Black Crow Cafe
Featuring Larry Anderson from Inner Harsh and The Red Eye Report
Johnny and Olive
This is how it was going to go down. Stolen car.
Jimmy and Patrice, running toward Stewart with bags of money, with probably 50 squads just 5 minutes away. And the damn car wouldn’t start.
There were five in the lot. Normally Stewart would have prepared more for this type of thing. Y’know, scoped the car out or even had one –weeks maybe two months in advance. But as the stakes went up, the heat had been on heavier. Jimmy said don’t nab a car until day of. The cops were watching. It had to be sudden, spontaneous. A punch in the kidney when they expected one in the gut or the nose.
A grey minivan, mid 2000’s. Good for storage. Taking kids to kickball games. Stewart almost yanked that one. He saw the big scratch down the side though. Looked like a key. Maybe an ex-husband. Maybe sugar in the gas tank. Maybe it used to belong to a family of four, and they dumped it when daddy got a better job at the insurance company. Now it belonged to clowns shooting dope in the Lowe’s parking lot. Either way, it was a risk. Stewart passed.
As Stewart had rushed through the parking lot there was a yellow Chevy. Evergreen air freshener hanging over the rear view. Car seemed like decent shape, but when Stewart had walked closer he had spotted a Tattoo mag on the passenger side seat. Who carries tattoo mags around in their cars? Probably kids that didn’t have enough tattoos yet. Which might make this a good candidate, snag the car from some stupid kids, but then the parents would start digging while Johnny and Olive were away on Spring Break.
Pickup truck. Real jacked up thing with confederate stickers on the windows. Nope. Whoever owned that one was guaranteed to be posted up in a shop, over a coffee watching his truck with a boner. Stewart would never make it out with the truck before he had to deal with that mess.
Then there was the station wagon. Classic. Wood paneling and the whole bit. It was a good candidate until the gigantic German Shepard began barking at Stewart when he popped his slim jim into the door.
Jesus. That would have been a mess.
Last one. Jimmy and Patrice were already in the bank. It was this one or the minivan. Another truck. Old one though. Light blue. Pretty beat up. Greasy tool box in the back. Enough room for three in the front. Stewart peered in the passenger side. It was stick shift. There was a McChicken wrapper on the floor. Seat belt had been cut out. Old school. Might be sitting next to the other truck guy in the café, shooting the breeze. Talking about the Army.