101 Dalmatians Cars Novels & Stories

We got in the car and drove away, leaving Tim standing there. I pulled up to the house and opened the garage. Dominique watched the garage door open. I noticed her looking around at all of the cars. I came around and opened her door for her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the cars. I felt her excitement as her eyes widened. I followed her line of sight and saw my 1969 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. “Do you see something you like, Dominique?” I asked, amused at her excitement. “You, you have the car I’ve only dreamed of,” Dominique said, breathless.

It was like old friends fighting after not seeing each other for a long time. "Fine. Come to the auto shop tomorrow to pick her up." Liam finally agreed. "Wonderful," Dennis smiled, focusing on the artifact again. "Wait, you're telling me that this was about a car?" I asked in disbelief. "The price was a car?" Dennis shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosers. And it's not just any car. It's a blue 1999 beetle with an engine that can go from 0 to 100 in like six seconds. It's a monster."

“It won’t fool an indicator, but it’ll confuse casual sniffers.” “And make me smell like a brothel bathroom,” I said, dabbing it on anyway. “Tribunal hounds are used to that,” he replied. The car Daire had called in idled in a service alley behind the building. It was an unremarkable sedan—mid-range, unaligned, the kind of vehicle that blended into every commuter line. The driver, a lean wolf with sunken eyes and a permanent slouch, nodded at Daire with wary respect. “You’re late,” he said.

They were all latest models and mostly limited editions, had me trying to assume how wealthy Don Dada was. "Press the button." He beckoned to me and I was lost until I realized I still had the car key I had earlier with me. I pressed the button and the unlocking sound of a car reached our ears. It turned out the car was a black Lamborghini. "Most of your cars are black." I pointed out, not even realizing immediately that I had said that aloud. "Hm, I love black." He replied sharply as we headed to the car and got in. I no longer said anything as we drove out of the garage and out of the compound. We were in motion for close to forty minutes and I eventually noticed Dada could not get his eye

Adrian moved quietly through the rows, reading each tag, touching nothing. The eleventh car was in the back corner. Smaller cover. No tag. I lifted the cover and stopped breathing entirely. A 1973 Lancia Stratos. White. The exact car my father and I had spent three weeks building a model of on the kitchen table when I was eleven, the one he'd called *the most beautiful bad decision ever made in Italian motorsport*, the one I'd told him I was going to drive one day and he'd said *obviously, when you're ready.*

Damien looking at me in a pleading way and replied again, “But you need to attain the next meeting within half an hour, I hope Hazel will not mind.” “Of course not. I also have to return now. So, Xander, you go to attain it. We can meet soon, right?” I immediately said. He irritatingly replied, “Ok fine. Liam, go with Hazel and drive her to her hostel.” Completing our breakfast, Xander brushed his lips gently on my forehead wrapping my waist and wished me goodbye then we both left the apartment and headed towards two opposite paths. Xander was accompanied by Damien, Jean, Leo and numerous black-suited bodyguards Liam led me to a blue Porsche, it looked very elegant and brand new and opened

“Sure! Just give me a moment—I need to make a call.” “Go ahead.” “Are we taking your car or mine?” Alden asked, dialing Ignatius. “Where’s your car parked?” “It’s in the lot. My assistant is waiting for me. I’m calling him now.” Alden instructed Ignatius to bring the car and follow closely. He wasn’t sure yet if Maximus could be trusted and didn’t want to compromise his safety. Maximus couldn’t help but grin when he saw Alden’s car. The young man didn’t just resemble Peter physically—his tastes were similar too. Alden’s vehicle was a sleek black Lamborghini Veneno Roadster.

Some things were as they remembered, yet other areas unrecognizable. “Check out all these old cars in great shape,” said Jacob, “Even mint condition! Is there a classic car show here or something, or did we just drive onto a movie set? A 1959 Chevy Impala with the bent fins! A 1960 Dodge! They had Push-Button transmissions! What is going on here? They’re all old cars, every one of them!”

"The exotic car dealership on 5th." Hearing the location he was going to, the driver raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror, looking at Maxwell's jeans and simple shirt, but he didn't say anything. However his look said anything, that he didn't think Maxwell belonged somewhere like the location they were going. Twenty minutes later, Maxwell stood in front of the dealership. It was a glass box filled with monsters. Ferraris, McLarens, Lamborghinis. They sat on the white tile floor like sleeping predators.

I said. “Is that his most expensive car?” he asked as Larson laughed. “No, his expensive car is the Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire Droptail,” I answered. “Are you serious?” he asked loudly. “Yes, you see, before he settled down, he had a thing for ambushing weak packs and getting all they owned,” I answered simply.