went back to searching for the keys.
CHAPTER 18
––––––––
S lick got there two footsteps too late. He didn’t want to run the parking lot or else the driver might have panicked and locked the doors and floored it. He stepped up to the driver’s window as the engine turned over.
Slick tapped on the glass with his gun. “Get out.”
The driver, a Latino of about twenty-one, startled at the sight of a gun. He scrambled around the interior of his car for something. Slick didn’t wait to find out what. He opened the door, reached in with his free hand and hauled the kid out. Loud hip hop music came with him. The kid still held on to the bottle of rum he bought inside.
“I told you to get out. You speak English?”
“Yo, yo, I’m out. I’m out.”
Slick jostled the kid, not letting him get a good foothold on the curb. From afar it looked like they were dancing to the music. “And I’ll take that . . .” the bottle slid out of the kid’s hand and smashed in the gutter. Too much jerking around. The kid had those staring-at-a-cop eyes; wide and jittery. Daddy with a belt eyes. She just told me she was sixteen eyes.
Slick tossed him aside. “I’m borrowing your ride, son.”
“Fuck, man. Please don’t. There’s lots of other cars, man. I’ll help you get one. We’ll find something better.”
“Well, shit, if this one is so dear to you it must be pretty good. I think I’ll see what all the fuss is about.”
Slick dropped behind the wheel. The kid stepped off the curb and put himself in front of the car, his hands on the hood.
“Seriously, man. Please don’t.” Slick barely heard him over the thumping bass and mediocre rhymes, but he knew by the kid’s pleading face what he meant.
Slick aimed the gun through the window. “Hey, I know you put some money into this piece of shit, but you really think it’s worth dying over?”
The kid contemplated. His pained expression showed his worry, as if Slick was about to shoot his puppy in the head and he had to choose between it and his own mother. A real Sophie’s Choice, this.
He lifted his palms off the hood, felt the heat radiate back out into the cool night until his hands were cold again. The last lingering touch of his beloved vehicle.
“Go back inside and buy yourself another bottle. It’ll feel all better at the bottom.”
Slick revved the engine, the sickening sounds of your girlfriend fucking another man. With the gun still in his hand Slick threw it in gear and roared away from the curb. The kid stood in the neon glow of the liquor store and cried.
Slick laughed out loud, working the clutch and shifting like a pro. “What some people will do for their cars.”
He turned down the stereo. Not much worse in this world than shitty rap. Maybe The Doors and their fucking organ solos and no bass player. Who the fuck did they think they were?
A voice surprised Slick from the back seat. “What are you willing to die for motherfucker?”
The cold metal of a .45 pressed into his neck from behind. Slick eased up on the throttle, slowed down all his movements. “Drop the gun on the seat.” He did as he was told.
For the second time, someone got the drop on Slick. He stifled a hot rush of rage and did his best to remain calm. “I just need a ride, man. Doesn’t have to be this car. You let me out right here and we’re all good.”
“Bullshit. I know they sent you. Rudy thinks he can take me out that easy? Fuck him, man. And fuck you too, ugly motherfucker.”
Slick wondered why he didn’t smell the sweat before. It was nervous sweat, not exercise sweat. Big difference. Animal instinct could tell between the two.
“I don’t know any Rudy, man. I’m just looking for a ride and this car was the first one I saw.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m the Easter Bunny. Turn left on Hayes. Rudy wants to see me so bad, let’s go see him.”
“I’m telling you, man, I don’t know any Rudy.”
“Shut the fuck up and drive like I
CHAPTER 18
––––––––
S lick got there two footsteps too late. He didn’t want to run the parking lot or else the driver might have panicked and locked the doors and floored it. He stepped up to the driver’s window as the engine turned over.
Slick tapped on the glass with his gun. “Get out.”
The driver, a Latino of about twenty-one, startled at the sight of a gun. He scrambled around the interior of his car for something. Slick didn’t wait to find out what. He opened the door, reached in with his free hand and hauled the kid out. Loud hip hop music came with him. The kid still held on to the bottle of rum he bought inside.
“I told you to get out. You speak English?”
“Yo, yo, I’m out. I’m out.”
Slick jostled the kid, not letting him get a good foothold on the curb. From afar it looked like they were dancing to the music. “And I’ll take that . . .” the bottle slid out of the kid’s hand and smashed in the gutter. Too much jerking around. The kid had those staring-at-a-cop eyes; wide and jittery. Daddy with a belt eyes. She just told me she was sixteen eyes.
Slick tossed him aside. “I’m borrowing your ride, son.”
“Fuck, man. Please don’t. There’s lots of other cars, man. I’ll help you get one. We’ll find something better.”
“Well, shit, if this one is so dear to you it must be pretty good. I think I’ll see what all the fuss is about.”
Slick dropped behind the wheel. The kid stepped off the curb and put himself in front of the car, his hands on the hood.
“Seriously, man. Please don’t.” Slick barely heard him over the thumping bass and mediocre rhymes, but he knew by the kid’s pleading face what he meant.
Slick aimed the gun through the window. “Hey, I know you put some money into this piece of shit, but you really think it’s worth dying over?”
The kid contemplated. His pained expression showed his worry, as if Slick was about to shoot his puppy in the head and he had to choose between it and his own mother. A real Sophie’s Choice, this.
He lifted his palms off the hood, felt the heat radiate back out into the cool night until his hands were cold again. The last lingering touch of his beloved vehicle.
“Go back inside and buy yourself another bottle. It’ll feel all better at the bottom.”
Slick revved the engine, the sickening sounds of your girlfriend fucking another man. With the gun still in his hand Slick threw it in gear and roared away from the curb. The kid stood in the neon glow of the liquor store and cried.
Slick laughed out loud, working the clutch and shifting like a pro. “What some people will do for their cars.”
He turned down the stereo. Not much worse in this world than shitty rap. Maybe The Doors and their fucking organ solos and no bass player. Who the fuck did they think they were?
A voice surprised Slick from the back seat. “What are you willing to die for motherfucker?”
The cold metal of a .45 pressed into his neck from behind. Slick eased up on the throttle, slowed down all his movements. “Drop the gun on the seat.” He did as he was told.
For the second time, someone got the drop on Slick. He stifled a hot rush of rage and did his best to remain calm. “I just need a ride, man. Doesn’t have to be this car. You let me out right here and we’re all good.”
“Bullshit. I know they sent you. Rudy thinks he can take me out that easy? Fuck him, man. And fuck you too, ugly motherfucker.”
Slick wondered why he didn’t smell the sweat before. It was nervous sweat, not exercise sweat. Big difference. Animal instinct could tell between the two.
“I don’t know any Rudy, man. I’m just looking for a ride and this car was the first one I saw.”
“Yeah, right. And I’m the Easter Bunny. Turn left on Hayes. Rudy wants to see me so bad, let’s go see him.”
“I’m telling you, man, I don’t know any Rudy.”
“Shut the fuck up and drive like I
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