RPM: Revolutions per minute

[Basse Corniche]

1- First metres...

The ever-sharper howl of the Italian V8 broke the silence of the towns that crossed our path, while we went through the Basse Corniche at vertiginous speeds. The few still awake pedestrians turned as we passed, alerted by the scandalous siren noise emanating from the police entourage that tried to hunt us down, which dyed the night red and blue.

—Ha, ha, ha! This little thing roars! Yeeeha! Ha, ha, ha!

—Shut up, Sébastien! I have enough trying to keep us alive, to have to stand your junkie version! If you can´t control yourself, stop picking!

—Ha, ha, ha! Relax, Michel, and enjoy the moment! Pure adrenaline!

—Damn imbecile…

But the damn imbecile was right. The diesel minivans from the gendarmes, together with the precarious abilities of their drivers, couldn´t do much against the rhythm imposed to the Ferrari F430 Spider on that coastal road that I knew as if it was an extension of my body. At every turn, the sirens decreased their intensity, and gave prominence to the wail of the sportscar´s rear tyres, which screamed when being punished with the constant sways of the back, while they left a trail of smoke and burnt rubber after them. After getting out of Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, I managed to lose sight of the herd of police, and, before entering Villefranche-sur-Mer, I turned right at a turnout from which a small, uphill, badly lit road was born, which led to the Moyenne Corniche. I traced two hairpin corners and stopped the Ferrari on the shoulder.

I turned off the engine and headlights and we got out of the car to carefully look over the guardrail. Sébastien inserted his hand into the inside pocket of his turquoise jacket, pulled out his wrinkled Marlboro light packet and brought a cigarette to his mouth.

—Do you want one, partner? —I nodded, and, together with my buddy, I lit another cigarette, which I puffed while I flexed my right leg to rest it on the crash barrier. We didn´t say anything. We just enjoyed the flavour while we contemplated the spectacle of lights and sounds that the gendarmes offered us on their race to Nice.

The night was gorgeous. The Mediterranean granted the Côte d’Azur an ideal temperature, which invited to cover the last metres to our destination open-topped.

—I don´t get you, Michel. As nervous as you got before, and now you open the roof of this junk?

—Give me another cigarette… and enjoy the moment.

I turned on the Italian sportscar´s radio, and In the Air Tonight, from Phil Collins started playing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkADj0TPrJA

I felt like Sonny Crockett aboard his Ferrari 365 GTS/4 Spider replica. After ten minutes, we arrived to Sébastien’s house front door. A gorgeous two-floor construction situated halfway between Villefranche-sur-Mer and Nice. He got out of his trousers the remote that commanded the sliding door of the garden, which also led to the garage door, that he opened when pressing the second button of the same remote. Thereupon, he got out to signal the manoeuvre for me.

—Park it to the right of the 348TS.

And as he indicated, I parked the F430 Spider next to his forerunner.

—The lines of the eighties were so beautiful, with those angular bodies, and those infinite air intakes that take up the whole door, right Michel? Oh, if Il commendatore raised his head…!

—Leave the eighties romances and help me cover them. We must wait a prudential time for them to cool down, so we can deliver them to Your Royal Highness.

We covered both cars with an enormous white sheet, prepared in advance for such necessity. With the vehicles camouflaged, Sébastien started up his decrepit Renault Master T35D, and parked it in front of Maranello´s machines, in a manoeuvre that blocked any possible visual contact. Once the garage was reorganized, I decided it was time to go back home.

—Which car are you lending me, Séb?

—Take the R-25 —He reached the keys to me with his hand—And take care of it, they don´t make French cars like this anymore.

—Don´t worry. Keep in touch.

—Rest well, Michel.

And Sébastien pushed the first button of his remote again, this time without taking it out of his trousers, while I crossed the door in the Renault 25 Baccara, on my way home.

[Basse Corniche]

2- …And first steps

I slowly opened my eyes, with still some tiredness from days before, and I let my sight get lost in the blades of the roof-mounted fan, which turned at minimum speed. Two car thefts in two nights was something I still wasn´t used to. And the one of the F430 certainly hadn´t been easy. But I had to admit that Sébastien was right, the excitement created by the situation was difficult to replace with something similar. And the worst part is that it proved addictive.



The clock on my bedside table ticked ten to seven. The sunrays that shyly started to break in through the living room window, confirmed this. I stood up, took my Lucky Strike pack, and got out to the reduced balcony that the apartment was provided with. I lit a cigarette and observed the Mediterranean Sea, from which a street separated me. The absence of bustle confirmed that Saint-Laurent-du-Var still slept. The fact of it being Sunday, retarded any usual activity in the town. So, I decided to take advantage of the absence of people to get out and explore the town where I moved a couple of months ago a bit.



I dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and trainers. I left the small apartment and descended the community stairs, which took me to the garden where the cars of the tenants of the different residences rested. And the Renault 25 that was offered to me.






I had never been a big friend of French cars, but Sébastien had that unit in an impeccable condition. The gorgeous grey colour of the body shined in a uniform and majestic way and matched perfectly with the luxurious brown leather interior. The cherry on top were the beautiful flat rims with seven tiny arms, which gave it a sporty and robust appearance. The restyling to this model was very fitting.



I stopped observing the lines of the sedan from the brand of the diamond, and I headed to the exit of the enclosure, to open the small, metallic door that gave access to the street. My apartment was located behind the Saint-Hubert avenue, on a two-way street with abundant traffic, which ended at the Route du Bord de Mer, one of the main arteries of the French Riviera, as it communicated the coastal towns with the beautiful Nice.



The first cyclists and runners took advantage of the absence of heat of the early hours of the day to practice their respective sport activities on the lanes designated for such use. I went to the port, located right in front, and I leaned on one of the fences to let my sight go into the horizon, where sky and sea united. I was worried about not knowing how my life had gotten to such a curious employment situation.


Suddenly, the first chords from Your Love from The Outfield started playing on my phone, the tune I had selected for incoming calls.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N1i...ature=emb_logo



—Good morning, Séb.


—I see I’m not the only one who can´t sleep —answered Sébastien in a tired voice—. ¿Why don´t you come home, have a coffee and plan the day?


—¿Has Your Highness said something maybe?


—Yes. Last night he wrote me a whatsapp, worried about the part we organized on the coast.


—Ok, see you in a bit.


I walked back to the apartment, so I could take a shower before my date, since I needed to refresh due to the suffocating heat of this time of the year, feeling which was enriched because of the proximity of the sea.


Once showered, I decided to dress with something a bit more formal, but without losing comfort. A thin shirt, linen trousers and summer moccasins. I took the keys to the apartment, the keys of the Renault, accompanied by their beautiful eighties keychain which imitated the brand´s logo, and my wallet. With everything in my pockets, I went down to the garden again.



Two flashes from the French sedan, indicated that the alarm had been disconnected. I opened the door and took place in the magnificent leather seat, as comfortable as it was hot.Second position in the starter and the V6 came to life again, with a soft and bourgeois purr. I engaged first gear and got close to the numerical keyboard of the door. I rolled down the window and stretched my arm to key in the security code that liberated the exit fence.



It was eight and some minutes, which allowed to roll calmly in almost inexistent traffic. I wasn´t really hurried and the day presented sunny and bright, the usual on the French Riviera, so I decided to cross Nice to get to Sébastien´s place, because just seventeen kilometres separated me from him. I took the Route du Bord de Mer towards the city and crossed the bridge over the River Var, physical barrier between both towns. After leaving it behind, the route changed its name, which allowed me to roll over the well-known Promenade des Anglais.


I rolled down the window and turned on the radio. I syntonised a pretty known station in the area, because of the eighties music they played with almost no advertisements. And at exactly that moment, the cords of Owner of a lonely heart from YES started.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVOuYquXuuc&feature=emb_logo



While I hummed the lyrics of such a lively song, I left Nice´s airport behind, with its runway on top of the sea and its parking for private jets full because of the number of millionaires that arrived for the summer, attracted by Monaco´s glamour. I entered the beautiful city and I passed places as emblematic as Hotel Negresco, the Albert I gardens, the Opera Building, the monument to the dead of the First World War…






I abandoned Promenade des Anglais and went around the port of the city until I got to the end of it, where the first corners of the Basse Corniche started. I went down two gears and the sound of the V6 turned a bit rougher. The car pushed with energy and gave quite some power from down low, but without losing even a little bit of the comfort that the baroque and luxurious interior gave.


A bit before arriving to Villefranche-Sur-Mer, I took the previous detour to the left, heading to the Moyenne Corniche, to, in a matter of metres, stop at Sébastien´s door, where he was already waiting for me. Pyjama shorts, white sleeveless shirt, cup of coffee in the left hand and cigarette in the right. Clearly that guy didn´t get nervous for anything. I drove the Renault 25 into the enormous plot, close to two thousand square metres, and parked it right in front of the garage door.


—Good morning, Séb —I greeted him, from the driver´s seat.


—Good morning, Michel. The Frenchie looks good on you. You look like someone important and everything.


—You´re very funny for someone who hasn’t slept.


—Too much party last night… The rush still lasts! Come on, get inside, let me get you a coffee.


I followed Sébastien´s steps into the house, which was majestic. I had already been there, but it doesn´t stop impressing me. His home, which had over three hundred liveable square metres shared over two floors, was designed with an L-shape, and pointed to a gorgeous interior garden, presided by an oval swimming pool.






White was the dominating colour, both on the walls and most of the decorative elements, and, together with the enormous glass surfaces, helped to gather the majestic sunlight born from the Riviera and flooded all the rooms with light, creating an unrepeatable serenity climax. The living room was presided by an enormous table, and two huge windows, which gave access to the vast balcony that made up the contour of the house.





I moved one of the doors and got out to enjoy the best about the place: the views over the Villefranche-Sur-Mer bay. Everything was built to perceive such natural spectacle with the five senses.






—Just coffee? With ice?


—With ice better, Séb.


Sébastien got the coffee to the balcony, went into the living room again, took the remote of the sound system, activated the speakers installed all over the house and the first chords of Crockett´s Theme by Jan Hammer started playing.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UmOY6ek_Y4&feature=emb_logo



He left the remote in its place and came back to the balcony, with a second coffee and a second cigarette.


—¿Do you want one? —He showed me a pack of Marlboro Light.


—Thanks, Séb —I took a cigarette—. And well, what has Your Highness said?


—What I told you before on the phone. He asked if everything went well, since the party we organized down there came to his ears —He pointed his cigarette at the Basse Corniche, which can be seen from his house—. And he wants us to deliver both Ferraris tonight at a drop-off he´s sending me later.



—What? But they´re still hot!


—Those are his wishes —He sipped the last drops from the cup—.Don´t worry. Such a move will be easier to make on a Sunday night.


—If you say so…


Suddenly, a characteristic sound interrupted our conversation. The roar of a German six-cylinder boxer, which rapidly approached our position, made Sébastien quickly cross the living room to the entrance. By the moment he arrived, the purr of the vehicle at rest awaited the opening of the door which would give it access to the inside of the plot.
Sébastien got the remote out of the right pocket of the mini trousers he was wearing, and the door started uncovering a gorgeous Porsche 911 Cabriolet, from the 996 generation, in a deep blue colour with a camel toned interior. At the commands, a gorgeous young woman, of tan complexion and long, blonde mane, partly covered by a cream coloured hat with a pink lace, who hid her eyes behind some dark Ray Ban Wayfarer.






—Mélissa! —Sébastien shouted effusively.


—Dad! —The beautiful young woman got out of the car and ran to hug her parent—. How are you?


—Good, very good! But, how come you arrived now? I wasn´t expecting you until next week!


—Because I know you worry about me, and I´m sure that if I called you to tell you that I was coming back from Paris, you´d be nervous until I got here—answered a cheerful Mélissa—. This way, I´m here, and you don´t have unnecessary worries.


—Sébastien caressed his daughter´s cheek—. You´re an angel.



And he melted into a hug with her again.


—Mélissa, do you remember Michel?


—Of course! How are you Michel? —She got closer to me to give me two friendly kisses—. You´ve changed a lot!


—From what I can see, I´m not the only one…


About six years ago was the last time I saw Mélissa, Sébastien´s only daughter. The last image I remember from her was that of a young teenager, shy and full of future dreams. And now, she appeared in front of us, transformed into a woman, tall and gorgeous, capable of turning pale even the toughest of men just with her presence.



—Hey! —interrupted Sébastien—. Do you want to go down to town to have lunch?


—Great, Dad! Why don´t we go to Les Palmiers?


—That sounds like a good offer. What do you say, Michel?


—I don´t have anything to do and I like the place Why not?


—Great. Do you mind if I take a shower? I´m tired from the trip.


—Why would we! Your room is still how you left it.


Mélissa opened the Porsche´s front trunk and took out a medium sized suitcase. She closed it and went into the house.


—Your daughter is looking beautiful, Séb. She has turned into a true woman.


—Yes. She´s the living reflex of her mother. And by the way —Sébastien´s voice changed tone—, not even a word about this to Mélissa —He pointed at the garage with his sight, where the Ferraris were sheltered.

[gewone]

Have you written this story yourself?
It's really great, started my morning reading it!

[Basse Corniche]

Originally Posted by gewone

Have you written this story yourself?
It's really great, started my morning reading it!

Yes, the history is mine. Keep here, it's a loooooong history. Lather I will post the next chapter.

Really thanks for reply!

[Basse Corniche]

3- Your Royal Highness

It was twelve o´clock and I was seated on one of the chairs in the pool area.On a small table escorted between two loungers, rested my Lucky Strike cigarette pack, next to a soft Martini that Sébastien had served for me, before going up to his room to change.


I couldn´t get the fact that we had to deliver the cars that night out of my head. In this business, letting the cars cool down was one of the most important steps, and could take up to three weeks. But Sébastien was asking to make the move with just twenty-four hours of difference. A very high risk, which doubled because there were two cars at stake.And as if there weren´t enough setbacks, his daughter was here, which limited us at the moment of taking them out.



—And well, how´s life treating you around here?


Mélissa´s question interrupted my thoughts. She had replaced her comfortable travelling attire with a low waist, light green dress, which freed two long, waxed legs, that ended in some wedged sandals which increased her usual height by a couple of centimetres. The whole set stylized her slim figure and highlighted her feminine attributes. The sunglasses, now resting on the overhang of her hat, had given way to eyes with the same tone as the water that bathed Nice´s coast, sheltered by a set of long eyelashes. She was gorgeous.



—I sure can´t complain. This area of France is special and surprises you every day.



—Tell me about it. I always miss this sight when I go to Paris—she commented while observing the bay.


—How´s it going there?


—Good. I´m studying at University.


—Sorbonne?


—Yes! Wow, do you know it?


—I´ve heard about it, but I haven´t had the pleasure to assist. And what do you study?



—Archaeology and Art History.


—Wow, that sounds very interesting.


—Yes. I´ve always really liked history. I think you must learn about the past to be able to build the future.



—Hey, guys! —Sébastien interrupted the conversation—. Are you ready?


—Yes, dad.



We skirted around the swimming pool to get to where Sébastien was waiting for us, who was wearing fine white trousers, together with a pastel blue jacket, and he wore summer moccasins of the same tone.



—Damn, Séb, where have you left the white Testarossa?


—It´s not my fault that you´re a tasteless young man —Mélissa broke into laughter after her father´s answer.


—Should we take the 911? Do you want to drive, Michel?


—Why not? —I took the keys that Mélissa threw at me.


It had been a while since I last drove a Porsche. So long actually, that for the first three seconds I sought for the cylinder lock to the right of the steering wheel, until I remember it´s on the opposite side. But Mélissa noticed and couldn´t avoid drawing a cheeky smile.






Second position and the boxer engine came alive with that characteristic rough tone, together with the catchy This is How We Do from Katy Perry, which started playing when the radio started.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7RMQksXpQSk


—Are you comfortable back there, Sonny Cro… I mean, Séb?
And his answer was an immediate slap on the back of the neck, which made Mélissa break into laughter. She looked so beautiful.



It took us ten minutes to get to Villefranche-sur-Mer. We parked in one of the port´s spots, next to the Citadelle Saint-Elme, a military fortification from the XVIth century, which was born to defend the jewel of the ducal crown of the Savoie, and that was now limited to welcoming visitors in its new role as a historical monument.







The fame of that gorgeous coastal town attracted an infinity of tourists, who, motivated by the beautiful day, filled even the smallest corner of the place, with the only objective of getting impatient when not stumbling upon an empty table.



–Have you booked, dad?


–Yes, a table for three at half past one. But let´s head over there now.






We enjoyed a nice lunch, seated at that terrace for over two hours, surrounded by artificial plants, people´s laughter and friendly waiters. We savoured a succulent, black rice and sea fish paella, served with two sangria pitchers, which quickly disappeared due to the intense heat. We talked about anything and everything, and we listened to how Mélissa had been for the last six years, as well as her current life in Paris.We finished lunch at around four o´clock in the afternoon and we decided to go for a walk around the port to get the food down a bit, with the help of some ice cream tubs.



Mélissa got a telephone call which had her occupied for more than fifteen minutes. She talked, distracted, while she got further away from us, who slowed down our steps.



—Séb, how are we going to get the Ferraris out if your daughter is here?


—Don´t worry, I´ll figure something out, although I´ve been thinking for a while and I´m not sure what. Worst case scenario, I´ll call Your Highness and I´ll tell him that, feeling sorry about it, that the delivery can´t be today. But I don´t think he´ll be so happy with that.



Mélissa hung up, stopped walking, and turned around towards us.



—Dad? —I noticed how Sébastien´s pulse accelerated—, my friend Christine called. She wants to meet up with me to grab dinner and drink something in Nice. Do you mind if I go?



—Please, daughter! —Sébastien went back to breathing—. How would that bother us? Let´s go to the car and return home.



This time it was Mélissa driving the Porsche. Sébastien, who was sitting in the back, nodded off as a sign of tiredness. And I, on the passenger seat, was amazed at the driving abilities of my friend´s daughter. She didn´t miss a single shift, even when running the engine in the upper rpm range. You could see she knew what she was driving, and that she enjoyed it.



At around half past seven, we arrived home. We said goodbye to Mélissa, who started her trip to Nice. Sébastien opened the door and I was stunned by the smell of her daughter´s perfume, who disappeared down the road together with the 911´s peculiar purr.



—Mélissa´s call was a lucky hit, right Séb?



—You tell me about it, Michel. I was starting to get worried. You store the R-25 while I go up to the toilet and change clothes.



I entered the house´s hall, I took the keys to the Renault, from the place where Sébastien left them in the morning, and I went to the garage with them. I opened the door and stopped to observe my friend’s car fetish: a spectacular Alpine-Renault A310, in mint condition, rested right next to the right wall.







I parked the sedan in front of the Alpine, and Sébastien entered the garage.



—Have a cigarette —He took one for himself before handing me the Marlboro Light pack—.Let´s wait a bit until the sun sets to start moving.



—Do you know where to go already?



—Yes, Your Highness has already sent me the location. He told me it´s a garage in Levens, at the bottom of the road.



—That´s heading to Sisteron, right?



—Yes, but much before. About fifty minutes from here.



—Fifty minutes that are going to be eternal.



—Well, relax. Let´s uncover the cars, the sun is starting to fall — I helped my friend to take off the costumes from the Italian sportscars—. By the way, you drive the 348, I don´t feel like fighting with the shifter.


—You´re such a gentleman…


I opened the door of the red Ferrari, I seated in the interior, and I turned the key in the cylinder lock. And while Sébastien moved the Renault Master, the Italian V8 came alive, and flooded the room with the characteristic smell of badly burnt fuel. I turned on the lights and the pop-up headlights, which rose from their hiding, painted the places door yellow.



—It´s better if I go in front, we better not risk the air blowing out those candles — Sébastien seated in the interior of the F430 and turned on the xenon headlights.



Just when I got the front of the Ferrari through the door, it started to rain. The magnificent sunny and hot day abruptly finished and added an exciting plus to the already delicate situation of the moment. A 348 in the wet isn´t made for every driver.







We drove on the wet streets of Villefranche-sur-Mer, due to the downpour that was falling. To soothe my nerves, I decided to turn on the radio and enjoy the stroll. But with every driven metre, my pulse accelerated, since I didn´t want to make a show like we did last night.The broadcast of The show must go on from Queen, seemed done on purpose.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t99KH0TR-J4



We left the coastal town behind and we went around Nice by its interior side, while we ploughed through the roads that went up and down Nice´s orography.Sébastien was a great driver and he traced with such firmness that he put the Spider wherever he wanted. I stuck to following him. I held his pace while I tried to dominate the violence of the Berlinetta, which lacked electronic controls and driving aids, and which tried to put me off the wet asphalt on every corner. Luckily, the feel of the gearbox was delightful.



At ten at night, we entered Levens, a small town, with just half a hundred houses, which was deserted. We slowed down our pace to, in a few metres, stop the cars next to a garage door.



We stepped out of the cars and Sébastien indicated via a Whatsapp message to Your Highness that we had arrived. At that moment, the door opened, discovering old rally jewels, like a Renault-Alpine A110, a Ferrari 308 Dino and a Lancia Stratos, which awaited new challenges. Next to them, a group of five men, three with Arabic origins, waited for us to drive the cars in, which we did.






—Welcome, friend Sébastien! —A man from Arab origins, dressed up in an excellent suit, passed the rest to greet my pal.



—How are you, Nasser? —Sébastien answered, while they shared three kisses on their cheeks, as the Arabic culture dictated—. Michel, this is Nasser Bin Salman, a member of Qatar´s royal family.


—It´s a pleasure to meet you —he replied with a strong accent that denounced his origin.



—The pleasure is mine, Your Highness —I got closer to shake his hand, still with a disbelief expression, because I never thought that Your Highness was a member of the Royal family, but just a coded name.


—And well, today you haven´t had any complications, right, Séb? — Nasser slid his hand over the wet body of the 348TS.



—Today the rain stained your cars, but nothing else.



—Well, but they arrived in one piece, which was what worried me.
Nasser took a copy of the key to the F430 from his pocket. He approached the car and with the touch of a button he actuated the locks, which closed just like the two slight flashes from the blinkers confirmed.



—What the fuck is going on here, Séb?


—Calm down, Michel. Let me explain.


—What do you have to explain! —I answered, prisoner of anger—. We risked our neck with the gendarmes yesterday and it turns out that the F430 is his!



—And the 348TS too —Nasser interrupted.


—What?!


—I already told you the boy´s driving abilities were good, and there was no need in testing him.



—Shut up, Sébastien. I decide who works with me and gets the position.


—I also decide with who I work, Your Highness. And I think that…


—Shhh! Silence! You´re already inside, and there´s no way back —Nasser held his defiant look at just a couple of centimetres of mine—. Víctor! Take them!