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fic_promptly's any, any, demolition derby. Angelo Colasanto/Jack Harkness, set in the Team Albany RP AU
"Mister Rothstein won't be pleased if you get oil in the truck and it gets into the barrels," Angelo said, as the two of them winched the motor out of the back of the truck which he and Jack normally used for shipments from Canada.
"Rothstein's bowtie is gonna spin around with delight when he knows what we got here," Jack said, grinning, as they winched the motor clear of the truck's cargo bay so that it now hung from the roof of the garage where they worked on this secret project.
"What *do* we have here, for that matter?" Angelo asked, eying the motor. The engine block looked different, bulkier than the four cylinder currently under the hood of the truck.
"V-8 engine," Jack said, taking a rag from his pocket and wiping his hands. "Told you the guy I knew could get us something that'd make this baby run like the wind."
Angelo looked from the engine block slung from the roof toward the nose of the truck. "If you say so."
They spent the better part of the next few days -- thankfully short on work -- gutting the original engine block from the truck, then lowering the airplane engine into its place. Then between the two of them, they managed to bolt the new motor into place, though linking it up to the fuel lines and linkage meant calling in a girl Jack knew who could knock together the right parts to make up the difference. Even after a test run on the back roads, Angelo still regarded the results dubiously, until they got a chance to give the contraption its baptism of fire: a load of whiskey that had slipped in by way of Buffalo.
The truck handled like a horse tugging on a short rein. Angelo, in the driver's seat glanced at Jack. "Is this engine too powerful for this truck?" he asked.
Jack, sitting in the shotgun seat, chuckled indulgently, and the amber lights from the dashboard dials showed his mischievous smile. "So concerned all of a sudden? You once told me you wanted to go as fast as you could as far as you could," he said. He leaned in closer. "Now's your chance."
The man he had been, who'd gone to prison the year before had had a different heart, Angelo would admit, but not to Jack, not when his lover gave him that infectious, conspiratorial grin. He shoved back the objection, that someone might get suspicious of a truck going fast on these dark roads.
They passed a soft drink billboard lit with sodium lamps, and as if on cue, a car pulled out from its shadow. The headlights loomed up behind them, whiting out the side mirrors. Retaliating, Angelo darted a smirk at Jack and hitting the clutch stamped on the accelerator, slamming the truck into higher gear. The truck tires yowled as if in challenge and the truck bounded forward, heaving over the ruts, peeling away from their tail. The car behind them hesitated, its headlamps fading to pinpoints behind them.
"Yes! We stunned 'em!" Jack cheered. "I don't think he believes what he saw." No sooner had he said this, when the headlamps of the tail swelled.
"Too soon, pazzo," Angelo snapped, leaning forward in his seat as if this would somehow make the truck go faster. The headlamps of the tail swelled, then faded, surged again as the car tried to catch up. Angelo darted a look to the speedometer, the needle all the way in the red and bouncing as if it would go further if it could.
Jack stuck his head out the shotgun window. "Eat our dust!" he yelled, ducking back in a split second before a tree branch banged against the side of the truck.
"I hope they find it tasty," Angelo cried, delighted, playing off Jack's retort.
Their tail tried again, the headlamps growing brighter, then slewing to the side, as if the car would try and come up alongside them. They felt a thump and the truck jostled on the road. Angelo felt the front shotgun wheel pull toward the ditch, but he jerked the wheel to the left. The rear of the truck fishtailed and hit the car, sending it careening into the trees on the opposite side of the road.
"One less Prohibition agent," Jack said, sinking back into his seat. "I think we just invented the demolition derby twenty years early."
fic_promptly's any, any, demolition derby. Angelo Colasanto/Jack Harkness, set in the Team Albany RP AU"Mister Rothstein won't be pleased if you get oil in the truck and it gets into the barrels," Angelo said, as the two of them winched the motor out of the back of the truck which he and Jack normally used for shipments from Canada.
"Rothstein's bowtie is gonna spin around with delight when he knows what we got here," Jack said, grinning, as they winched the motor clear of the truck's cargo bay so that it now hung from the roof of the garage where they worked on this secret project.
"What *do* we have here, for that matter?" Angelo asked, eying the motor. The engine block looked different, bulkier than the four cylinder currently under the hood of the truck.
"V-8 engine," Jack said, taking a rag from his pocket and wiping his hands. "Told you the guy I knew could get us something that'd make this baby run like the wind."
Angelo looked from the engine block slung from the roof toward the nose of the truck. "If you say so."
They spent the better part of the next few days -- thankfully short on work -- gutting the original engine block from the truck, then lowering the airplane engine into its place. Then between the two of them, they managed to bolt the new motor into place, though linking it up to the fuel lines and linkage meant calling in a girl Jack knew who could knock together the right parts to make up the difference. Even after a test run on the back roads, Angelo still regarded the results dubiously, until they got a chance to give the contraption its baptism of fire: a load of whiskey that had slipped in by way of Buffalo.
The truck handled like a horse tugging on a short rein. Angelo, in the driver's seat glanced at Jack. "Is this engine too powerful for this truck?" he asked.
Jack, sitting in the shotgun seat, chuckled indulgently, and the amber lights from the dashboard dials showed his mischievous smile. "So concerned all of a sudden? You once told me you wanted to go as fast as you could as far as you could," he said. He leaned in closer. "Now's your chance."
The man he had been, who'd gone to prison the year before had had a different heart, Angelo would admit, but not to Jack, not when his lover gave him that infectious, conspiratorial grin. He shoved back the objection, that someone might get suspicious of a truck going fast on these dark roads.
They passed a soft drink billboard lit with sodium lamps, and as if on cue, a car pulled out from its shadow. The headlights loomed up behind them, whiting out the side mirrors. Retaliating, Angelo darted a smirk at Jack and hitting the clutch stamped on the accelerator, slamming the truck into higher gear. The truck tires yowled as if in challenge and the truck bounded forward, heaving over the ruts, peeling away from their tail. The car behind them hesitated, its headlamps fading to pinpoints behind them.
"Yes! We stunned 'em!" Jack cheered. "I don't think he believes what he saw." No sooner had he said this, when the headlamps of the tail swelled.
"Too soon, pazzo," Angelo snapped, leaning forward in his seat as if this would somehow make the truck go faster. The headlamps of the tail swelled, then faded, surged again as the car tried to catch up. Angelo darted a look to the speedometer, the needle all the way in the red and bouncing as if it would go further if it could.
Jack stuck his head out the shotgun window. "Eat our dust!" he yelled, ducking back in a split second before a tree branch banged against the side of the truck.
"I hope they find it tasty," Angelo cried, delighted, playing off Jack's retort.
Their tail tried again, the headlamps growing brighter, then slewing to the side, as if the car would try and come up alongside them. They felt a thump and the truck jostled on the road. Angelo felt the front shotgun wheel pull toward the ditch, but he jerked the wheel to the left. The rear of the truck fishtailed and hit the car, sending it careening into the trees on the opposite side of the road.
"One less Prohibition agent," Jack said, sinking back into his seat. "I think we just invented the demolition derby twenty years early."
