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It was a memorable week. My brother-in-law, John Curry, died after a long illness. Loretta, John’s widow and my sister, showed us the beauty of unconditional love. Several longtime friends and colleagues announced their departure from The Washington Post. . . . And Ria Manglapus, my associate in vehicle evaluations, got a speeding ticket.

John’s death, although greatly mourned, was expected. Loretta’s fierce dedication to family and friends is known to all touched by her love. The Washington Post was handing out so much money in a bid to reduce its employment rolls that many people were bound to accept its generous buyout offer.

I write these things, gentle readers, as prelude to explanation that I do not wish to trivialize the gravitas of death, the glory of love nor the loss of colleagues in citing Ria’s ticket as the event that framed a most eventful week. But the ticket was stunningly unexpected — even coming, as it did, while she was behind the wheel of the week’s test car, the 2008 Infiniti G37 Journey coupe.

Ria has been driving for 32 years. She didn’t get her license as a teenager. She was never a wild and crazy driver. This was her very first speeding ticket.

Let us stipulate for the record, as she already did, that she was guilty. “I’m so sorry,” she confessed to the arresting Virginia state trooper. “I didn’t know I was going that fast.”

How fast does not matter for these purposes. She will pay a fine but keep her license, not go to jail, and continue her valued association with this column.

Having driven many miles in the G37 Journey, I completely understand.

The car made her do it.

It is a demon car, a sneaky and seductive automobile. Had Adam and Eve fallen from grace in a car, they would have done so in the G37 Journey, or, perhaps, in the even more serpentine G37 Sport 6MT.

Let us examine the particulars. The rear-wheel-drive G37 line — including Base, Journey and Sport 6MT versions — replaces Infiniti’s G35 coupes. The G35 cars were wicked. The G37 coupes, as evinced by the G37 Journey, are absolutely evil.

The difference between wicked and evil is surprise. Wicked behavior is consistent. When you’re dealing with wicked, you know what you’re getting into. Evil behavior is deceptive. You think you’re dealing with one thing, but you wind up dealing with something radically different.

Such is the case with the G37 Journey. It’s downright deceptive.

I was disappointed with the car’s behavior in suburban and urban venues. It felt heavy and ponderous, much like a fat, soft luxury cruiser. Later, I took a midnight run along some Virginia highways that were relatively free of traffic. Whoa!

The G37 Journey’s 3.7-liter, 330-horsepower V-6 engine awakened as if from a vampire’s sleep. It roared with menace and taunt. The car moved frighteningly fast. I tried to control its speed by putting its five-speed, automatic/manual transmission in manual mode. But the car seemed to enjoy the switch. It appeared to run faster and roar louder.

I thought about the 1983 movie “Christine,” which depicted a car possessed. How could it be — a car so tame that it appeared to be lame in one setting, but so demonically fast that it ran like hell in another? It’s an “Infiniti thing,” I concluded.

Infiniti is Nissan’s luxury division. Since opening its doors in the United States in 1989, Infiniti has been on a mission to dazzle consumers with beautiful designs and rev them up with engines and suspensions that deliver high performance. That double-whammy approach designed to exploit the virtuous and dark sides of prospective buyers, has served Infiniti well. But it landed Ria in trouble with the law.

“I, I got a ticket,” she stammered, telling me of her encounter with the police. “I can’t believe it. Me — I got a ticket. I don’t get tickets. I’ve never gotten a ticket,” she said, dropping the Journey’s key into my palm, as if releasing a viper.

“Thirty-two years and I’ve never gotten a ticket, never . . . ,” she said.

Never, I thought, except this time in a week when so many things came to