The Vegas was basic black, but Petra knew that looks were deceiving. The owner, a not-particularily-bright receiver on the school's football team, focused about all of his intellect on the car. Because his parents had insisted on safety, the Vegas had been upgraded with Wildwood brakes, Coney shocks (for hotdogging around she'd joked to a blank stare; she still thought that was funny) and er... good tires or something. Because it was owned (or driven anyway) by a teenager, the stereo had been upgraded enough to not suck. The biggest prize was under the hood though; a built 426 with dual quads, backed by a 4-speed. Little Jimmy fancied himself a street racer, which was part of the reason she'd brought the tech dweeb with her to the suburbs.
Or was it Jonny? Or Stewart? She honestly didn't remember. And come right down to it, she couldn't remember if it was 426, 427, or 428... something like that. And she wasn't quite clear on what most of the rest of that meant. It had seemed impolite to ask when they were parked somewhere, sitting in the back seat, and he was concentrating so hard on trying to get her bra off after 'spanking some punk from a stoplight'. She knew it was fast though.
"And here we go," she said, unlocking the door with the key she'd stolen a week or so before, having gone to school one last time. He'd seemed surprised at the hug; maybe her exit had been a bit noisy. Oh well, whatever. She unlocked the passenger side door and the tech geek got in, opening the glove box and hooking his netbook to something inside.
"Wow, this is a nice system," he muttered as Petra leaned back and pushed the cigarette lighter into the socket. "Lojack, GPS tracking, the works... good thing you brought me along."
"You can do it right?" she asked, sounding disinterested as she tapped a cigarette out of a pack she produced from her blouse pocket, sticking the filter end between her lips and lighting the other with the orange coil of the lighter.
"Oh yeah, 'course. And hey, here," he said, handing over a pink sheet of paper. She grinned. Street racer... little... Mikey? Huh, Mike, she confirmed, glancing at the title. Thought he was so hot... wanting to be ready to race someone for pinks. All filled out except for his signature. She did the rest, putting in the name on her fake ID, and then pursed her lips at the part about his signature. Then she laughed; he was a football player! She scrawled an 'X' on the line and folded it up to put in the glove box.
"And that'll about do it," the tech said. "You can fire it up when you're ready." She nodded, putting the key in the ignition and turning it to run. As she'd watched Mike do once upon a time, she pulled the little black knob to the left of the steering wheel, stabbed twice at the gas pedal, then twisted the key to start. The engine whined, coughed, and then roared to life, quickly settling down into a loping burble. She cracked a grin as lights went on the house and buckled her belt, pressing the clutch and deftly snicking the shifter to reverse before easing it back in. The destroyed stolen cars had paid off, her technique being good enough to avoid killing it, pointing the nose out into the street and putting it in first gear.
"Might want to buckle up," she said, grinning ferally, and giving the tech a moment to do so before revving up the engine and dropping the clutch. The exhaust roared and the tires lit up. The rear end of the car came around, tires tracking into the lawn and spraying chunks of sod at the house, the fender taking out the mailbox, before she got it straighened out and aimed it down the road. The tech was white beside her.
"Goddamn," he croaked eventually. "Do you even have your license?" Petra laughed, flicking the cig out the window and punching the radio to her station.
"Shit no. Daddy wouldn't even let me get my learner's permit."
((Banged this out pretty much just for the punchline.
))
Or was it Jonny? Or Stewart? She honestly didn't remember. And come right down to it, she couldn't remember if it was 426, 427, or 428... something like that. And she wasn't quite clear on what most of the rest of that meant. It had seemed impolite to ask when they were parked somewhere, sitting in the back seat, and he was concentrating so hard on trying to get her bra off after 'spanking some punk from a stoplight'. She knew it was fast though.
"And here we go," she said, unlocking the door with the key she'd stolen a week or so before, having gone to school one last time. He'd seemed surprised at the hug; maybe her exit had been a bit noisy. Oh well, whatever. She unlocked the passenger side door and the tech geek got in, opening the glove box and hooking his netbook to something inside.
"Wow, this is a nice system," he muttered as Petra leaned back and pushed the cigarette lighter into the socket. "Lojack, GPS tracking, the works... good thing you brought me along."
"You can do it right?" she asked, sounding disinterested as she tapped a cigarette out of a pack she produced from her blouse pocket, sticking the filter end between her lips and lighting the other with the orange coil of the lighter.
"Oh yeah, 'course. And hey, here," he said, handing over a pink sheet of paper. She grinned. Street racer... little... Mikey? Huh, Mike, she confirmed, glancing at the title. Thought he was so hot... wanting to be ready to race someone for pinks. All filled out except for his signature. She did the rest, putting in the name on her fake ID, and then pursed her lips at the part about his signature. Then she laughed; he was a football player! She scrawled an 'X' on the line and folded it up to put in the glove box.
"And that'll about do it," the tech said. "You can fire it up when you're ready." She nodded, putting the key in the ignition and turning it to run. As she'd watched Mike do once upon a time, she pulled the little black knob to the left of the steering wheel, stabbed twice at the gas pedal, then twisted the key to start. The engine whined, coughed, and then roared to life, quickly settling down into a loping burble. She cracked a grin as lights went on the house and buckled her belt, pressing the clutch and deftly snicking the shifter to reverse before easing it back in. The destroyed stolen cars had paid off, her technique being good enough to avoid killing it, pointing the nose out into the street and putting it in first gear.
"Might want to buckle up," she said, grinning ferally, and giving the tech a moment to do so before revving up the engine and dropping the clutch. The exhaust roared and the tires lit up. The rear end of the car came around, tires tracking into the lawn and spraying chunks of sod at the house, the fender taking out the mailbox, before she got it straighened out and aimed it down the road. The tech was white beside her.
"Goddamn," he croaked eventually. "Do you even have your license?" Petra laughed, flicking the cig out the window and punching the radio to her station.
"Shit no. Daddy wouldn't even let me get my learner's permit."
((Banged this out pretty much just for the punchline.
))
