<div class="floatleft">(http://i50.tinypic.com/xang9.jpg)</div><br/><div style="text-align: left;"><strong>Name:</strong> Cori Adams<br/><strong>Title:</strong> Fucking Skills<br/><strong>Location:</strong> The Puget Sound<br/><strong>Tags:</strong> Open <em>(likely none)</em><br/><hr/><br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button"> Two Fires</div><div class="spoiler_body">First things first, this car is approved by the GMs. Its not a super car, just super unique. Oh yeah, It has two V8's, one under the hood, and another in the trunk, because, yes, a Coupe De Ville's trunk is big enough.<br/>max speed: 185 MPH<br/>assumed horsepower: 470 (engines combine to almost 600, but, it's really fucking heavy, kind of a tank/car actually)<br/>total weight: 5009 lbs <br/>0-60: about five seconds, (depending on well she sync's the engines)<br/>trunk capacity: 19.6 cubic feet<br/><br/>(http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7101/7038520409_fbf60df035_z.jpg)<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u">The Specs</span><br/>1978 Cadillac Coupe De Ville body <br/>2010 paint job body work, new leather interior<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">1973 Chrysler 360 v8  that powers the front drive shaft</div><div class="spoiler_body"> <br/><div class="floatright">(http://i48.tinypic.com/2iuz6ae.jpg)</div>cubic inches: 360<br/>compression ratio: 9.3:1 (adjusted to be higher than company standard.)<br/>assumed horsepower: 295hp (supercharger, and compression adjustments)<br/>-manual transmission<br/>-fitted with a Lysholm twin screw supercharger<br/>-usually used for Dodge rams and other trucks<br/></div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">1968 Chrysler 340 V8 in the trunk powering the rear drive shaft</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://i48.tinypic.com/23w5too.jpg)</div>cubic inches: 340<br/>compression ratio: 10.5:1<br/>assumed horsepower: 275hp<br/>-automatic transmission<br/>-lightweight<br/>-double roller timing chain<br/>-high capacity oil pump</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">The supercharger</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/>(http://image.absoluteastronomy.com/images/encyclopediaimages/l/ly/lysholm_screw_rotors.jpg)(http://i49.tinypic.com/15gwc48.jpg)(http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/super-charger-13.jpg)(http://i47.tinypic.com/25u0jfp.jpg)<br/><br/>Engine pumps air into blue line, blue line spins right line, right line spins belt, supercharge speed.</div></div><br/>This car would have one ignition on both sides of the steering wheel, two slim gas pedals right next to each other, one brake pedal in the traditional spot, and a clutch pedal to the far left. Add an automatic transmission switch to the right of the steering wheel with three settings: Drive, neutral, and reverse. It would be durable, getting slammed from one direction to the other. Also, a manual transmission for the engine in the front connected to the clutch pedal, and vuala, a car with two engines. With this, she is reluctant to add Nos, but she's trying to save enough money for a turbo-charger in the rear engine.</div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Miscellaneous photography</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://i47.tinypic.com/2zohxtt.jpg)<br/>(http://i47.tinypic.com/dlopyb.jpg)<br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Kingston, Washington (B on the track map)<br/>(http://i50.tinypic.com/rshtvp.jpg)<br/>Port Gamble, Washington<br/>(http://i46.tinypic.com/25aqh68.jpg)<br/>Hood Canal Bridge (inbetween Port Gamble and C on the track map)<br/>(http://i50.tinypic.com/zji3c4.jpg)<br/>Shine, Washington Harbour (C on the track map)<br/>(http://i49.tinypic.com/2h87283.jpg)<br/>Leland Valley, Washington (D on the track map)<br/>(http://i48.tinypic.com/5wjyc.jpg)<br/>Highway 101<br/>(http://i47.tinypic.com/33w5eux.jpg)<br/>Brinnon, Washington (North of Hoodsport)<br/>(http://i45.tinypic.com/10i5m9x.jpg)<br/>Shelton, Washington<br/>(http://i49.tinypic.com/j9m5c1.jpg)<br/>Spanaway, Washington<br/>(http://i49.tinypic.com/34ecor6.jpg)<br/>Home<br/>(http://i47.tinypic.com/105uqtu.jpg)<br/></span></div></div></div><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">The Track</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://i50.tinypic.com/2jcft3o.jpg)</div></div><br/>She was asleep in her bed for the entire day before the race. Cori's entire week was full of whiskey, rum, vodka, and excessive celebration. She had needed the rest. But, it was not recovery sleep, it was preparation. Cori liked to take a long drive the night before a race. It wasn't a ritual, as much as it was a warm-up. She'd b-lined her Coupe De Ville to Drummond, Montana and back in just under ten hours last month. She had gone all the way to Concrete, Washington through the mountains before. Indeed, Cori had hit almost every back road in a three-hundred mile radius, from the center of Seattle in every direction. She was going to the peninsula tonight, for the third time. Before, she had high-tailed it to Neah Bay on the corner of the state to get a view of the expansive Pacific. She had planned to come around the southern horn this time.<br/><br/>Cori always drove at night when she prepared for a race like this. There was less traffic, and the danger of the darkness helped with the <em>high</em> and the suspense that she was gifted with when she sliced up mountain roads at one hundred miles an hour.<br/><br/>The ferry ride would start this journey. She hailed the last one of the night, waking up at six o'clock in the evening in order to board. She had slept for thirteen hours. Drinking a cappuccino and helping herself to four cigarettes on the boat, Cori watched the sunset, her head was almost the same height as the railing at the edge of the vessel. the seagulls floated above her, calling to each other for help with dinner. The ferry was a short one, about forty minutes from Edmonds, just north of Seattle, to Kingston on Kitsap Island. The gentle fluctuation of the waves helped her stay calm. The short ferry allowed her towake up peacefully. Her car, "Two Fires" as it was affectionately named in 2009 when the second V8 engine was installed inside of the trunk, was on the carriage level underneath her. The fare was an even Forty dollars. Nobody seemed to notice that the engine turned off twice as the 'nine-to-fivers' marched from their drivers seats, and onto the coach level of the Ferry.<br/><br/>Cori was dressed in a pair of unrelenting jeans, they wrapped around her like unforgiving aluminium. They didn't stretch, or bend right, they pulled her body into shape. Her buttocks was held up with these, and squeezed into the shape of perfect heart. Her belt was black, and her buckle was the shape of two crowbars. A leather jacket was zipped up around her red tank-top, and a boyish white blouse. With her short hair hidden underneath a thick woollen beanie, Cori stood beside the rising steam of her coffee cup. She had purchased the cappuccino on the ferry. It was piping hot until she finished it. Unmistakably, she was a native of the Northwest.<br/><br/>When the ferry landed in Kingston, she drove off of the boat with the same polite movement as everyone else, with only the back engine turned on, she moved slowly, and carelessly, the transmission was automatic. It was a lazy cow to the pasture type of movement. Her car was obnoxiously heavy, the steel plate under each engine scratched as she drove over speed bumps, and particularly pot-hole-bitten roadways. There were plenty of them in Kingston, Kitsap county didn't give a damn about the maintenance of its roads. Cori blistered over them in town as if nothing was the matter, though. If the bottom didn't touch, she couldn't even feel them, her Cadillac was muscled out, but it still floated over the road like a bed-frame in the night.<br/><br/>She waited at a lookout over the Puget waters and smoked two more cigarettes, hyping herself up, fuelling both gas tanks for the trip, and waiting for everyone to go to sleep. Cori wanted the roads to be almost empty.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>It was 10:19 P.M. Cori was stopped at a green light in the middle of Kingston's main street. There were two other cars on the road, they were both behind her, and honking their horns. Cori had both engines in neutral, Two Fires could hardly be heard over the abnormally aggressive punk music that was syphoning out of the open windows. It was 'Moss Icon'<br/><br/>The light turned red and Cori lit a cigarette. There was a Dodge Durango, and a Subaru Outback, each driven by men, trying to get home for whatever reason. They could see the young girl in the Cadillac light her smoke, and wait, as if she was alone on her back-porch. The honking stopped when the light turned red. Cori had chuckled to herself, there weren't even any cars passing by them. she didn't really need to be stopped. So, she started to honk her horn while they decided that it was inappropriate to fill the quiet in the air.<br/><br/>Everyone was confused for a moment.<br/><br/>The light turned green again and Cori was as still as ever, smoking. Half way through the light, after absurdly patterned honks didn't seem to help either, the man in the Dodge Durango decided to spill on to the street and see what the problem was. He walked up to the driver's side window. Shouting, Cori listened to her music with intense focus. It sort of looked like she was having a mental breakdown of some kind. as the Durango driver removed his hat, and tried to appeal to Cori's senses, the Subaru decided to try and pass her on the other side of the street. Cori smiled and slammed onto her right gas pedal, the power to the back engine; and, the brake pedal that was only attached to the front axle. Her tires started to spin, she felt the car shift into third gear, and the music started to crescendo while, she started to spew white smoke into the air. Her tires screeched, and the music was drowned out over the yelling, the screaming tires, and Cori's honking horn.<br/><br/>She slammed in the clutch, shifted into 3rd gear with the front engine, released the brake, and swung the automatic transmission into drive. The car absolutely disappeared, the sound, the sight, it vanished into the darkness, the Subaru driver nearly shit himself, in front of Two Fires, and merging back into the right lane. The man from the Dodge fell over, and Cori took quickly to the West, climbing to seventy miles per hour on a labelled speed zone of twenty five.<br/><br/>She had been waiting for the bridge of the song to start, everything else was just good timing. She turned to music up louder and hauled ass on the 104 toward Port Gamble.<br/><br/>The night sky was light enough for her to see the luscious landscape. A combination of moonlight and phasing sunshine nearly distracted her as she cascaded toward the Hood Canal Bridge. <br/><br/>She had probably made it from Kingston to Port Gamble faster than anyone had ever made the journey, three minutes and nineteen seconds. Her average speed hovered at around 110. The automatic engine was tuned to reach it's gears at specific intervals, intervals that matched up with the front engine. She got a feel for how the car was working in the first five miles. She was a dream.<br/><br/>She felt invincible, slowly to sixty-two as she cut her way through town, the car was sliding all over the road, in a state of ever-present drift, sometimes the wheels travelled at two different speeds, and it usually wasn't a problem. Most of the time, it made her Cadillac feel like go-kart. When both engines were moving, and she was looking for speed. Driving the car turned into an art. Her right foot would dance in angles, as she worked to synchronize the performance. Watching her dashboard induced stress. She had meters that gave her feedback on 'synch-status'. Along with two speedometers, two RPM clocks, two gas gauges, pressure gauges, and temperature gauges. There were three or four other meters, displayed in a bar graph. Nothing was labelled. They measured the turning speed of each wheel.<br/><br/>The Hood Canal bridge was almost empty as she crossed. Weaving between slow motion SUV's and two eighteen wheeled semi-trucks. A state patrol officer was driving East. She wasn't even looking at her speedometer when the flashing blue lights appeared in her rear-view mirror. The cop hadn't clocked her either. She was going ninety-three miles per hour. <br/><br/>"Fuck." Her Cadillac could outrun a police car, but not fast enough to leave it in the dust. There would likely be two more cruisers on her tail, called in by the first. She was off of the bridge and into the town of Shine. <br/><br/>Just as she predicted, two more police cars found her among way way turns and dying street lights. The headlights hardly helped. Shine, ironically, was dark at night. She was far enough in front of the police to keep her paint from chipping. They would try to knock her off of the road if they got close enough. But the couldn't. She gained two seconds on every turn, and one second on every straight away. It was perfect. <br/><br/>Cori had never been in <em>Shine</em>, Washington before. <br/><br/>She didn't even know how to find the highway. It would have been easy if she hadn't been caught on the bridge; or, if she had known the layout of the town. She was luckier than she was skilful in Shine. The Cadillac was indistinguishable in the night. two minutes into the chase, god knows what street she was on; But she caught one of the local cops with his headlights off, searching on the wrong road with a headlamp. She pulled away before he could turn his light. <br/><br/>"Fucking cops!" She cursed, still looking for a wide road facing West, Her music was turned down. This car was a god among men. Her high horse was waiting to turn the corner. Four hundred-and-eighty of them to be exact. "Where's the highway? Who planned this city? There's no one here, isn't the highway the only fucking road!" She was spitting in every direction, the car seemed to rumble in agreement. er right foot was tense. <br/><br/>The police had the advantage, it was their town, and she was a tourist. Cori wouldn't be this careless at home, but she was miles away. It was a different county with different departments. She had <em>not</em> counted on the state trooper though, not out here; 'population fuck'. The driver of that car <em>might </em> have recognized her. <br/><br/>Undercover cops joined the party, likely from patrol, town cops, 'easy money'. Still, they ran Cori all over town, it had only been four roads that stretched up and down the slim town, but the blood in her veins had made the town of Shine into The Labyrinth. Highway 104 revealed itself, and Cori hauled ass toward Leland. She had lost one cop, unsure of how that had happened, she was happy to see an open road in front of her and an enormous shoulder on both sides. She was trained for this. Cori could hit curves, and straights as if she'd been on every road a thousand times. She had created a high-speed chase on the peninsula. <br/><br/>From Shine to to the 104-101 junction was ten miles. Cori lost them on mile four. <br/><br/>There were plenty of crossing roads, she absently started heading south, and found herself completely alone with her high beams on among trees, stars, and a crumbling cement back-road. There weren't even lines painted on the side or the middle. Most of the light was gone, and she had officially been drilled with adrenaline. She had never been here before, but she knew where she was. Highway 101 was close, running along with her. Two Fires and Cori started to burn. She was lucky she didn't hit a deer... or a family of deer.<br/><br/>She found the highway thirteen miles from Brinnon. It was only 11:43. the police had slowed her down, but they were long gone, and she had found three other fast cars along the way who seemed to have the same idea in mind. Two of them were Volkswagens with body kits, Cori didn't think highly of them. the other one was driving a Mustang, it looked like a 2001, white. 'Who ever drives it, take the road like a bitch'. Cori figured that a woman was inside. <br/><br/>Cori's Coupe De Ville decimated the opposition, but she kept them around to speed with, it was much more fun to race, and they could keep up with her. The 101 didn't allow for terminal velocity. She averaged out at Eighty-nine miles an hour. She was riding fast, but safe. This was a pleasure cruise. Dangerous, but not stupid. <br/><br/>The White Mustang liked to stay in front, it was a flashy car, and allowing the driver to scout ahead was a solid way to avoid cops. Cori tried to race this car, in order to peak inside and get a look at the driver. She figured that the girl inside was worth the pleasure of meeting, even if it was through two sheets of glass. The windows were too dark though, she couldn't see inside, but she could see the ember of a cigarette dancing around. "Hm," Cori thought out loud, "Smokes like a bitch too." The driver clearly wanted her in the back with the others, and she was willing to give this woman some space. She'd driven with a group like this before, there were common signals, and messages that they could communicate with their lights, their hazard lights, their highbeams, brake lights, and even their turn signals. The Volkswagens sseemed to be inseparable. They were undoubtedly male drivers.<br/><br/>The 101 was a playground, and time flew while they were heating up the road, and masterfully avoiding the hot breathe of the police.<br/><br/>The four of them arrived at a truck stop in Shelton. The town was warm and it smelled like cat shit. Every factory was undeniably running, and there was more than one gas station with a large '24 hour' sign in sight. All of the drivers were men, A John, an Armajandro, and an Elliot. Cori had only remembered John's name, he was the driver of the white mustang. She made fun of him for two whole cigarettes.  the three men needed to know how a Coupe De Ville was driving with such power. Cori made fun of John for two whole cigarettes by the side of the road. One cop passed them, nothing happened. <br/><br/>Cori showed them the engine in the trunk. She showed them the pedals and the dashboard, it had two speedometers that didn't always reflect her actual speed. "That's just sort of a feeling any-ways." She had said. "Their both about ten miles per hour low, usually." She gave them the specs, they couldn't keep up. They followed her all the way to Spanaway, driving alone with Cori in the middle of the night in fifth gear. From 12:45 to 3:15, they tried to keep up. They turned around without a chance to say goodbye. They had her phone number, 206 meant Seattle, she couldn't hide that.<br/><br/>Cori put the automatic transmission into neutral and fired the speakers up to max. She was a die-hard 'Rites of Spring', fan, and one of their more grating tracks was vibrating through the car. The harsh, tactile sensation that came from this music calmed Cori, for most others it caused sadness and a visceral inclination to field dress a dead rabbit. With the back engine rumbling along, the front engine worked especially hard to pull the two and half ton Cadillac across the road. Cori was still travelling at over eighty miles an hour, About twenty five miles over the limit on any given country road.<br/><br/>But, she was in her home territory now. On wide state free-ways. The 512 and the 167 were familiar faces, and she knew where cops liked to hide. She was hungry, but she wasn't willing to stop here, not within fifteen or twenty miles of North Puyallup and Edgewood. 'No fucking way.' <br/><br/>The house that she lived in as a child was only two miles off of the free-way. A cross for her father's car accident had been put up by her aunts and uncles. It was on the East Valley Highway that ran parallel <em>with</em> the 167. It was the only time she ran on the free-way for the whole trip. The ghost still haunted her, and she wondered now, why she had planned to come through this way. <br/><br/>She stopped for food in Issaquah. after switching from the free-way to the highways, and then back onto the 167, and off again. It was 4:34, It was an all night diner. The sign said triple XXX. She knew not to be excited though. Seattle was only a stone's throw away.<br/><br/>She pulled back into the city at about the same time as the sunrise.</div>