Reclaiming a mustang is a bit tougher than the boys thought it would be.
|“Cliff, I ain’t so sure about this.” With his eyebrows scrunched together, Bobby looked down at his feet and scuffed one toe in the gravel.
“Course ya ain’t. I’m the one who does the plannin',” Cliff reached up a hand and smoothed his greased-back hair. “Besides, we need that car tonight. I’m takin’ Betty Sue to the dance, and woowee, that girl is light as a feather.” Cliff wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m kinda hopin’ to take a peek at that rose tattoo on her—“
“But there’s a couple things I forgot—“
“Stop thinkin’ too hard. Now, the car’s still yours, ain’t it?” Cliff drilled Bobby with his eyes, daring him to argue. “And ya still got the keys?”
“Yea, Daddy didn’t take ‘em, but he said the car had to sit here in the family’s junkyard until I could pay fer it.”
“Hogwash. Now, let’s get on with it.” Cliff pulled himself up over the chain link fence and dropped down. Bobby joined him, and the two darted their way through abandoned cars and junk piles. Cliff paused and whistled at the sight of the ’65 mustang, glinting silver in the twilight. A low menacing growl pierced his fantasy. “What was that?”
“That’s one of the things I forgot.” Bobby grinned. “Daddy got a new dog, and he don’t like me none neither.”
Cliff bolted and didn’t wait to see if Bobby followed his example. The two boys slammed the mustang’s doors just as a snarling doberman launched itself at the window. Cliff sucked in a deep breath and fought to calm his racing heart. “Okay, give me the keys, and we’ll get out of here.”
“Ummmm, well now, that’s the other thing I forgot. The keys are at home on my dresser.”
Word Count 295