Let
Jack Price inherits a tenement house in 1970's New York, with a tenant Charlie Stan on a protected rent agreement. Ex-biker Charlie dresses like a budget Keef, and declares himself a disciple of the devil. He drives an old black Ford with red scallops, having added a pentagram on the hood, vanity plates and a 'Pagans' logo on the back. He earns money from the gullible as an occultist, specialising in 'sex magik', advertising in underground magazines. One day Charlie's car is broken into, so he consults one of his occult books, finds an ancient Egyptian curse with which to scare off the locals, and scrawls it on the board blocking the broken window. After a while symbols start to appear scratched on the car and red 'rust' patches, while the paintwork is regularly damaged. Charlie suspects Jack, as they are at war by now.
Jack is determined to evict Charlie; he is not the culprit, but he decides to play on Charlie's growing paranoia. Delving into the world of the occult, he enters a pact with Gen Ewing, the unsettling owner of a book shop whose customers Charlie solicits. Jack will take his wife and father on a holiday, Gen will 'get rid' of Charlie, while Jack will sneak back and get rid of the car, making it look like Charlie left while he was away.
Cue the blood-letting, madness, retribution etc.
Cut to the present day, and the Ford has been restored to it's pristine, if dark, black and red scalloped prime. It is driven by an ostentatious preacher Robin Goodfellow, who uses it to publicise his local blood transfusion charity. He tells passengers that the original owner had been murdered in a satanic ritual, and that subsequently the car fell into the hands of his landlord, who committed suicide after murdering his invalid father. He says the landlord's widow begged him to get rid of the car, claiming it kept appearing back at the tenement building. Goodfellow recalls how he realised that the Coptic curse in the window read 'pay in blood', but that the incompetent Charlie had cursed occupants rather than intruders. He'd look meaningfully at his passengers, who would nervously laugh and agree to donate at the transfusion charity. After driving a passenger to the collection unit, he drives home, pulling in to the drive of an opulent Victorian mansion outside NY, tended to by gardeners and many domestic staff. Parking in a spacious pristine garage, he opens the trunk, takes out a blood pack and carefully fills the tank.