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She woke as the fingers of the dawn light reached through the curtains...curtains that she slowly realised were not her own. Her eyes opened wide in shock, and she froze as she heard the sound of gentle snoring beside her.
Slowly the memories of the previous evening came back to her...the meeting at the distribution company to investigate the mysterious patterns found in the sides of the large plastic boat hulls...the attempted theft of the top secret moulding technology that allowed her company to make the lighter than expected balloon baskets and which gave the factory team their advantage...the irony that even though the burglar had been blown off the roof by an abandoned 30,000 cfm fan left over from an abortive propulsion experiment, the BB from her date's gun had still hit the felon, and now Blaine was in custody, facing charges for murder; she doubted that the jury would be able to understand the intricate mathematical proof that the man was as good as dead before the BB hit him.
Slowly she slipped from the bed, without waking the sleeper, who still bore the faint burn mark on his cheek. She slipped into her blue silk dress, a dress that was now very creased; she would drop it into the drycleaners that afternoon, she decided. With her high-heeled sandles in her hand, she padded silently from the room.
When she reached her car, old AMC Gremlin, she sat for a while gazing out across the bay; the effect of the sun rising behind her and the delicate fern-like patterns of the dried salt on her windscreen added an otherworldly feel to the morning. Sighing, she slipped the key into the ignition and turned it; nothing happened. Startled, she tried again. Nothing. Sighing she looked through the salt-pattern windscreen, then got out to open the bonnet.
Donning the overalls, gloves and boots she kept in the boot, she wrestled the distributor cap off and emptied most of the contents of a can of WD40 over it and the rest of the car's electrics. While she waited for the penetrant to sink it, she paced up and down, the silk moving sensuously against her body beneath the workman-like overalls, with the result that her...<snip>
She walked back to the car, slightly breathless from the various effects of her pacings, and reached into the engine bay to replace the cap. In the morning light she couldn't see the spark, but she heard the crack of electricity as the silk induced static build-up earthed. The car started; thank heavens she always left it in park!
(c) ER Literary Production 2007
Originally Posted in "Why won't the Car Start?"
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Re: Episode Two - Starting Trouble
