Tag: Geo Metro

Anadeia 40

Susan ditched the Pontiac Aztec in the motel parking lot and hot wired an abandoned 1995 Geo Metro. When we climbed into the front seats, she gave me a word of advice. “Keep the windows down,” she said, “the air conditioner almost never works in these things.” The engine started right up and we were cruising down the interstate at a top speed of 25 mph. “I don’t know why people shit on these things,” Susan continued, “they get excellent gas mileage.”

We puttered all the way back to Reno and I noticed the wreckage that was Dale’s Porsche 911 was cleaned up in the eastbound lane and I heard nothing on the radio about a roadside fatality the day prior. “Maybe Dale survived the crash,” I said as we headed to his hotel suite. When we arrived, I unlocked the door to see Dale with an ice pack on his nutsack and his leg propped up and bleeding all over the white ottoman.

“Dale! You’re alive!” I exclaimed.

“You’re goddamn right I am!” he said. “After I flipped the Porsche, I climbed out from the wreckage because my right leg was shattered and I had a shard of glass stuck in my scrotum. Then I crawled across four lanes of oncoming traffic and the Porsche suddenly exploded and probably killed a few people. So 100 grand down the toilet! Meanwhile, I crawled back to Baskin Robins to look for Old Jim but he was gone. I don’t know where the fuck he wondered off to. So I came back here to drink away the excruciating pain and this is where I’ve been all day. Goddamn I hate Reno. Anyways, is that the bitch who kidnapped you?” he asked, referring to Susan.

“Yes, this is Susan,” I explained. “She kicked the shit out of me then tied me to a bed all night but it was all one big misunderstanding. You see, she’s after Randy too!”

“Oh good,” said Dale, “cuz with the condition my nuts are in, I don’t think I could fire a pistol right now.”

“That sucks dude, but what about Jim?”

Susan chimed in. “Gentlemen, we need to go back to the UPS store and stake out that PO Box,” she said.

Dale loudly groaned. “I don’t know,” he said, “I should probably go to the ER first.”

“Nevermind that!” I said. “Maybe the Madam took Old Jim! We need to find him before it’s too late!”

Dale waved me off. “Yeah yeah yeah.”

I looked to Susan. “Do you think all of us could fit into that tiny ass Metro?” I asked.

“Doubtful. Unless one of us rides in the trunk.”

“Dale, come on,” I said. “Get off your ass and crawl to the parking garage. You can ride in the trunk. But I need a disguise first.”

There was a knock on the door and I walk through foyer to answer it. When I open the door, there was a small UPS man decked out in a brown shirt and short ass shorts carrying a package. I suddenly had an idea.

“I have a package here for a Mr. Doug Jones,” the man said.

“Sorry, wrong address,” I said and then socked him hard on his stupid face. After his hat flew off his head, he dropped to his knees and was out cold. I grab him by his collar and drag him into the room.

“Great news,” I said to everyone as I drop his limp body in the kitchen, “I have my disguise.“

“What the hell James!” Susan shouted.

“Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

pennies 4 the dead (part II)

I couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed.

I had a hunch that it was the repo man coming to take the Geo Metro. I pulled out my .38 and shouted into the dark. “I have your filthy money!” I yelled. “Show yourself!”

Out of the shadows, I heard a thick Boston accent: “Are you Mista Cahson?” it asked.

“What’s it to ya PAL?!”

The figure stepped forth slowly from the shadows. He was tossing a baseball into the air.

“I’m Mista Pete Morris,” the figure said. “I’m son of Dorthy Morris, your client. I understand that you’ve been taking my mutha’s money.”

“She’s been giving it to me in larger amounts than I’ve been asking. That’s hardly stealing,” I replied.

“Hey ohhh, buddy! I ain’t said nuthin about stealing.”

“Then you better make your point. I have a .38 aiming between your eyeballs.”

Pete straightened up his jacket and began stammering nervously. “All I’m asking is that you let me in on the cut,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I work better alone. Besides, fuck the Red Sox.”

“I’m tellin ya,” Pete said, “there’s somethin goin on with Dorthy.”

“Yeah, it’s called dementia.”

“No. There’s something else goin on up there at that estate. Something that can’t be explained, not of this world. Some things just can’t be stopped by bullets, ya know?”

Pete then tossed the baseball again and I shot it out of the air.

“I haven’t found one yet,” I said.

“Look, I have all the answers you’re looking for,” Pete continued. “The death of Joe Morris is deeper than you think.”

I put the gun back into my holster. “Buddy,” I said, “if you’re trying to grift your rich elderly mother out of her money, you’re gonna have to find another angle.”

As I turned around to finish my walk home, Pete spoke up again. “I know about Jezebel,” he said.

“So do I pal,” I said as I continued walking, “she was Dorthy’s sister who died of pneumonia a year before Joe’s death. She was 20 years old.”

“That’s not the whole story,” Pete replied, “in fact, she wasn’t Dorthy’s sister.”

I stopped, turned around, and pulled out a cigarette. “Alright bucko,” I said, “now you’ve got my attention.”

TO BE CONTINUED