|
|
|
|
|
An older model Mustang careens around the corner and slides to a brake-squealing stop next to a curb where several people mill around on a boring Sunday night. The man inside reaches across the passenger’s seat, opens the door, glances out, finds who he’s searching for, and says, “Lace. Get in.” He shoves a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.
With a smile and a giddy thrill in her stomach, Lace slides into the car. “Hey, Thunder.”
Peeling the top layer of rubber off his back wheels, Thunder pulls away from the curb and speeds down the street. “Where’s Brisco?” he asks.
Lace looks out the back window. “I think you left him with the Nashville Gang. He was standing right next to me.”
“Oh.” With a stomach-churning spin, Thunder turns around and heads back to the curb. He screeches the Mustang to a stop, rolls down the window, and locates his second man. “Brisco. Get in.”
Brisco crawls into the back seat with a big grin on his face. “Hey, Lace.” He tosses her a rose and eyes Thunder with suspicion. “Oh, boy, him again? What are we up to tonight?”
Without answering, Thunder stares straight ahead as he changes gears. A moment later, he says, “Rachel?”
Lace bites her lip. “Umm…not sure she’ll be in tonight. That whole thing with the guy who reinvented himself for this world cut her deeply.”
“We need her for this job.” Thunder scowls through the windshield, his face a mask of seriousness.
Lace glances at Brisco; he shrugs and says, “I have no idea who you’re talking about. I haven’t met Rachel, yet.”
Lace returns her attention to Thunder. “Try the Broken Hearts Room.”
With another spectacular entrance, Thunder stops the Mustang just short of bouncing a couple of little old ladies off the dark maroon hood. After a quick scan of the patrons, they locate Rachel and urge her to join them. Thunder demands it.
“I really don’t feel like it,” Rachel says and backs away. “No one is who they pretend to be in this place.”
Brisco snorts. “Did you really expect anything different in here? Only Lace knows my real name.” He glances at Thunder. “And nobody knows who the hell he is.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. Forget about your broken heart for a while.” Lace grabs Rachel’s wrist and tugs. “Not everyone here is fake and dishonest.” She glances at Thunder. “Well, maybe except for him.”
Thunder glares at Lace, bites down on his toothpick, snapping it in half, and says, “Rachel. Get in.” With an eye roll and a sigh, she slips into the backseat with Brisco. He produces a rose and extends it her way. With a faint smile, she accepts it.
“My, aren’t you the charming one.” She tosses the rose out the window.
“Hey! That was meant as a friendly hello.” Brisco slouches down in the seat, his feelings slightly bruised.
“Tonight, we go after a gang of drug dealers.” Thunder informs us with that same mask of danger glued to his face.
“Phhhhhtttt… How cliché is that?” Lace laughs, buckles her seatbelt, and settles in for a wild ride, while Brisco and Rachel exchange private insults with a hefty dose of flirtatious bickering. Lace picks up an empty plastic bottle and whacks them on top of the head.
“Cool it, you two.”
A Pontiac Firebird pulls out in front of the Mustang, missing it by a hair. The driver shoots Thunder the bird, and yells, “Come and get us, you sons of beeches!” With an eardrum-shattering yell, Thunder floors the gas pedal and chases the Firebird.
Startled, Brisco yells, “Hey, I think I left my brains on the glass behind me. Not to mention I now have a major case of whiplash. What’s the freaking hurry?”
Lace nods toward the windshield and mouths, “Drug dealers.”
“I want some doughnuts,” Rachel says. “Dripping with lots of chocolate.” She sniffs. “Preferably before I kill someone.”
“Oooh, that sounds good!” Lace squeezes Thunder’s bicep. “We need doughnuts.”
“No doughnuts.”
Brisco leans over the front seat. “Aw, come on. Can’t we have some doughnuts?”
Rachel suddenly shouts, “Krispy Kreme at ten o’clock.” Thunder shows no indication of slowing down. Rachel kicks the back of Thunder’s seat. “Stop, you Neanderthal. I demand doughnuts! Now!” With a disgusted sigh, Thunder whips into the parking lot and heads for the drive-thru.
“Make it quick.”
Rachel places the order and reaches for the bag just as the Firebird honks and revs its engine across the street. “What’s the matter? You chicken?” the driver yells. Thunder floors the gas pedal again and speeds head on toward the other vehicle aiming for a T-bone hit.
Rachel yells, “Wait! We don’t have our doughnuts.”
“Hey! Rachel’s about to fall out the window,” Lace screams. Brisco grabs Rachel by the seat of her jeans and hauls her to safety. She flops down and holds the bag up triumphantly. “Got ‘em.” She takes a chocolate covered one and hands the bag to Brisco.
“Brisco. Guns. Now.”
“Can’t I eat my doughnut first?”
“No.”
With a sigh, Brisco scoots over close to Rachel, gets on his knees, and lets down half the backseat. He pulls out a Ruger P90 Pistol, hands it to Lace, reaches back pulls out a Remington Single-Shot 12-gauge shotgun and hands it to Rachel, then takes a SIG Sauer P220 for himself.
After several sharp turns and puke-inducing skids, Thunder thrusts his hand toward Brisco and gives an impatient gesture. “Where’s mine?”
“Oh, sorry.” Brisco rummages around in the bag and hands Thunder a glazed doughnut.
Thunder shakes the offending pastry off his hand and wipes the sticky residue on Brisco’s hair. “Gun. Now.”
“Chill out, dude!” Brisco scrambles for another gun and slaps a Beretta .357 Magnum into Thunder’s palm. “Doesn’t anyone wonder where I’m getting all this fire power?”
Thunder leans out the window and fires off a few rounds, then shoves Lace down just as the windshield explodes with return fire, spraying glass across the car and into the backseat. Rachel sticks her head out the window and screams, “Die, you slimy dogs, die!” as the shotgun booms in her hands. She pulls her head back inside and yells, “Damn it, Brisco, I need something with more oomph.”
Brisco hauls out a Ruger mini semi-automatic rifle and hands it to her. “Have at it.”
“They almost blew a hole the size of Australia through your face, Darlin’,” Thunder yells over the noise of Rachel’s out-of-control shooting and insults. He pulls his hand off the top of Lace’s head so she can sit up.
Darlin’? Lace straightens and shakes small shards of glass from her hair. “Yeah, well, you’ve got glass sticking out of your face.” She starts to pluck one from his chin, but Thunder smacks her hand away.
“No time. Brisco, do something besides stuff your face with doughnuts.” He tosses Brisco a look every bit as dark and scary as his name. Brisco grumbles, reaches behind the seat again and pulls, out a grenade launcher.
“Time to end this.” He aims it at the Firebird and lets it fly.
The enemy’s car explodes, shooting a fire ball high into the night sky, sending a wave of super-heated air, along with a car door, toward the Mustang. “Duck!” Thunder yells, and they hit the floorboards. The car door bounces off the top, skims the back end, and lands in the street behind them.
After a moment, everyone slowly peeks above the dashboard. “Must’ve had a full tank of gas,” Brisco mutters and snatches the bag of doughnuts from Rachel as she hands it to Lace.
“Great job,” Thunder says, staring straight ahead, chewing on a fresh toothpick. “Now get out.”
Brisco, Rachel, and Lace grimace as they exit the Mustang. “You gonna make us walk home?” Lace asks. Thunder yanks the doughnuts from Brisco and pulls away even before the car doors shut.
“Do you think he’s gonna pull that glass out of his face anytime soon?” Brisco asks with a grimace.
They stand around and watch the Firebird burn for a few minutes, then Rachel says, “Any one wanna come back to my place for a drink?”
Lace shakes her head. “Gotta get up early and get the kids off to school tomorrow morning.”
“And I’ve got to be at the comic book store by eight a.m.” Brisco tosses the girls a rose each, bows, and blinks out.
Rachel turns to Lace and gives her a hug. “Thanks. I truly did have fun. Glad that Smoky and the Bandit wannabe invited me.”
“Good.” Lace hesitates, then says, “You know this world isn’t meant to be taken seriously.”
“I know.”
“Same chat room tomorrow night around tenish?”
“You got it.” Rachel smiles and blinks out, followed a few seconds later by Lace.
All is quiet on the cyber front once more.
|
|
|
|
