Predator Press
[LOBO]
It was only vaguely sunny, but comfortable. The guy that works on his kit cars was working an Aston Martin, and, as per usual, the promising husk was blocking about a third of the two lane subdivision’s road.
I never really minded swinging by him. In fact to the contrary, I had a quiet admiration for his work. A few months ago -weather permitting- he was building a fucking
hot Boss 429 Mustang. But having not come down this road for some time, I never really saw the project anywhere near completion.
Still, the Aston Martin looks pretty cool already.
The fact this obtrusive hobbyist was blind wasn’t much of a secret; it was obvious by his seemingly cavalier attitude toward roadside traffic. Even now, his legs, surrounded by tools, stuck out from the skeletal underside as autumn leaves swirled in skittish somersaults across the faded concrete -a scant five feet from the center divide.
If constructing cars wasn’t enough, it was rumored Hal worked for NASA. I swear to god. Not working on rockets and such, but something to do with the concession machines; he got in on some kind of handicap program. Single and without children, his income provided an enviable house, and an even
more enviable hobby.
Little of this registers to me consciously as I swing by wide in the light traffic.
The security key would doubtlessly be changed by the second shift, and the locks would be reconfigured.
While not particularly rushed, it would be of no value in a matter of hours.
A serious thief would feel more pressed for time; I regard myself as more of a passing opportunist.
An
explorer if you will.
Malls, most people don’t know, have separate entrances for their employees; concrete catacombs providing unrestricted access –I learned this from my first job, hawking smoothies at one. Sure they’re monitored by video cameras, but I look a lot like my brother, and I’m wearing his uniform. He’ll be mad if he finds out, but if he finds out I’m fucked anyway –I’m using his car.
And fuck his
car, I’ve got his badge and his gun too.
But the plan is only to “explore.” A short pop in and out, copping my brother’s
look if you’ll pardon the pun -acting like this unwieldy utility belt is second nature
Like I’m doing something boring yet somehow relevant.
Should a bicycle or a pair of sneakers appear in my car, well, what can I do? It’s not like I could return them. Those people would then
prosecute, and the need to go through prosecuting people is a big pain in the ass.
Nobody wants that. I’ll just keep them.
My mildly amused grin goes away fast when I realize the key isn’t working. And even as my mind locks into the unexpected issue, I hear the interface pop.
“Stay there Mallory,” squawked the durable-looking gray cube.
”We’re coming out.”
Fuck, I thought.
I started sweating immediately –probably even before I began the brisk trot to the car. My hand seemed to instinctively hold the pistol grip despite the unfamiliarity as I ran, and from what seemed a million miles away I wondered optimistically if they would think my brother was suddenly dispatched on a call.
My mind raced as I started the roaring engine, while simultaneously slamming the door.
Should I have bluffed it out and stayed?
Thinking ahead, I had tactically parked for a fast exit: the tires screamed into the pavement
hard, and I fishtailed slightly in the unexpected thrust.
When I saw the flashing lights in the rearview, and all hope of my brother not finding out melted. I was, for lack of a better word, fucked in Fuckville at fuck o’clock.
Still, maybe if I got the car back on our property they wouldn’t tow impound it.
Maybe if I tell him “I’m sorry,” my brother will forgive me sooner.
-And panic stricken, I
forgot about poor ol Hal.
[LOBO]
