Stude in Motion When a photographer friend of mine asked if Stude and I would be interested in doing a film-noir style shoot with him, it didn’t take a second thought! He’s been working on perfecting a new custom-built rig to shoot cars at speed and wanted to shoot Stude in a dark, industrial setting. I love the way it turned out! I like to think I’m racing away from a villain chasing behind me – write your own story in the comments below…or at least read the comments for The Gear Head Skeptic‘s fabulous fiction! Check out more cars in motion from photographer Bo Struye (http://www.bostruyephotos.com/blog). 15 Responses Mike Benjamin February 7, 2013 Awesome pic !! ….. Wicked car !! ….. Women who wrench, I dig it. Keep the faith baby-sister. — Mike B. Remote Arizona Location Reply Arielle February 7, 2013 That looks like an animation! Reply Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Hej, I like it very much, write more about your activity. i am also a fan of motorcars and motorbikes. And a Falcon, my uncle have had a falcon but in Sweden, I was very interested in this car, and it is very conventionel without computers. Greetings from Peter in Copenhagen Reply greasegirl February 8, 2013 Thanks Peter! I write as much as possible…which is more sometimes than others! Glad you like it. Reply Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Hej Grease girl, What is your name?? Your are so fanstastic girl. I hope your husband appreciate you.Where are you living.??Sincerely Peter greasegirl February 8, 2013 Thanks Peter – My husband definitely does appreciate me…tells me all the time! We live in Southern California, the hotbed of Car Culture, and love it! Happy Trails, Kristin Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 And now. Good night. It is late now here in Denmark. By.BY Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Moderation ??? What Reply greasegirl February 8, 2013 Moderation helps keep spammers away. However, now that I’ve approved one of your comments, you can leave more without pending moderation 😉 Reply The Gear Head Skeptic February 8, 2013 They underestimated her from the start. Just like she’d planned. She was just some girl that arrived in some old pink jalopy. Sure, she was a little out of place in this part of town, what with her painted finger nails and high heels, but she was nothing to worry about. if they’d taken a second look, they would have seen the grease at the edges of those painted nails and known that everything was not as it appeared, but they were too focused on the deal at the far side of the bar room to pay attention to some girl sitting alone at the bar. This was business hours. “You bring it?” he growled to Sam, barely sounding human. “You know I did.” Sam replied. “But the price has gone up. Doubled, in fact. Inflation’s a bitch.” “Don’t play with me, son.” The growl came back from under the wide brimmed hat. “You’re out numbered and too far into my side of town to play games. Now hand it over.” Sam heard the click of a .45 somewhere in the room. Somewhere close. The girl snapped her pocket book shut and kept her eyes on her drink, but her ear on Sam. Still unnoticed, she slid one leg down off her bar stool, and planted a heeled foot squarely on the floor. “Son,” the growl was cold and flat. “You don’t understand. I make the deals here, not you. And I’m here to collect.” Chairs scraped across wooden floor boards, steel flashed under a dim light and large men stepped out of dark shadows towards Sam. “Hey now,” Sam laughed nervously, raising his open hands up to his shoulders, “you can’t blame a guy for trying to renegotiate.” In a flash, Sam’s right fist slammed into the nose under the wide brimmed hat. The shadow men rushed at Sam and the girl at the bar spun around on that heeled foot, driving an elbow into the teeth of the goon covering the door behind her. He folded like he was made of newspaper, and hit the floor hard. Painted, grease stained fingers wrapped around a pool cue as a gun shot rang out like a cannon inside the small bar room. Things were finally getting interesting. * * * * * * * * * * They underestimated her pink car too. The straight, unmuffled pipes echoed off the concrete warehouse walls like machine gun fire as she sped away from them, her heeled foot flat to the floor boards. She gripped the wheel tightly and told herself to remember to breath and stick to the plan. Her knuckles were white with adrenaline, and smeared read with blood. On the Studebaker’s passenger seat sat the diamond that had been in Sam’s pocket minutes earlier, and a suitcase stuffed with 20 large she had liberated from an unconscious thug. The headlights in her rear view mirror started to drop farther and farther behind her as the Stude rocketed through the empty streets. Through a connecting alley way, she caught a glimpse of two round tail lights speeding down a side street. Falcon tail lights. Sam. She stuck to the plan and let the remaining thugs follow her around the warehouse district in their slow-ass sedan for a few minutes before ditching them, killing the headlights and heading out to the abandoned air strip to meet Sam. By then, he would have gotten the hiding spots ready for the Falcon and the Studebaker and pushed the old plane out of the hanger. The last job of the night was that somebody would have to get that old plane’s engine to fire up. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Sam. Reply greasegirl February 8, 2013 I love it! Who knew you were such a great fiction writer Gear Head Skeptic…well done! I love that you even worked in Falcon and “They underestimated her pink car too.” 😀 Reply Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Uh, my dear I hope you are out off these problerms, I hope your husbank can take care of you. So. long PETER tAKE CARE OF YOUR TWO CARS , they are worth much money in Europe. Reply Bo Struye February 13, 2013 Brilliant! We might need to shoot more of those photos, Kristin. It could be the inspiration for the next Raymond Chandler. Bo. Reply greasegirl February 13, 2013 I’m glad you came back and saw the story…I was going to tell you it was here 😀 I wish there were more Raymond Chandler’s coming out…one of my favorite “fluff” authors to read! gmzimmer February 8, 2013 Really great! The photo could be the cover for your (first) novel – or a movie poster. Love the old Stude and the Mood! Reply Comment & Join the Conversation! Cancel reply
Mike Benjamin February 7, 2013 Awesome pic !! ….. Wicked car !! ….. Women who wrench, I dig it. Keep the faith baby-sister. — Mike B. Remote Arizona Location Reply
Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Hej, I like it very much, write more about your activity. i am also a fan of motorcars and motorbikes. And a Falcon, my uncle have had a falcon but in Sweden, I was very interested in this car, and it is very conventionel without computers. Greetings from Peter in Copenhagen Reply
greasegirl February 8, 2013 Thanks Peter! I write as much as possible…which is more sometimes than others! Glad you like it. Reply
Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Hej Grease girl, What is your name?? Your are so fanstastic girl. I hope your husband appreciate you.Where are you living.??Sincerely Peter
greasegirl February 8, 2013 Thanks Peter – My husband definitely does appreciate me…tells me all the time! We live in Southern California, the hotbed of Car Culture, and love it! Happy Trails, Kristin
greasegirl February 8, 2013 Moderation helps keep spammers away. However, now that I’ve approved one of your comments, you can leave more without pending moderation 😉 Reply
The Gear Head Skeptic February 8, 2013 They underestimated her from the start. Just like she’d planned. She was just some girl that arrived in some old pink jalopy. Sure, she was a little out of place in this part of town, what with her painted finger nails and high heels, but she was nothing to worry about. if they’d taken a second look, they would have seen the grease at the edges of those painted nails and known that everything was not as it appeared, but they were too focused on the deal at the far side of the bar room to pay attention to some girl sitting alone at the bar. This was business hours. “You bring it?” he growled to Sam, barely sounding human. “You know I did.” Sam replied. “But the price has gone up. Doubled, in fact. Inflation’s a bitch.” “Don’t play with me, son.” The growl came back from under the wide brimmed hat. “You’re out numbered and too far into my side of town to play games. Now hand it over.” Sam heard the click of a .45 somewhere in the room. Somewhere close. The girl snapped her pocket book shut and kept her eyes on her drink, but her ear on Sam. Still unnoticed, she slid one leg down off her bar stool, and planted a heeled foot squarely on the floor. “Son,” the growl was cold and flat. “You don’t understand. I make the deals here, not you. And I’m here to collect.” Chairs scraped across wooden floor boards, steel flashed under a dim light and large men stepped out of dark shadows towards Sam. “Hey now,” Sam laughed nervously, raising his open hands up to his shoulders, “you can’t blame a guy for trying to renegotiate.” In a flash, Sam’s right fist slammed into the nose under the wide brimmed hat. The shadow men rushed at Sam and the girl at the bar spun around on that heeled foot, driving an elbow into the teeth of the goon covering the door behind her. He folded like he was made of newspaper, and hit the floor hard. Painted, grease stained fingers wrapped around a pool cue as a gun shot rang out like a cannon inside the small bar room. Things were finally getting interesting. * * * * * * * * * * They underestimated her pink car too. The straight, unmuffled pipes echoed off the concrete warehouse walls like machine gun fire as she sped away from them, her heeled foot flat to the floor boards. She gripped the wheel tightly and told herself to remember to breath and stick to the plan. Her knuckles were white with adrenaline, and smeared read with blood. On the Studebaker’s passenger seat sat the diamond that had been in Sam’s pocket minutes earlier, and a suitcase stuffed with 20 large she had liberated from an unconscious thug. The headlights in her rear view mirror started to drop farther and farther behind her as the Stude rocketed through the empty streets. Through a connecting alley way, she caught a glimpse of two round tail lights speeding down a side street. Falcon tail lights. Sam. She stuck to the plan and let the remaining thugs follow her around the warehouse district in their slow-ass sedan for a few minutes before ditching them, killing the headlights and heading out to the abandoned air strip to meet Sam. By then, he would have gotten the hiding spots ready for the Falcon and the Studebaker and pushed the old plane out of the hanger. The last job of the night was that somebody would have to get that old plane’s engine to fire up. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Sam. Reply
greasegirl February 8, 2013 I love it! Who knew you were such a great fiction writer Gear Head Skeptic…well done! I love that you even worked in Falcon and “They underestimated her pink car too.” 😀 Reply
Peter Hansen February 8, 2013 Uh, my dear I hope you are out off these problerms, I hope your husbank can take care of you. So. long PETER tAKE CARE OF YOUR TWO CARS , they are worth much money in Europe. Reply
Bo Struye February 13, 2013 Brilliant! We might need to shoot more of those photos, Kristin. It could be the inspiration for the next Raymond Chandler. Bo. Reply
greasegirl February 13, 2013 I’m glad you came back and saw the story…I was going to tell you it was here 😀 I wish there were more Raymond Chandler’s coming out…one of my favorite “fluff” authors to read!
gmzimmer February 8, 2013 Really great! The photo could be the cover for your (first) novel – or a movie poster. Love the old Stude and the Mood! Reply
