Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1056467-Stang
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Crime/Gangster · #1056467
A test drive with a difference...

I loved it! The sun gleamed from pristine candy-red paint work.
and the patent leather caressed me tenderly as I sank into heaven behind the wheel.
The slick-as-silicon sales-snake beamed his pearly-white dental work my way.
"Yessir, She's a beauty ain't she?"
"So so", I lied.
I needn't have bothered, he could smell my excitement from a mile away.
"Lets go for a spin," he oozed, "This baby runs like a top!"
He waved the key in my face; I snatched it up, and slid it into the ignition in one fluid motion.
I needed no formal invitation.

The hairs on the nape of my neck stood at attention, as my dream car roared to life.
The salesman, at first, grinning at my reaction, could only look on in stunned silence as I drove off without him.

Adrenaline ripped through my body as I swung out of the lot and headed east on Main. The car surged like a raging torrent reacting instantaneously to my every whim.

As I reluctantly pulled up at the red light on Broadway, two masked, gunmen came barreling out of the First National bank, and jumped into a grey getaway van. The Van lurched away before its rear doors were fully closed.

They jumped the curb on 41st, and sped away. I performed a death defying u-turn, and followed at a discrete distance. Not discrete enough though apparently.

The Van's door swung wide and I watched in horror as a hail of bullets. tapped danced off the Mustang's hood.

I serpentined and dropped back slightly. The Grey van zigged, I zagged , then it cut down a back alley. I reached for the radio intending to call it in. Then swore to myself as the realization washed over me. This was not my car. No radio, no backup, I was in this alone.
The lane was lined with trash cans, one of which came hurtling at me and left a lovely spider-web crack in the windshield.

One masked bandit glared at me down the barrel of a semi automatic weapon. I thought I was a dead man, but its erratic spray seemed to miss its mark. A sudden mist obscured my vision though, and I could tell that the Mustang's radiator was mortally wounded.

I heard sirens, and spotted the two police cruisers up ahead, and knew then, that the good guys were winning.

I stopped the crippled car, and with my gun drawn, cautiously approached the surrounded getaway van.

"This is the police! Throw out your weapons and come out with your hands raised!" I yelled

Realizing the hopelessness of their current situation, the two masked men and their chauffeur gave up without a fight.

As three uniformed officers lead them away, I gazed sorrowfully at my "dream car"

The slick salesman looked up,and his jaw dropped as the tow truck pulled in.
The candy-red '66 Mustang convertible was torn to shreds and bleeding (coolant) like a wounded beast.
"I think I'll pass on this one."I deadpanned" I don't really care for the color.

The chief wanted to ring my neck, when news of my exploits reached him, he couldn't see why the department should foot the bill for the damaged vehicle. He was set to deduct it from my paycheck, for the next ten years, but just then, word reached us, that I had helped bring down the notorious Probish Gang.

My new car? That was never going to happen on a cops salary, I just like to test drive 'em from time to time!

Hey, you never know, someone's gotta win the lottery ...right?

© Copyright 2006 Noahcounthobo (onnoahcount at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1056467-Stang