Chapter Two: A Camaro is a Camaro

Sam stood beside her father outside of the main building of the car dealership. She really couldn't believe her rotten luck. She'd been working her ass off to earn what money she had and her father had the nerve to bring her to this rat hole instead of the dealership across town where she had already seen a Dodge Neon in her price range and in good condition. It wasn't like she hadn't mentioned it to him before. No, he just wanted to torture her, she was convinced of that.

The man that walked out of the battered building was not an attractive man by any means, either by looks or by the feelings he was giving off. The first words that Sam could equate to this man in her mind were 'sleaze-ball' and 'suck-ass'. He had dirty deep brown skin that made him look like he rolled around in motor oil only a few minutes before and wore tacky tropical tourist clothes. His tan and slightly dirtied hat sat upon his head crookedly.

"How are you folks today?" The man asked in a raspy, accented voice. Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes at the usual dealership-man cheeriness.

"Fine, fine." Her father assured him, a hard smile on his lips. "We're here looking for my daughter's first car."

"Even though I already had one in mind." She snorted out, turning her head away from the two men. Out of the corner of her eyes she caught her father sending her a look, but she didn't care. She wasn't buying one of these crap cars under any circumstances. She wasn't going to look like her Aunt Maude who drove a literally shit-smeared Gremlin.

Nope, not going to happen.

"First car 'eh?" The black man inquired with a nasty smile. He reached out his hand to shake her father's. "Name's Bobby Bolivia. You can call me Uncle Bobby B. It'd be my pleasure to help you today." When her father smiled back Sam laughed out loud, shook her head, and stalked off. If she had to look around the lot of shit cars she wasn't about to do it with her father and a conniving salesman trailing her.

With a groan she circled the car lot. All of the cars were deserving of a junk yard for a permanent retirement. Some of them looked like they didn't even have a single piece in them anywhere that could be salvaged. They were all dirty, covered in mounds of dust. It was nearly comedic because some of the cars had stickers on them proclaiming them to be 'clean' or 'just like new'.

Her heels clicked on the uneven concrete lot as she trailed her fingers mindlessly over the dust covered vehicles. She really only took time to stand still and ponder a couple of the vehicles that could have potential if she had the spare funds to completely fix them up. She was about to peruse the '71 canary yellow Volkswagen Beetle when something else caught her eye.

A true smile crept up unbidden on her lips as she clicked her way to the car neighboring the Beetle. It was a Camaro, mustard yellow in color with twin black racing striped trailing down its frame. She fingered the hood carefully, taking in any and all rust spots and faded paint chippings. Squinting her eyes in concentration she took a guess that the car was probably from around the mid-seventies, maybe a '76. She rounded it a few times, stopping once at the rear license plate. A smirk tugged into her features as she read '487-BEE'.

"A Bumblebee." She muttered as she moved to the driver's side door. The door opened easily without a single screech of metal or crunch signifying its age. With a pleased grin she slid into the car shutting the door firmly behind her.

She sunk down into the yellow and black leather seats as if they were made from that temperpedic foam conforming to her body perfectly. She traced her manicured fingers over the steering wheel marveling at how she just seemed to fit with this car. A strange symbol sat almost proudly in the center of the wheel, a square red face of sorts that she had a feeling meant something grand and great. She let her nail trace the lines of the face before leaning further back into the seat to take in the hanging ornaments above the mirror. 'Bee-Otch' bumblebee cardboard piece and a disco ball. She chuckled a little, convinced that those two pieces had to go.

That's when it hit her. She wanted this car. The Neon was long since gone from her mind only to be replaced by this Camaro. She was already making a mental list of what she needed to do to clean the car and get it on the road.

"Sam?" She jolted at her father's voice beside the driver's side door. She gave him a heartfelt smile.

"I think I found it." She laughed, running her hands over the wheel again. With that her father stood back to take the vehicle in full. After a minute even he was smiling.

"You always did have a knack for picking 'em, didn't you?" He asked more of himself than her. His gaze quickly shifted to Bolivia who had a confused look on his face as he looked over the car himself. He almost looked as if he had never seen the Camaro before. "How much?"

"Well, uh…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his head with one grubby hand. Finally he shrugged his shoulders as if coming to a decision and grinned to them. "Five-thousand." Both she and her father frowned.

"I'm not paying any more than four." Ron assured the man with a grumble.

"Then you don't get the car." Bolivia bent down, resting his hands on the passenger side door to look in at her. "Come on kid, get out of the car."

"No way!" She crowed, crossing her arms stubbornly. "You can't ask for five-thousand for this!"

"Sure I can. Due to its semi-classic nature and custom paint job…" Sam didn't give him a chance to finish as she shook her head furiously.

"What? It was custom faded?" She shot back. The man scowled at her.

"The body alone of a Camaro is worth four-thousand. Now get out of the car." With that he stood back up and backed away from the car. Sam had the urge to get out and slap the man silly, but refrained. In order to do that she would have to leave the comforts of the car she was determined to be hers.

"Come on, Sam. There's a Fiesta over here that you can afford and it's in alright shape." Her father tried coaxing her away from her new baby. She was convinced that this was her baby. No one else was going to have it.

"I don't want a Fiesta, Dad. I want this car." She moved to get out of the car to check under the hood, perhaps to find something that she could use to make the price get knocked down some, but the door stuck. She checked the locks, but they weren't down signaling that the door should open. She shoved and wrenched at the door, but it did nothing. Her gaze flickered to her father. "It's stuck. I got in all right, but now the door's stuck."

Both Bolivia and her father worked from the outside to try and get the door to open. Neither muscle, leverage, nor foul explicates were enough to get the door to so much as creak. The two men backed away from the door before Bolivia waved his hands in surrender in the air.

"Just climb out through the window, kid." He ordered with a scowl. She gave him a questioning look. Did he not see that she was in a skirt and high heels earlier? Or did he want a free show? Maybe he was just that stupid?

"Just do it, Sam. The door's obviously not going to open." He father assured her.

"Yet another reason that it would be four-thousand." She spoke aloud to both men before readying herself to slide out through the window. Just as she braced her hands on the sill the door pushed open and flung into Bolivia's legs. The man grunted in pain, stumbling backwards. Sam had to cover her mouth with her hands to stifle her laughter.

"Guess it came unstuck." Ron chortled, his chest heaving with poorly contained mirth. Bolivia shot them both a fierce look. Sam got out with a smile before heading to the front of the car to look under the hood. This time it was her turn to grunt when the thing wouldn't cooperate and open. "That stuck, too?"

"Apparently." She grumbled, turning to sit on the hood with one heeled foot propped onto the front bumper. "I'm telling you, this car shouldn't be five-thousand, Camaro or not. The way it looks it's got more problems than is worth the funds to fix." She shot Bolivia a pointed look. His mouth opened about to retort when static filled the air, followed closely by the radio. Lady Gaga's Money Honey came in loud and clear.

"When you give me k-kisses,

That's money, honey.

When I'm your lover and your mistress,

That's money, honey.

When you touch me it's so delicious,

That's money, honey.

Baby, when you tear me to pieces,

That's money, honey."

"See, look, even the radio is busted!" She laughed out loud at the irony of the situation, not even trying to contemplate why the song somehow seemed to fit the situation at hand. Bolivia just shook his head, motioning for the Fiesta in the back of the lot.

"It doesn't matter, kid. A Camaro is a Camaro and it's not my fault you have a cheap-ass father." Both of them stiffened at this. Father and daughter passed a look to each other before Sam sighed, stood up and away from the car she really wanted, and followed her father to where his Ford was parked by the sidewalk. Damn the Fiesta. She'd go beg to her mother to pay the extra thousand for the Camaro before she drove that piece of crap.

"I'm sorry Mister Bolivia, but you've just lost your customers. Have a pleasant afternoon." Ron shouted over his shoulder as they moved. Sam was inwardly kicking herself, dismaying at her misfortune. It just figured, after finally deciding that she didn't want the Neon that was now the car she was going to be stuck with. Part of the deal with her father had been that she'd pay for the car herself with no outside help. No matter how much she wanted the Camaro, she didn't have the extra cash to tell the salesman to stuff it.

As she walked away she grumbled inwardly. Nothing ever went right in her life.

Just behind her she heard the radio tune once more, but this time it was accompanied not by static and music, but a loud shrill sound. Instantly she covered her ears and bowed her head down. Not ten seconds later glass shattered all around them as if the area had been hit with a sonic boom. All three of them gaped open-mouthed as they stared at the parked cars. Every single one of them had the windows blown out, except one…

"Four-thousand!" Bolivia shouted behind them as they stared open-mouthed at the whole Camaro. If Sam didn't know any better she would have claimed that the car was sitting there almost smugly pleased with itself.

Hell, she could claim that same self-arrogance herself right about now.

Note: Things are going to start to change a bit from here on out. I'll post again in a week or less. Please review.