Asphalt Dreams

"I've never won at anything in life. I want this one chance to prove myself." Chuck knew he was dreaming, even though it was ludicrous to really think so.

"And you think ... racing is the way to realize this goal?" Lucifer sniffed significantly. "What's in it for me?"

"Well, my soul."

Lucifer looked at Chuck as if he was entertaining a child. "That's a given, Chuck. I don't know if you've been paying attention, but the stakes have been raised lately."

Chuck cleared his throat, not wanting to fumble over this part like a drunk on a country road. "All the Glory. All of it. After I finish the race in first place, I'll let everyone know it was because of you."

That got Lucifer's attention, even though the devil didn't try very hard to conceal it. "Very well. You'll get first place in that race and I'll keep you alive long enough to give all the praise to me." Lucifer smiled to seal the deal, knowing full well that the price Chuck would have to pay for this little vainglory would never satiate the fleeting glimpse of that checkered flag.

---

On the first lap, Chuck just eased the car around the track--lighting the fires and kicking the tires. He had about as much chance as a convertible full of college coeds making it through Daytona without one DUI. Except he thought he had an ace up his sleeve--that whole conversation with Lucifer might just have been a dream after all. Only one way to find out, though.

Jamming the clutch down, he hard-shifted into 2nd, driving his boot down on the gas. The rest of the pack was already well ahead of him, their cars souped up through their corporate sponsorship and primed with traces of nitro. Still, Chuck's car wasn't some jalopy kept around back to impress tourists--the engine roared to life, bringing with it the familiar tinge of oil and gas mixing together like old lovers. The crowd passed by on his right, already one person blurring into the next, their cheers urging the drivers onward.

Ten laps in and Chuck decided it was time to put the pedal to the metal and test out ol' Fork-tongued's promise firsthand. Gravity pressed on his chest like an engine bloc resting against struts as his car moved forward faster than he'd ever gotten it in the pretrial laps. Amazingly, the tires clung to the track the same way a mountain-climber scales a cliff. The windshield buffeted most of the wind, but there was a hell of a racket going on outside based on his increased speed.

Twenty laps later, Chuck's crew told him "Now!" would be a good time to replace the tires and top off the fluids. With a smirk that was only visible under his helmet, Chuck told his crew, in no uncertain terms, to shove that up the backside of a dirty carburetor the next chance they got.

For the time being, as his fuel gauge continued to drop precipitously, Chuck was just enjoying the ride. He was still a couple laps behind the leaders, but his luck would change for the better--he was more sure of it now. Like the widow that gave to the angel and her store grew the next morning, Chuck knew that the devil would have to come through on his end of the bargain and replenish that gas supply. By the looks of it, lickety-split.

Chuck glanced in his side-mirrors and noticed an odd peculiarity: some demon with a flayed-open mouth was eyeing back at him. Checking the other side-mirror, he discovered a similar visage. Chuck nearly screamed in terror and wet himself like a leaky gasket until he realized what they were doing. Bracing themselves against his rear bumper, they were making sure his car didn't stop or seize up when the gas ran out. They didn't appear particularly pleased to be called upon for this duty.

Of course, no one else could see this happening. All they saw was Chuck's car slowly inching its way up the track, gradually overtaking the other stragglers. Chuck's mind entered a new state it seemed, as he was suddenly able to make out other strange creatures assisting in the race. Dale's car, for instance, had a couple burly angelic fellows assisting him in the turn, while Frank's had one in the front pushing against his hood to slow him down as someone tried to sideswipe him.

Several cars up ahead converged into each other on the turn, creating a massive fireball and conflagration of burning steel. Chuck had no choice but to drive through it. The fire ripped at his car, reaching out its fingers to latch onto his clothing, but Chuck made it through okay, checking to make sure the two demons were still intact. His tires bled fire along the roadway, lending validation to the sight that he was literally burning up the track with his speed.

He was on the tail of the leaders now, swerving this way and that, trying to find passage. Chuck looked over to the demon on his left, trying to see if it knew of some move to overtake this guy when, all of a sudden, the car braked. Chuck's car cranked right into the side of the other car, wrenching his forward motion to the right. One of the demons shouted a curse as it was flung sideways, cart-wheeling into the stands. Miraculously, the other demon held steadfast, grunting as it slid Chuck's car back into position.

By this time, the rubber from his tires had melted onto the roadway and Chuck's car was now trailing a series of sparks that only a master welder could duplicate. It shouldn't be possible to still be going this fast, but he was cutting into the track with his rims while at the same time passing up the remaining leaders.

Looking back and seeing the steadfast resolve in the demon's eyes which reflected his own, Chuck gripped his smoldering steering wheel, gritted his charred teeth, and leaned into the turn. The final lap saw a host of angels, no doubt being summoned by child's prayers, descend onto the speedway, bolstering their charges' vehicles up and straining to get them across the finish line. Armed with his one demon, whose tendons were standing out on its neck like ventilator hoses, Chuck knew it was now or never.

The wind whipped by, carrying with it equal parts angelic cries of exhortation and burning wrecks of metal strewn along the road. His battered rims spat up asphalt like an angry God, raining brimstone on the other drivers fighting to overtake him. Chuck inadvertently began praying, noticed his speed decrease, then switched over to praying to the other one--this increased his speed and earned a good-humored chuckle from the demon behind him.

With a cry of pleasure and pain, Chuck and his demon-enabled car slammed across the finish line, the checkered flag waving haphazardly to signify his photo-finish win.

"That was probably the worst piece of driving I've ever witnessed," the announcer said to Chuck, as he stood on the platform accepting the trophy. His demon was standing behind him, trying to look disinterested.

"Well, I couldn't have ... I couldn't have done it without ..." Chuck gestured behind him, where the demon was seriously trying not to look him in the eye now. Chuck's own filled with tears of gratitude and admiration, streaking down his face like two cars racing along a highway. Though he was to be tortured for life everlasting, nothing would pry away the memory of him and his demon battling and winning one against the odds.

He could really do without the constant pain, though.