Operation 'Andrew's Vehicular Degradation'
Disclaimer: The characters in this sketch are in no way, shape or form fictional. Rather, they are entirely created from ones who have already had the misfortune to be alive, and if this event or the people described have any way, shape or form in common with the reader, it is a coincidense. Things you should know: (1) The names of each character have not been changed from my earlier stories about these same people, (2) Andrew cannot be discussed beyond this text, (3) and Bane is a reference to a local island. I have changed the names for convenience. This was mainly written for me and few others, for public record. Don't fret if you don't get everything. For what you do understand though, please enjoy. This is part two of two.
The three had scaled the fence one by one and were now in sight of Andrew’s house. They were crouched now, hidden behind one of the bushes in a neighbor’s lawn, their backs facing the fence of the dead end from where they came. One by one, each looked at the other, giving a nod of trust. None would forget this, whatever followed.
“I see it,” the heavy-browed Bobo whispered.
With all eyes fixed on the house, Bobo’s eyes were the first to sight it. Andrew’s car was the reason they were here. The night air was frigid and the fog encircled them with each of their movements, keeping their eyes open. Milo, Otis and Bobo now sat on the edge of no return.
The car, a black Jaguar, sat in front of the house. It was cloaked in darkness, for there were no streetlights in the dead end. Still, it shined like a beacon in the street, representing everything that Andrew was to them: arrogant, cocky and full of gas. It was his birthday present, his new symbol of freedom and prosperity, given to him out of the wealth of his parents. God knew he hadn’t worked for it.
They were facing the trunk of the car, waiting for someone to sound the commencement.
“House lights are off,” stammered Milo between breaths. “Looks like we have a clear path.” Wiping his nose, and exhaling a large freezing cloud of air onto the others’ faces, he hissed, “Let’s do this thing.”
“Let’s go,” echoed Bobo, stammering to his feet.
“Here we come,” Otis said, with a malicious glint in his eye.
The three were on their feet, crouched, and pulling from their cloaks the tools that they were to use tonight. They put on the gloves they had acquired from the high school’s health office, and a backpack was unzipped by Milo.
“Firstly and foremostly, let’s clean it,” he said. The others grinned, but looked around in a last security check. Milo crouched, cradling a large bucket in his hands, and shuffled toward the car.
Otis and Bobo looked on as they watched their friend do the job. “Andrew’s gonna be pissed,” Otis said as the two heard a pop emit from the top of the bucket Milo had been carrying. Milo picked up the bucket, and, reaching over the car, began pouring out its contents onto the roof. The black of night was torn open by a flash of yellow that clashed grossly with the top of the jet-black car, spilling across the roof and down the windows, coating the car in lemon-yellow color. Once relieved of the last drips, the paint bucket was set down, and Milo withdrew a large paintbrush from the inside of his coat. Disregarding the former beauty of the car, Milo began pulling long sweeps of his brush across the car, washing it with the yellow paint. Door handles were covered, the wheel rims and even the antennae were not spared the brush’s quick swipes. And after a few minutes-with the car now appearing like a mutated bumblebee-Milo drew back from the car, nodded twice and walked back to Otis and Bobo.
“You’re sick man.”
“You really are,” Otis chuckled.
Milo smiled and pointed at Bobo. “Your turn.”
Bobo rumbled out, this time with a bag. Opening the yellow-black hood of the car, he opened the pink-white bag and began administering it to the appropriate parts of the engine. Coating the insides with what was inside the bag, Bobo smiled as he liberally applied it everywhere.
“Do you have a place to throw all this shit away once we’re done?” Milo asked, watching from the bushes.
“Tomorrow I’m heading around Bane and dropping it all off in different garbage cans,” Otis replied quickly.
Bobo had emptied all the bag into the engine, shut the hood, and came rumbling back to the bushes. “That car is so sweet,” Bobo wheezed. He was laughing uncontrollably, taking full advantage of the rush that pouring sugar into an engine had given him. The others clapped him on the back. “Sweet dreams, fucker,” laughed Bobo, pointing to Andrew’s house. Otis and Milo couldn’t stifle a laugh, and began chuckling as well. The fact that Andrew had threatened their lives was comical now. His blessed car lay in ruins, his dream of drunken nights out on the town crushed, his friends discouraged from him, and his ego pricked. His anger would be uncontrollable, for they knew how Andrew wined when he didn’t get what he wanted from them. Doubtless he would do the same to his parents, and ask them for another car. Doubtless.
All three were now moving into the street as a pack, surrounding the car. The night was fleeting, they knew, and they were now moving quicker, lest by chance someone should see. Once all three had picked a wheel to gather around, Otis slowly withdrew from his cloak a fat hunting knife. Unsheathing it, the blade entered into the night, and Otis let it shine in the air around him. It appeared as obsidian would in daylight, and its sharp edges seemed to cut the air around it. He looked at Milo straight in the eyes, who crouched adjacent to him, and proceeded to slam his knife into the rubber of the tire. With a piff pop of freed air, the tire began to deflate around it. He wrenched it free, sheathed it and tossed it to Milo on the same side. Withdrawing it again, Milo pumped it into the side of the tire, its full length entering the rubber. The tire sighed again, and the car slowly began leaning toward them as the tire’s support lessened. An air of success rang through the air as Milo pulled the knife free. He threw it to Bobo, and with no hesitation, Bobo gave two quick thrusts into both tires on his side of the car, and with that, the job was almost done.
“Now! Quickly!” Milo pulled his house keys from out of his pockets and, while running, presented the sharp end of the knife to the side of the car. He ran around the car twice, with the key digging into the side of the car doors, shrieking in its wrath. This was the noisiest sound yet, and the loud squeaking that was erupting from the martyr key was not to be suppressed. Paint was ripped from its place, and the silver underneath now added a third color to the car. Milo ran around twice more, and as soon as he was done, he ran back to the backpack. The job was entering its loudest stage yet, and the exit had to be quick. Shoving the empty paint can into the backpack, the keys back into his coat, he heard the first shots fired from Otis.
BANG BANG
Two eruptions of sound came from Otis’ gun as he pelted the side of the car with paint balls.
BANG BANG BANG BANG
He had moved around to the front of the car, two flashed of color denting the hood and two more crashed into the other two doors. A light went on further down the street. Seconds more and Otis had fired into all four rims of the car and placed a fifth into the back break light, shattering it all over the curb. Glass now littered the street, and more lights were going on. And-to their horror-one had just been turned on in the top floor of Andrew’s house.
“Move!” Bobo cried. “Now!” But Otis didn’t hear, although he had seen the lights. He was firing all over the car, hitting the roof and trunk, firing again onto the rims and now the back left break light. Seeing as this one wasn’t breaking, he roughly reared back and threw the butt of the gun into it, exploding shards of glass all over the street.
“Move mothafucker, move!” Bobo yelled desperately. But now Otis was running, as they all were. Milo had the backpack strapped and ready to go, his cloak around him, running like a demon.
“Go!” Otis yelled, running back to the bushes, “Go, let’s get the fuck out of here!” He roughly shoved the gun back into his coat and began sprinting back toward them. Milo had begun jumping the fence that was at the end of the dead end, and Bobo was moving as he had never moved in his life. His large stomach swayed and rumbled sideways as his small legs protruded outward and faster. Scaling the fence, and dropping on the other side, Milo began screaming at Otis, who was twenty paces behind them.
The front door opened in Andrew’s home and the face of the enemy appeared in the doorway. His eyes first settled on his car, which lay dismantled in all respects in front of his house. His features turned to fierce fury, and lay lining his face with wrinkles of pure hatred. Then, as he slowly put together the pieces, he looked to see Otis beginning to scale the fence.
Andrew ran back into the house like a mad man, screaming for his parents. Bobo and Milo were screaming, forgetting all else as Otis landed on the other side. With all exits open, they began sprinting for all they could. Adrenaline rushed through them, freezing their cheeks and their throats. Blood rushed through their now screaming goose bumps, and their hair was sticking up on all their heads. Milo was in the lead, and he made for the alleyway. Seeing the forgotten bat up ahead, he urged on to grab it. Otis and Bobo’s hoarse breaths were sounding increasingly more and more desperate, and as Milo leaned to pick up the bat, he saw salvation through the end of the alley.
“Metro!” Milo cried quickly, urgently. He looked back while running, “33! Go, its our get away! Run! Run!” They pushed on, now also seeing the long bus rounding the corner. Bursting through the alley, Milo’s feet shook wildly as he began waving his hands in the air to signal the bus driver. Racing to the finish, he held the bus stop poll like he would a lover, and collapsed on it. Bobo and Otis finished with a cloud of dust behind them, and without breaths. The bus pulled to a slow stop, and the doors opened to reveal the bus driver with a very disgruntled look on his face.
“Whatchu kids been up to?” He smiled.
Milo, Otis and Bobo just looked up at him gasping for breath, and looking behind them madly. Nothing. Otis jumped up the stairs first, holding his gun in his coat with one hand, and withdrawing a dollar from his pocket. Milo and Bobo stammered in giving a quarter a piece. They collapsed in the nearest seats, out of breath and shaking; not from the cold but from the adrenaline rush that had all just past through them.
“Thanks…”Milo began, “…for stopping,” Otis finished.
“Where are you kids going tonight?” the bus driver asked merrily as the bus began to pull forward. The three gave each other looks of exasperation. Bobo closed his eyes and Milo shook his head.
“Anywhere,” Otis said. Bobo nodded his agreement, and Milo sat back and closed his eyes.
“Merry Christmas,” said Milo.
A ‘fuck you’ issued from Bobo, who sat back wheezing in laughter once again. The three burst out into laughter a moment later. The enemy was vanquished, his ego shattered, and the mission was accomplished as the beaten Crew sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride.
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