Fat Hack
05-08-2004, 10:40 AM
Not to step on our buddy, Roger's toes, but I thought I'd share one with ya, too...here's Part One!
The music ran through his head as he walked with a purposeful stride along the busy roadway. He'd always kept a fast pace, finding it hard to walk slowly at all...and today he made no effort to curb his speed. He was iron willed and determined...a man on a mission!
Soft. twangy acoustic guitars echoed in his mind as he made his way along the grassy roadside that early Summer morning. A country song, though a relatively obscure one, kept playing on the jukebox in his mind. Tanya Tucker's unmistakeable voice cut in after the short musical intro...
"With a .38 tucked out of sight,
In a hopped up Ford on a Saturday night,
He was burnin' rubber halfway to Waco..."
It was no .38 he carried with him, though...and he wasn't headed for Waco. The flip-top office supply paper organizer swinging in his right hand between his forearm and hip contained some blank paper, a couple of pens, a few pictures of family and friends, a Michigan license plate, an old keychain with a tattered black and white yearbook photo of the only girl that had ever truly loved him...and a gas powered pellet pistol that bore a superficial resemblence to the popular Colt Model 1911 .45 caliber pistols and their copies. That folder, and the twenty dollar bill in his jeans pocket was all that he had decided to take with him on this fateful day.
He'd always had a knack for reflexive action, and he'd practiced the "drop & draw" method a hundred times in his basement earlier that morning. He was confident that he could flip his fingers upward beneath the folder, then quickly whip his hand into a fluid rise and flick the untied flap open with his thumb as he snatched the pistol and brought it to bear on target while the folder fell to the ground. After twenty five consecutive successful repetitions, he knew he had it down. Gunslinger cool and blindingly quick...the element of surprise would compensate for his weapon's lack of deadly ballistic power if it came down to showtime. He never broke a sweat once.
The hopped up Ford was the other half of the equation. Taken from him the night before, he was on his way to get it back. It wasn't much to brag about, a faded dull white 1969 Mustang coupe with a warmed over 302 cubic inch engine, but it was HIS car, and the bastards that took it from him weren't going to keep him from reclaiming it...one way or another. With a burning anger rising up from within him, he knew he could walk in there and strike with speed and precision before they realized what was happening. He'd formulated a few different plans, and had re-conned the location several hours earlier under cover of the night.
The impound lot opened at ten o'clock every morning, and by ten thirty, he'd planned to be well on his way. It was coming up on 9:45am as he cut across the overgrown field to come up from the rear of the lot...allowing him cover of the brush to get in close and undetected. He'd need to make a quick survey of the fenced-in lot in the light of day before enacting whichever one of three plans he'd incorporate to pull this caper off.
Plan One was the best bet...safest and least likely to get anybody hurt. That one called for just marching in there and driving the car out of the front gate. Simple, direct and effective...so long as no one tried to stop him.
Plan Two was a bit more daring, but if the car was still on the back of the wrecker as it had been when he'd scoped the lot hours earlier...it would involve stealing the wrecker and releasing the car once he was a safe distance away. The drivers generally left the keys in the trucks inside of the lot, he'd seen evidence to that fact earlier as he watched through binoculars in the darkness. The glint of the keys dangling from the ignition as the driver jumped out of his truck to check in at the office then head home.
Then there was Plan Three. Total Outlaw. Bust in there, surprise the clerk and the one or two drivers that would be inside the office, then force them into the back room and tie them up with phone cords or whatever was available. Bar the door and get away while buying himself some time until the employess got free or were discovered by someone. He regarded Plan Three as a Last Resort...but was committed to the task, and would exercise ice cold conviction in carrying out his Plan.
Then there was the dog to deal with. A large, bushy Shepherd-mix that patrolled the lot freely at night, and was chained to a post near the office by day. His chain allowed him some freedom of movement, but he couldn't reach the office door if he was tied up as he normally was during business hours. The fresh Co2 cartridge and full clip of pellets would hopefully discourage the dog from any rash heroics, but he didn't feel that the mutt would pose a big threat. He'd made his aquaintence the night before.
He'd met the dog at the back fence area when he'd crept in close the previous night for a look. He'd expected there to be some sort of guard dog, and wasn't alarmed by the discovery. He'd brought three dog biscuits with him, and had the mutt's full attention and loyalty within seconds. Some vicious watchdog indeed!
In the daylight, the lot looked dusty, open and vulnerable. The dog was chained up and resting quietly in the shade. The Mustang had been taken off of the wrecker and parked in the front row opposite the office door. The front gate was left wide open and unguarded. He breathed a slight sigh of relief. This would be easy. Tanya's voiced drifted through the verses of the song once more...
"Destination, liquor store,
And though he'd never robbed one before,
He'd made up his mind to do it,
Then he'd lay low..."
Rising from his crouch in the brush, he strolled around the fence towards the gate and walked past the sign that read "Police Impound". The dog lifted it's head as it's tail wagged happily. He smiled at the animal, then turned and opened the office door.
Inside sat one lady lazily shuffling paperwork at a desk behind the counter. The restroom door was closed and the faint sound of the vent fan running could be heard. One driver, and he'd likely be in there a few minutes at least. As the lady lifted her eyes to greet him, he spoke quickly and clearly. "White Mustang, brought in last night.", he said more like a statement, but still directed as a question.
She blinked at the stranger's sudden and direct appearance. A tall young man wearing a black jacket, white shirt and mirrored sunglasses. She'd later remark that he looked very non-descript and casual...no distinguishing features. "Sure, it's outside", she answered somewhat slowly. "Are you the owner...come to pay the fines and get it out?", she asked blankly.
"Left my wallet in the glovebox", the stranger stated. "Need to get it, if that's okay."
The woman shrugged, still not quite sure what to make of this curt youngster standing before her with the organizer pouch on the counter in front of him. Probably contained his insurance and registration paperwork, she assumed. His hand was resting on the flap as if ready to open it and produce the required doccumentation upon request. "Yeah...go on outside and have a look.", she replied finally.
He turned and was out the door almost before she could draw her next breath. He'd snatched the folder and taken it with him. She pondered whether or not she should get up and start the sign-out process...he'd probably be back in as soon as he'd fetched his billfold from the car.
Walking out of the office, his car was directly in front of him. Backed into place with the grille just a few quick paces away. The woman inside had seemed a bit aloof, not quite at her sharpest yet this morning. That could work to his advantage. He withdrew the spare key taped inside of his sleeve as he arrived at the driver's door.
His motions were quick and neat. He opened the door, slipped into the seat and closed it quickly. His hand went for the ignition switch in the dash, only to find that the key had been left in it! He flipped the spare key into a half fist while turning the key in the switch with his thumb and forefinger. He turned it to "ignition", then paused a moment.
The office door was still closed, and nobody was in the window facing him. He pumped the gas pedal twice, then turned the key to "start". The engine fired instantly, and he worked the throttle with a practiced touch while dropping the shifter into "Drive" and steering for the open gate. His faithful steed had not let him down, it had started quickly and didn't hessitate as he accelerated out of the gate with the rear tires slinging loose sand and gravel. Turning onto the side street, he headed for the main road. A quick right hander and he opened the throttle and sped away. The dual exhaust roared as he picked up speed. He was free.
"All he thought he needed
Was a little bit of cash to go on,
A good set of wheels,
And the gas to get back home..."
The song continued to circulate in his head as his heart beat faster and his eyes became aware of every car and person he passed. He watched out for cops and scanned his rearview mirror for any sign of a tail. About five miles down the road, he turned off onto a residential street and pulled into an alley behind a liquor store.
Leaving the engine running, he quickly grabbed a screwdriver from the glovebox and slipped the license plate out of the folder on the passenger's seat. Opening his door, he stepped to the rear of the car and quickly attatched the plate. It was an expired plate from a dead project car back home in the garage, but it looked better than no plate at all, so he tightened it down, then hopped back into the car and drove off.
Th PLan had worked. He'd gotten his car back, but was now unsure exactly what his next move would be. The police would no doubt be looking for him at home, so going there wasn't an option. He approached the westbound freeway and took the on ramp. He'd hit the road...get out of state, and figure out his next move from there.
He drove for a while, watching out for cops and skillfully 'hiding' in traffic whenever he saw a State Trooper going the opposite way. He wasn't sure just how fast or how far word would travel to other law enforcement agencies, but he kept on his toes as if he were now officially Public Enemy Number One. No sense in getting careless at this point!
He pulled into a gas station about fifty miles up the freeway. The car was easy on fueal at easy freeway speeds, but he only had twenty dollars to his name, had to spend it wisely. Parking near one of the pumps, he walked inside, still taking note of every car and person within sight.
Placing a bottle of Pepsi on the counter along with the twenty dollar bill, he told the clerk to give him nine dollars on pump four. That would nearly fill the tank and carry him quite a ways with ten dollars left. He'd make up the rest as he went.
He gassed up the car, and popped the top off of the soda bottle using an opener near the pump. The sun had warmed things up quickly, so he took his jacket off and tossed it into the back seat. Starting the engine, he steered back onto the freeway, headed west...towards his uncertain future.
TO BE CONTINUED !!! http://www.jalopyjournal.com/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/grin.gif
The music ran through his head as he walked with a purposeful stride along the busy roadway. He'd always kept a fast pace, finding it hard to walk slowly at all...and today he made no effort to curb his speed. He was iron willed and determined...a man on a mission!
Soft. twangy acoustic guitars echoed in his mind as he made his way along the grassy roadside that early Summer morning. A country song, though a relatively obscure one, kept playing on the jukebox in his mind. Tanya Tucker's unmistakeable voice cut in after the short musical intro...
"With a .38 tucked out of sight,
In a hopped up Ford on a Saturday night,
He was burnin' rubber halfway to Waco..."
It was no .38 he carried with him, though...and he wasn't headed for Waco. The flip-top office supply paper organizer swinging in his right hand between his forearm and hip contained some blank paper, a couple of pens, a few pictures of family and friends, a Michigan license plate, an old keychain with a tattered black and white yearbook photo of the only girl that had ever truly loved him...and a gas powered pellet pistol that bore a superficial resemblence to the popular Colt Model 1911 .45 caliber pistols and their copies. That folder, and the twenty dollar bill in his jeans pocket was all that he had decided to take with him on this fateful day.
He'd always had a knack for reflexive action, and he'd practiced the "drop & draw" method a hundred times in his basement earlier that morning. He was confident that he could flip his fingers upward beneath the folder, then quickly whip his hand into a fluid rise and flick the untied flap open with his thumb as he snatched the pistol and brought it to bear on target while the folder fell to the ground. After twenty five consecutive successful repetitions, he knew he had it down. Gunslinger cool and blindingly quick...the element of surprise would compensate for his weapon's lack of deadly ballistic power if it came down to showtime. He never broke a sweat once.
The hopped up Ford was the other half of the equation. Taken from him the night before, he was on his way to get it back. It wasn't much to brag about, a faded dull white 1969 Mustang coupe with a warmed over 302 cubic inch engine, but it was HIS car, and the bastards that took it from him weren't going to keep him from reclaiming it...one way or another. With a burning anger rising up from within him, he knew he could walk in there and strike with speed and precision before they realized what was happening. He'd formulated a few different plans, and had re-conned the location several hours earlier under cover of the night.
The impound lot opened at ten o'clock every morning, and by ten thirty, he'd planned to be well on his way. It was coming up on 9:45am as he cut across the overgrown field to come up from the rear of the lot...allowing him cover of the brush to get in close and undetected. He'd need to make a quick survey of the fenced-in lot in the light of day before enacting whichever one of three plans he'd incorporate to pull this caper off.
Plan One was the best bet...safest and least likely to get anybody hurt. That one called for just marching in there and driving the car out of the front gate. Simple, direct and effective...so long as no one tried to stop him.
Plan Two was a bit more daring, but if the car was still on the back of the wrecker as it had been when he'd scoped the lot hours earlier...it would involve stealing the wrecker and releasing the car once he was a safe distance away. The drivers generally left the keys in the trucks inside of the lot, he'd seen evidence to that fact earlier as he watched through binoculars in the darkness. The glint of the keys dangling from the ignition as the driver jumped out of his truck to check in at the office then head home.
Then there was Plan Three. Total Outlaw. Bust in there, surprise the clerk and the one or two drivers that would be inside the office, then force them into the back room and tie them up with phone cords or whatever was available. Bar the door and get away while buying himself some time until the employess got free or were discovered by someone. He regarded Plan Three as a Last Resort...but was committed to the task, and would exercise ice cold conviction in carrying out his Plan.
Then there was the dog to deal with. A large, bushy Shepherd-mix that patrolled the lot freely at night, and was chained to a post near the office by day. His chain allowed him some freedom of movement, but he couldn't reach the office door if he was tied up as he normally was during business hours. The fresh Co2 cartridge and full clip of pellets would hopefully discourage the dog from any rash heroics, but he didn't feel that the mutt would pose a big threat. He'd made his aquaintence the night before.
He'd met the dog at the back fence area when he'd crept in close the previous night for a look. He'd expected there to be some sort of guard dog, and wasn't alarmed by the discovery. He'd brought three dog biscuits with him, and had the mutt's full attention and loyalty within seconds. Some vicious watchdog indeed!
In the daylight, the lot looked dusty, open and vulnerable. The dog was chained up and resting quietly in the shade. The Mustang had been taken off of the wrecker and parked in the front row opposite the office door. The front gate was left wide open and unguarded. He breathed a slight sigh of relief. This would be easy. Tanya's voiced drifted through the verses of the song once more...
"Destination, liquor store,
And though he'd never robbed one before,
He'd made up his mind to do it,
Then he'd lay low..."
Rising from his crouch in the brush, he strolled around the fence towards the gate and walked past the sign that read "Police Impound". The dog lifted it's head as it's tail wagged happily. He smiled at the animal, then turned and opened the office door.
Inside sat one lady lazily shuffling paperwork at a desk behind the counter. The restroom door was closed and the faint sound of the vent fan running could be heard. One driver, and he'd likely be in there a few minutes at least. As the lady lifted her eyes to greet him, he spoke quickly and clearly. "White Mustang, brought in last night.", he said more like a statement, but still directed as a question.
She blinked at the stranger's sudden and direct appearance. A tall young man wearing a black jacket, white shirt and mirrored sunglasses. She'd later remark that he looked very non-descript and casual...no distinguishing features. "Sure, it's outside", she answered somewhat slowly. "Are you the owner...come to pay the fines and get it out?", she asked blankly.
"Left my wallet in the glovebox", the stranger stated. "Need to get it, if that's okay."
The woman shrugged, still not quite sure what to make of this curt youngster standing before her with the organizer pouch on the counter in front of him. Probably contained his insurance and registration paperwork, she assumed. His hand was resting on the flap as if ready to open it and produce the required doccumentation upon request. "Yeah...go on outside and have a look.", she replied finally.
He turned and was out the door almost before she could draw her next breath. He'd snatched the folder and taken it with him. She pondered whether or not she should get up and start the sign-out process...he'd probably be back in as soon as he'd fetched his billfold from the car.
Walking out of the office, his car was directly in front of him. Backed into place with the grille just a few quick paces away. The woman inside had seemed a bit aloof, not quite at her sharpest yet this morning. That could work to his advantage. He withdrew the spare key taped inside of his sleeve as he arrived at the driver's door.
His motions were quick and neat. He opened the door, slipped into the seat and closed it quickly. His hand went for the ignition switch in the dash, only to find that the key had been left in it! He flipped the spare key into a half fist while turning the key in the switch with his thumb and forefinger. He turned it to "ignition", then paused a moment.
The office door was still closed, and nobody was in the window facing him. He pumped the gas pedal twice, then turned the key to "start". The engine fired instantly, and he worked the throttle with a practiced touch while dropping the shifter into "Drive" and steering for the open gate. His faithful steed had not let him down, it had started quickly and didn't hessitate as he accelerated out of the gate with the rear tires slinging loose sand and gravel. Turning onto the side street, he headed for the main road. A quick right hander and he opened the throttle and sped away. The dual exhaust roared as he picked up speed. He was free.
"All he thought he needed
Was a little bit of cash to go on,
A good set of wheels,
And the gas to get back home..."
The song continued to circulate in his head as his heart beat faster and his eyes became aware of every car and person he passed. He watched out for cops and scanned his rearview mirror for any sign of a tail. About five miles down the road, he turned off onto a residential street and pulled into an alley behind a liquor store.
Leaving the engine running, he quickly grabbed a screwdriver from the glovebox and slipped the license plate out of the folder on the passenger's seat. Opening his door, he stepped to the rear of the car and quickly attatched the plate. It was an expired plate from a dead project car back home in the garage, but it looked better than no plate at all, so he tightened it down, then hopped back into the car and drove off.
Th PLan had worked. He'd gotten his car back, but was now unsure exactly what his next move would be. The police would no doubt be looking for him at home, so going there wasn't an option. He approached the westbound freeway and took the on ramp. He'd hit the road...get out of state, and figure out his next move from there.
He drove for a while, watching out for cops and skillfully 'hiding' in traffic whenever he saw a State Trooper going the opposite way. He wasn't sure just how fast or how far word would travel to other law enforcement agencies, but he kept on his toes as if he were now officially Public Enemy Number One. No sense in getting careless at this point!
He pulled into a gas station about fifty miles up the freeway. The car was easy on fueal at easy freeway speeds, but he only had twenty dollars to his name, had to spend it wisely. Parking near one of the pumps, he walked inside, still taking note of every car and person within sight.
Placing a bottle of Pepsi on the counter along with the twenty dollar bill, he told the clerk to give him nine dollars on pump four. That would nearly fill the tank and carry him quite a ways with ten dollars left. He'd make up the rest as he went.
He gassed up the car, and popped the top off of the soda bottle using an opener near the pump. The sun had warmed things up quickly, so he took his jacket off and tossed it into the back seat. Starting the engine, he steered back onto the freeway, headed west...towards his uncertain future.
TO BE CONTINUED !!! http://www.jalopyjournal.com/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/grin.gif