Joe Gores - 32 Cadillacs

But nowhere did she see Rudolph. The word was that the King had had some sort of miraculous recovery; when he arrived, surely Rudolph would also appear.

She cut through some bushes toward another part of the encampment, gnawing on a turkey leg, when there in front of her, gleaming like a polished rocket, was the pink Eldorado convertible! Top down, whitewalls glowing in the semi-dark...

If she could spirit away the car, she would control the succession for the dying King’s crown! Her head whirled: was she repowoman, or a woman with a rom lover? Would she—

“HER!” shrieked a hate-filled voice. “THAt’s HER!” Giselle whirled to be impaled by flashlight beams. Sonia Lovari! No longer Miwok Indian, now only rom. “She’s no newswoman, she’s the repo bitch who stole my car in San Francisco!”

“Repo bitch! Repo bitch!”

“Get her!”

Nonviolent Gypsies? Giselle fled through the woods, half a hundred screaming rom women after her. She leaped a campfire, ran down a row of trailers and campers, darted between them...

And came face-to-face with that same most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Yana!

“You!” they exclaimed together.

There was a frozen moment; then something passed between them. Something unspoken, some measurement of worth, some understanding between women who’d had to cut their own deals in a man’s world on man’s terms — and had survived. And prospered.

“Quickly, come, or they will tear you apart!”

Yana threw open the door of the nearest trailer and shoved her inside, tumbled in behind her. She pulled the door silently closed as the clamor of pursuit passed by outside.

“I must hide you, keep you alive until I am Queen.”

Well, why not? thought Giselle. A Rudolph who was King would be totally inaccessible. But if Yana were Queen...

“I know where the pink Cadillac is,” she said.

“Hidden behind the hospital.”

“No.”

An almost imperceptible pause, then: “I will disguise you so you can show me.”

Staley Zlachi stood on an impromptu platform in the middle of the encampment, in the midst of his people, tears in his eyes. His loyal subjects! Still roaring with laughter from his tale of his complicated scam to take the insurance man for $75,000.

“Assembled people of Romany, you know of my recovery this day at the hospital—”

A mighty roar from five hundred throats.

“But though cured, I must ask if perhaps it is time to step aside for younger blood. But how to choose?” No shouts now — the throng was not taking the question as rhetorical. They wanted to know. “Well, what is the Gypsy way? How can the contenders show they are better steeped in our Gypsy traditions than any other?”

He looked around the assembled throng. Oh, he had them in the palm of his hand!

“Since Christ our Savior hung on the shameful cross, it has been our way to steal from the gadje — who through the centuries have stolen from us our place in the sun, our very lives.”

A great shout went up. Yes! To be a rom was to rip off the gadje! The one who did it best deserved to lead the rom!

“WHO CLAIMS MY THRONE?” yelled Staley.

Springing up on either side of him were Yana and Rudolph. Each in finest Gypsy dress. Across Staley’s portly figure they exchanged looks, each triumphant. Staley took a hand of each.

“Now, my children, how do you honor your King?”

Almost in unison, they exclaimed, “With a pink nineteen fifty-eight Cadillac convertible like that in which you drove to your coronation.”

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Staley, beaming upon them. “The kind of car I sought to be buried in.” He looked from one to the other. “ Which of you has brought me such a car?”

Each cried out in ringing tones, “I have!”

Again almost in unison, they both turned and gestured out into the crowd. Which parted. And the massive pink Cadillac rolled majestically forward into the cleared space in front of the platform.

But behind the wheel was no minion of either! Staley’s wife, Lulu, was driving it!

Staley looked from one to the other in apparent amazement.

“You each claim this car as your gift, yet it is my wife who drives it?”

Yana and Rudolph looked at one another in confusion; both were sure they had secured the car and had subverted their own particular DKA lackey to bring it here on their signal.

Lulu stepped out with Queenly grace, letting all see the interior beauty of the car before shutting the door.

“Who claims it now?” thundered Staley.

There was silence.

At that exquisite moment a tall lean Gypsy lad dressed in tight leggings and a loose silk tunic with puff sleeves, a silk bandana knotted around his head, streaked through the crowd to vault lightly into the car, hit the horn and the accelerator, and ROAR it forward. It ran right through a cook fire, sending a big iron cauldron of soup spinning lazily off into the darkness, scattering Gypsies, kids, dogs, cats, and chickens — even a pig — in every direction.

Giselle in her boy’s clothing spun the wheel, skidding on the grass, threading her way through cars, trailers, pickups, tents, cook fires...

Repo woman.

Seeing Rudolph up there with his own, she had suddenly known he was where he should be — trying to scam his way into power among his people. And she was where she should be — stealing his goddam car!

She shrieked and stood on the brakes as almost up in front of her popped an aged Gyspy crone in tattered silks, clanking metal coins and beads and hoops and ornaments, her head shawled in a bright scarf. But as the car slewed by almost sideways, she vaulted lightly into the rider’s seat beside Giselle. The Caddy shot out of the encampment into the highway as they fought for control of it.

Behind them, everyone was scrambling for cars, trucks, campers, anything on wheels in which to give pursuit, but they were arrested by Staley’s suddenly booming voice.

“LET IT GO!” Movement ceased, heads turned faces slack with confusion toward him. “ Let it go, my children, I cannot now claim it, anyway. I have realized that I must remain King of the Gypsies until I die! I cannot give away this sacred power, for we now see that only I know how to wield it fully...”

Right into the outskirts of town the glorious finned monster roared, as the two apparent Gypsies battled for control of it. Half the time the car drove itself as they tried to shove each other, elbowed and cursed and...

The crone’s clutching fingers tore Giselle’s scarf from her head. Her lustrous blond hair tumbled out to blow about her face. The crone stopped fighting, staring at her openmouthed. Giselle, sensing advantage, tried to slam the crone’s head against the dash. Instead, she stripped the silken shawl from around her shoulders and face.

Rather, Ballard’s face.

No hand on the wheel, no foot on the accelerator, the pink Cadillac slowed to a halt half on and half off the road.

Of common accord, they leaped out to stagger around in the road like drunks, laughing, wiping the makeup from their faces, panting out their stories... Giselle was suddenly sober.

“Larry, what about Yana? If you love her—”

“When I saw her up there with Rudolph, Giselle, I suddenly realized... that’s where she belongs...” He jerked his head at the pink Cadillac. “And here’s where I belong. Stealing cars from the goddam Gyppos.”

The last barrier was down. They hugged each other, delighted with their rediscovered friendship. And thus did not see the trunk lid pop up a few careful inches.