking about it, then glanced at his dad, a bit hesitant in his answer.
"The last one that looked like that was the Plymouth Fury. It was dark, but it was blue," Zack said.
"That's right. 1961," Mr. Vinton said as he looked for the car's registry.
Detective Hudson looked at his partner and then at Mr. Vinton, seemingly interested.
"When was this?" He asked.
Mr. Vinton looked at the registry of the car and said, "Mid-January, on the seventeenth."
"Could it be possible that the car looked black because it happened at night?" The detective asked his partner, who thought about it.
Then he looked back at Mr. Vinton and asked, "Could the car have changed colors since then? Or is it something that you need to do in a special shop?"
"I mean, if you want a decent job, you need a vintage shop," Dad told them. "You could screw something up, and vintage cars are expensive."
"Interesting," Detective Diaz said. "Maybe it changed its colors after they realized they could be recognized."
Detective Hudson nodded at his partner.
"Here," Mr. Vinton told the detectives as he took a small folder from a drawer. He gave them the folder and indicated it was a copy of the papers regarding the Chrysler. According to him, the papers included the owner's name, plate, and phone numbers.
"Well, thank you," said Detective Hudson, taking the folder. "We will make a copy and return it to you as soon as possible."
"Is this about the crash on Friday? Or?" Zack then asked.
"Perhaps," the female detective said, looking at Zack with mistrust, "how do you know about it?"
"A friend's dad sent us a video of the crash," he answered.
"And I saw something in the video that looked like another car," I added, raising my hand.
Detective Hudson and Diaz asked Zack to show them the video, and he did. After pointing at the spot where the car was supposed to show up, they thanked Zack and asked him if he could send them a copy of the video. Zack agreed, and they did the small exchange through the cloud.
After that, they explained that they were talking about the incident before Friday, the one in Central Alameda. As the crash in Fruitland had no survivors, the investigation began with the victims of the first crash, who mentioned the car.
"Do you think both are connected then?" I asked them.
"They seem to be connected. Especially after what happened on Sunday," Detective Díaz said.
"Wait, what happened on Sunday?" Mr. Vinton asked.
We all, especially Zack and I, leaned closer to the counter, intrigued.
"We are not completely free to discuss, but it seems there was another incident connected to the investigation," Detective Hudson said, "this time close to Redondo Junction."
"What happened?" Dad asked, but the detectives were not budging.
Detective Díaz shook her head.
"As we said, we can't talk about it," she said, looking at us. "But it happened last night, so it will probably appear in tonight's news."
"Jesus!" Mr. Vinton exclaimed, "This is getting out of control."
"Indeed," Detective Hudson agreed.
"Well, we need to go back home," Mr. Vinton sighed and looked at Dad. He then stretched his hand to Detective Hudson. "But you are welcome to come back and ask whatever you need about any other leads you find. We are here to help you."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Vinton," Detective Hudson said, shaking his hand, "we'll be in touch."
Both detectives got up from the barstools and walked towards the door.
"By the way, this museum is quite nice, small but fascinating," Detective Diaz said.
"Well, thank you, miss," Mr. Vinton said. "You can come back anytime you want and take pictures."
As Zack's dad walked out with both detectives, accompanying them to their car, I stayed behind with my father and Zack.
"You think the news will give details about the new incident?" I asked Zack, and he shrugged.
"Hopefully. If not, I'm googling it," he told me. "This is too freaky to pass out."
"It is, and it creeps me out," I said, then laughed softly. "But at the same time, I'm so intrigued."
It was true. A third incident in less than a month could spell trouble, especially if directly connected to the other two. I wanted to know why such things were happening here from all places.
Dad then told me it was time for us to go, as we needed to pick up the fast food we would eat for lunch.
I then said goodbye to Zack, holding his hand for a few seconds. The touch startled him but made him smile. I then waved goodbye as we walked away.
As my father and I returned to our car, I looked behind me to see the detective's car begin to drive away. As their vehicle passed us, I wondered if we would ever see them again, hoping we would. I wanted to know more about their investigation.
I just never guessed it would be so soon.