Brothers of the Milky Way

Brothers of the Milky Way Tim Adams Blue Tower Press P.O. Box 12009 San Francisco, California 94112 www.bluetowerpress.com © Copyright 2013 by Timothy Rittman Adams. Library of Congress registration TXu-1-853-768 as Brothers of Heaven. Based on an earlier novel by the same author: The Adventures of Hank Kruzenski, or The Image of Red Cloud, © copyright 1991, registration TXu 469 668. This electronic edition of Brothers of the Milky Way is available online at bluetowerpress.com under a Creative Commons At- tribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. This is a work of fiction that includes some real-life people and events, and several chapters set in a real-life contest. Detailed information can be found in the Fact and Fiction section. Book cover photograph of freeway by Robby Schulze; photograph of stars by John Fowler. Author photograph courtesy Tim Adams. Table of Contents Chapter One ..................................... 1 Chapter Two ................................... 19 Chapter Three ................................. 37 Chapter Four .................................. 49 Chapter Five ................................... 60 Chapter Six ..................................... 68 Chapter Seven ................................ 75 Chapter Eight ............................... 103 Chapter Nine ................................ 134 Chapter Ten .................................. 146 Chapter Eleven ............................. 152 Chapter Twelve ............................. 155 Chapter Thirteen........................... 197 Chapter Fourteen.......................... 213 Chapter Fifteen ............................ 221 Chapter Sixteen ............................ 241 Chapter Seventeen ........................ 246 Chapter Eighteen ......................... 257 Chapter Nineteen ......................... 268 Chapter Twenty ............................ 276 Chapter Twenty-One ................... 288 Chapter Twenty-Two .................... 292 Chapter Twenty-Three .................. 308 Chapter Twenty-Four ................... 323 Chapter Twenty-Five .................... 384 Afterword ..................................... 388 Fact and Fiction ............................ 396 Dedication and Thanks ................. 398 Part I Brothers of the Milky Way Chapter One The only reason a joker like me got a lead on the big famous Cuauhtémoc cup that Saturday is that I drove my ‘Cuda out to Fiesta Speedway for the weekly drag races they used to run back there in the seventies. And the only reason I did that was that I was an Asphalt Monarch. I’d got the Monarchs flier announcing the Vulcan of Speed cylinder head giveaway, and figured out the clue on KBXC, and thought I stood as good a chance of walking away with those heads as anyone in NorCal. Well, I didn’t get the heads. My hated foe Earl Howser got them, and I met up with an unnatural human spawn of Bigfoot and a Kodiak bear, and that monster clobbered me so bad I can sometimes still feel the spot on my jaw where he slugged me. As you’ll see shortly. I lost that hand, in life’s big poker game. I admit it. But what I drew instead was the missing card for a king high straight flush in one of the biggest hands ever played on earth. Because I never would have got the lead on the Cuauhtémoc cup if I hadn’t gone chasing after those heads, and next to the cup the heads and the Hope Diamond and the Star of India and the damn Koh-I-Noor put together wasn’t worth four plastic toys out of a Cracker Jack box. It was bare minimum the single most important object ever to come out of the ancient Americas, just like Logos said, with rumors and myths and legends swirling about it clear back to the Civil War, and at least half the rumors claimed it had mysterioso psychic and supernatural powers. Which no one could prove or disprove one way or the other. Because no one had any idea where it was. No one, that was, except me. Thanks to what I saw at Fiesta. I was the sport who got the big lead on it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I better back up. • • • The cylinder head kit in the giveaway was the Vulcan of Speed model, only one notch below the full race Empyrean of Speed model in the Mr. C. Engineering catalog. You didn’t get the roller rocker arms or the titanium intake valves. Everything [ 1 ] Chapter One else was in there. One piece stainless valves, double springs, titanium retainers, and the main course: the C Engineering limited edition modification of the Sebring casting, with the relocated exhaust and the custom porting. It said in the catalog that a per- sonally designated apprentice of legendary chief C team engineer Boss Maryland inspected every head in the Vulcan series. Exclusively for the B and RB series Mopar big block. If you wanted free heads for your ‘Stang or your rat motor Chevelle, you got to wait for another contest. “Stay tuned to KBXC for more information.” That was the only clue. That, and that the giveaway would be within one week. I got the Asphalt Monarchs flier announcing the giveaway on Tuesday afternoon, right before my swing shift at Hardy’s. Right away I told myself not to pull a cardiac, because I knew instantaneously what a major rod I had for those Vulcans and what a dim shot I had at actually getting them. But by mid-shift at Hardy’s I was so hot and bothered that I was putting go-backs on the wrong shelves and mixing up all my cash register codes. The Mopar B series wasmy engine. At least half the Mr. C giveaways was for Chevy parts. What was the odds that he’d have a giveaway practically in my back yard, and it would be for top of the line heads that would bolt right onto my block? I hunted up KBXC on the FM band and zeroed in the Al- pine in my ‘Cuda on it, and the clock alarm in my bedroom, too, and even hauled an old Magnavox into the crapper, so I could listen in while I sudsed up my chiseled Grecian physique. It was a country station. My skin practically turned green from listening to old Merle and Tammy and George moan and slobber on their banjos, but I kept the volume up, just in case the DJ dropped the bomb in mid-song. By Wednesday I’d almost forgot that the giveaway was in a contest. Those heads was mine. You show me one Mopar rod- der who wouldn’t have sold nudie pix of Pat Nixon to Chairman Mao for those heads. Even if my block wasn’t ready. I didn’t even have a start on a second engine like I’d planned, ‘cause the block I’d got from that communist Logos had a crack in it. But still. If I got those Vulcans, I’d do something. Work triple shifts at Har- dy’s. Sell Mom into slavery. [ 2 ] Brothers of the Milky Way Just the look of those Vulcans. With all Vulcan of Speed class and Empyrean of Speed class heads, you got a special gold rocker arm cover imprinted with the Mr. C Professional Class logo, real tasteful and high class, with Security Torx fasteners and a mono- grammed wrench for your keychain. I could just see myself lining up for a bacon double cheese at Pilgrim’s, and in the next line there’s my ex main squeeze Cindy with her barfy new boyfriend Milt, who’s got a neck like a Pez dispenser and never washes his underwear, so there’s always a yellow ring around the collar, and I glance at them like I can hardly be bothered, and then acciden- tally on purpose drop the keychain on the counter while I fish out the change. So they can’t miss the Mr. C Professional Class monogram. Whoops. Oh, hi there, Cindy. Didn’t see you come in. Almost dropped my keys. Heh heh. Or it would happen in the parking lot. That was better. There’d Cindy be yakking with Milt, and maybe disgusting Earl Howser, who I’d hated since he’d pantsed me in seventh grade P.E., and I rumble in in my ‘Cuda, and Cindy kind of sneers, but they all notice how strong my ‘Cuda sounds, ‘cause I’ve got the new engine in there that I’d build around the Vulcans. With my hood off. Why not? Just leave the hood in the garage. And I don’t even look at Cindy when I pull in. Like I can hardly be bothered, like my life is so different now that I’m a Vulcans owner, but I can feel their eyes on me, ‘cause my ‘Cuda sounds like a damn C Team Kydra, practically, and I rev the engine a little before I shut it down. Just a little blip rev, like an accident. Then walk in without looking at them. And, Jack, I know, I know, that they’re all going to walk over to my ‘Cuda and check out those gleaming gold rocker arm covers while I’m inside getting my bacon double cheese, and reading the logo. Mr. C Professional Class. Vulcan of Speed. Maybe then Cindy would think twice about telling her girlfriends that I wanted to be intimate without cleaning the engine crud out from my fingernails first, and that I didn’t stay up on my elbows. • • • The D.J. dropped the bomb on Saturday at 2:00 a.m., two hours into my graveyard shift at Hardy’s. I was restocking the [ 3 ] Chapter One pet care section on aisle 12, right under one of the store speakers. I’d talked Dirk into letting me dial in KBXC on the intercom. Of course he would have said no if he possibly could have, being Dirk, but nobody cared what you listened to in there after mid- night. It was all restocking. “And now, a special news item,” the D.J. said. “As many of you know, the great Mr.

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