I'm not looking for anything specific here. Just general critique.
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“Don’t you need a slim jim or something?”
“Nope.” Louis held up a coat hanger and started taking it apart.
I watched curiously as he fished one end of his long thin metal tool into the interior of the car.
“Isn’t that supposed to go between the window and the outside?”
“No.” Louis grumbled at me. I began to wonder if he really knew what he was doing.
“That isn’t how-”
“Will you shut up? They don’t teach you Mexicans how to do this properly before they give out the ghetto pass.” He fiddled anxiously with his end of the coat hanger. After a couple more seconds, the door popped open. I stared blankly. “What year model car is this?”
“What?” Do I look like an automotive expert?
“It’s a 2007.” Louis gave me a patronizing look.
“Okay.” That’s enough useless info to last me until next Tuesday. Thanks.
“In 2004, congress passed a law requiring cables instead of rods open the doors in cars. You put a slim jim down there, you’ll cut the cable, and then you’re not getting the door open without a mechanic.”
Alright, fine. Maybe my friend does know what he’s talking about from time to time. I’m not telling him that though.
Once he had the door open, and me humbled a bit, Louis plopped down onto the floorboard and started poking at the fuse box. After another minute, the engine purred to a start. I ran around to the passenger side and hopped in as Louis popped the car into gear and took off. The cops looking for us were quick to get back to their cars, despite their doughnut bellies. Before we could really get away, red and blue light streamed into the inside of our stolen car.
Louis started shouting incoherently at me to do something. Nothing really came to mind. I could always shoot at the cops, but I didn’t really want to kill them. They were just doing their jobs. I never really learned enough magic to hocus pocus them away either. Then it hit me; I didn’t have to make them go away as make Louis a better driver.
Giving him actual skill was out of the question. Fortunately though, luck falls completely within the purview of voodoo. I pulled one of my dolls out of the case; it was one of my medium quality jobs, not one of the cheap corn husk ones that I used for day to day stuff.
“This is going to hurt!” I pulled out a few strands of Louis’s wiry hair.
“What the hell is wrong with you man?”
“Shut up and drive!”
I held the hair to the doll and started murmuring the quasi-gibberish that made up the bulk of the spells I knew. I felt power flowing from me into the doll. In my mind, I thought only of Louis having some amazingly good luck. I made sure to specify good luck. If I just wanted luck, it might be a string of awful luck. For good measure, I pulled some pins with white plastic tips from the doll case and stuck them into the doll. Louis didn’t flinch since voodoo dolls don’t work like TV and movies say. Sticking white pins into a doll usually invoked an overall blessing over whoever the doll was attached to.
After I was done, I snuck a peak behind us. Even more cops had joined the chase. I began to wonder how long it would be before we noticed the effects of my spell. I hoped soon, because Louis had just turned into the Port of Houston.
“Get us out of here!” My eyes locked on the cops behind us.
I started seeing massive shipping containers on either side of us. We passed under a shadow with just enough time to not be crushed as the crane lowered one of those containers right behind us. The cops scattered to avoid slamming into the container. The move bought us only a few seconds before they were after us again. Louis nearly ran into a forklift moving a pallet holding some blue plastic fifty-five gallon drums. The forklift operator had to slam on his own bakes to avert the collision.
The drums fell off the forklift and spilled their contents. It looked like rice or something. The first cop car swerved just in time to only catch the driver’s side wheels on the piles of rice (or whatever). This, in conjunction with sudden over-steering brought the car up on two wheels. The driver veered wildly and collided with another car, creating a traffic jam behind us.
It might have been from the commotion, but it didn’t look like there were as many cops in the traffic jam as I saw following us earlier. Just then, a pair of squad cars came out of nowhere in front of us. They stopped bumper to bumper creating a barricade. Louis screamed and jerked the wheel to the left. Seeing no way out, he jerked it back to the right.
I felt the car come up on two wheels, much like the cop I just saw crash. I don’t know if it was me or Louis screaming the loudest, but the car whooshed through the space between the cop car on the right and some more of those blue drums.
From there, we had a clear shot at a padlocked gate leading back out. The airbags deployed after we tore through the gate, completely obstructing our view in front of us. We spun wildly into the street and a glance out my side window when we finally straightened out told me that we were on the wrong side of the street. I felt my heart and a good number of the rest of my guts jump into my throat.
Louis floored it again. I grabbed the Beretta loaded with my special rat shot and shot out both airbags. I immediately wished that I hadn’t. The word MACK greeted us on a chrome and black background. Both Louis and the truck driver swerved to avoid a head on collision.
The front bumper of the truck took off the driver’s side mirror as we flew past. I felt a few more of my organs join the party in my throat as the trailer attached to the truck swung around and picking up inertia. I heard the engine rev again as we ran alongside the trailer. The back bumper of the trailer slammed into the rear quarter panel of our car, throwing us back into the wrong lane of traffic. A squad car blazed past us on the right and found a chain link fence as it darted out of the way of the trailer. If we hadn’t been nudged by the trailer, the cop probably would have slammed into us.
As Louis got us back into the proper lane of traffic, I snuck a glance behind us. The truck and trailer blocked off all four lanes of traffic. We sped across town until I convinced Louis to stop at the overpass between La Porte and the Fred Hartman bridge into Baytown.
“We’ve gotta get rid of this car.” I watched for some kind of response from my friend, still gripping the wheel as if his life depended on it.
“Martin.” He said after a pause.
“Yeah?”
“I need new pants.”
________________________________________________
“Don’t you need a slim jim or something?”
“Nope.” Louis held up a coat hanger and started taking it apart.
I watched curiously as he fished one end of his long thin metal tool into the interior of the car.
“Isn’t that supposed to go between the window and the outside?”
“No.” Louis grumbled at me. I began to wonder if he really knew what he was doing.
“That isn’t how-”
“Will you shut up? They don’t teach you Mexicans how to do this properly before they give out the ghetto pass.” He fiddled anxiously with his end of the coat hanger. After a couple more seconds, the door popped open. I stared blankly. “What year model car is this?”
“What?” Do I look like an automotive expert?
“It’s a 2007.” Louis gave me a patronizing look.
“Okay.” That’s enough useless info to last me until next Tuesday. Thanks.
“In 2004, congress passed a law requiring cables instead of rods open the doors in cars. You put a slim jim down there, you’ll cut the cable, and then you’re not getting the door open without a mechanic.”
Alright, fine. Maybe my friend does know what he’s talking about from time to time. I’m not telling him that though.
Once he had the door open, and me humbled a bit, Louis plopped down onto the floorboard and started poking at the fuse box. After another minute, the engine purred to a start. I ran around to the passenger side and hopped in as Louis popped the car into gear and took off. The cops looking for us were quick to get back to their cars, despite their doughnut bellies. Before we could really get away, red and blue light streamed into the inside of our stolen car.
Louis started shouting incoherently at me to do something. Nothing really came to mind. I could always shoot at the cops, but I didn’t really want to kill them. They were just doing their jobs. I never really learned enough magic to hocus pocus them away either. Then it hit me; I didn’t have to make them go away as make Louis a better driver.
Giving him actual skill was out of the question. Fortunately though, luck falls completely within the purview of voodoo. I pulled one of my dolls out of the case; it was one of my medium quality jobs, not one of the cheap corn husk ones that I used for day to day stuff.
“This is going to hurt!” I pulled out a few strands of Louis’s wiry hair.
“What the hell is wrong with you man?”
“Shut up and drive!”
I held the hair to the doll and started murmuring the quasi-gibberish that made up the bulk of the spells I knew. I felt power flowing from me into the doll. In my mind, I thought only of Louis having some amazingly good luck. I made sure to specify good luck. If I just wanted luck, it might be a string of awful luck. For good measure, I pulled some pins with white plastic tips from the doll case and stuck them into the doll. Louis didn’t flinch since voodoo dolls don’t work like TV and movies say. Sticking white pins into a doll usually invoked an overall blessing over whoever the doll was attached to.
After I was done, I snuck a peak behind us. Even more cops had joined the chase. I began to wonder how long it would be before we noticed the effects of my spell. I hoped soon, because Louis had just turned into the Port of Houston.
“Get us out of here!” My eyes locked on the cops behind us.
I started seeing massive shipping containers on either side of us. We passed under a shadow with just enough time to not be crushed as the crane lowered one of those containers right behind us. The cops scattered to avoid slamming into the container. The move bought us only a few seconds before they were after us again. Louis nearly ran into a forklift moving a pallet holding some blue plastic fifty-five gallon drums. The forklift operator had to slam on his own bakes to avert the collision.
The drums fell off the forklift and spilled their contents. It looked like rice or something. The first cop car swerved just in time to only catch the driver’s side wheels on the piles of rice (or whatever). This, in conjunction with sudden over-steering brought the car up on two wheels. The driver veered wildly and collided with another car, creating a traffic jam behind us.
It might have been from the commotion, but it didn’t look like there were as many cops in the traffic jam as I saw following us earlier. Just then, a pair of squad cars came out of nowhere in front of us. They stopped bumper to bumper creating a barricade. Louis screamed and jerked the wheel to the left. Seeing no way out, he jerked it back to the right.
I felt the car come up on two wheels, much like the cop I just saw crash. I don’t know if it was me or Louis screaming the loudest, but the car whooshed through the space between the cop car on the right and some more of those blue drums.
From there, we had a clear shot at a padlocked gate leading back out. The airbags deployed after we tore through the gate, completely obstructing our view in front of us. We spun wildly into the street and a glance out my side window when we finally straightened out told me that we were on the wrong side of the street. I felt my heart and a good number of the rest of my guts jump into my throat.
Louis floored it again. I grabbed the Beretta loaded with my special rat shot and shot out both airbags. I immediately wished that I hadn’t. The word MACK greeted us on a chrome and black background. Both Louis and the truck driver swerved to avoid a head on collision.
The front bumper of the truck took off the driver’s side mirror as we flew past. I felt a few more of my organs join the party in my throat as the trailer attached to the truck swung around and picking up inertia. I heard the engine rev again as we ran alongside the trailer. The back bumper of the trailer slammed into the rear quarter panel of our car, throwing us back into the wrong lane of traffic. A squad car blazed past us on the right and found a chain link fence as it darted out of the way of the trailer. If we hadn’t been nudged by the trailer, the cop probably would have slammed into us.
As Louis got us back into the proper lane of traffic, I snuck a glance behind us. The truck and trailer blocked off all four lanes of traffic. We sped across town until I convinced Louis to stop at the overpass between La Porte and the Fred Hartman bridge into Baytown.
“We’ve gotta get rid of this car.” I watched for some kind of response from my friend, still gripping the wheel as if his life depended on it.
“Martin.” He said after a pause.
“Yeah?”
“I need new pants.”
