Gods on a mission.

[notboundnow]

The thing to remember isn't that the car is stolen. The thing to remember is that the car is running. Not that they're going to get caught. They have ways, so even though Prometheus is driving only vaguely within the speed limit (which has served them well for the past several hours), they go sure in the knowledge that the righteousness of their

Comments

[2020sight]

Epimetheus, in shotgun, has his window rolled down -- well, hey, they're headed South -- and is humming the Eagles.

He interrupts himself to ask, "What do we do if we get there and they've already . . . disposed of it?"

Disposed is weighted with a gravity normally reserved for phrases like executed at dawn.

[notboundnow]

Prometheus shakes his head, keeping his eye trained on the yellow lines of the median.

"Don't even plan for it. We've got plenty of time yet." He glances sidelong at his brother. "You even been to Nashville in the recent past?"

[2020sight]

"Define recent."

This means no.

[notboundnow]

One eyebrow goes up, one corner of the mouth goes down.

"Since Elvis cut his first record?"

[2020sight]

"Nnnnwait!"

He snaps his fingers, searching for the date.

"Yeah no."

[notboundnow]

He sighs, visually and audibly. "Some co-conspirator you are. All right, we know where the ABC's keeping the stash, right? In theory?"

[2020sight]

"A vault," he replies, pulling the paper out of a pocket. "The article doesn't get specific. I'd guess either in the ABC itself or a bank, though."

[notboundnow]

"We'll want to know for certain, though. Lives are depending on it." He readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. "I have an idea where we can dig around. People are gonna be talking about this. And if they're not, they should be, and we can make them."

This is the kind of attitude that wins wars, friends.

[2020sight]

"No kidding they're going to be talking about it," he mutters.

Tapping the article, he adds, "We could maybe talk to this Danielle Elks lady, too. She sounds like she might be sympathetic."

[notboundnow]

"Is there a reason we'd want to show our faces to the executive director of the very board that plans to throw that whiskey out?"

[2020sight]

"'Elks acknowledged that pouring out the whiskey would not be a happy hour for her,'" Epimetheus reads. "'"It'd kill me," she said.'"

He folds up the paper. "Just a thought."

[notboundnow]

Prometheus pulls a face. "I'm not sure, something about it doesn't exactly smack of 'vigilante' to me. It might kill her, but she might also be law-abiding enough to go through with it. Do we really want to take that chance?"

[2020sight]

"Eh, fair point."

Cheerfully tossing the paper into the back seat, he laces his hands behind his head.

"And convincing people to be other than law-abiding is time-consuming."

Present company excluded, obviously.

[notboundnow]

"Also, much less fun than just swiping the stuff ourselves."

Obviously.

Without really looking at the dial, he punches a button and the radio comes on. It sounds like Hasil Adkins. Which is to say, a little strange, but rollicking, in Prometheus's humble opinion.

[2020sight]

Epimetheus gives the radio a look, leans forward, and flips through a few channels. He lands on, apparently, Oldies -- much more conventional ones.

[notboundnow]

Prometheus frowns at the radio.

He frowns at his little brother.

"You're not supposed to come up with an actually good station when you do that," he says, as the next song comes up.