AN~Just an idea that popped into my head.
Get away. Gotta get away. Faster! Go faster! Ignore the break, the break is death. Right turn. Left turn. Straight ahead. Left. Faster.
I took a glance in the side mirror and saw no flashing blue and red lights. I saw no barricade, nothing. I smiled and sped up, going toward a few back roads that I knew of that led directly out of the city.
"Goodbye, Detroit." I mumbled under my breath.
"Dude, stop at HQ before we move on." Chess's extremely British accented voice chirped from the backseat of my employers black Mustang GT. I checked my mirrors, still clear.
"'Dude'? Are you Chess or anti-Chess right now?" I asked with humor in my voice.
"I'm wearing a suit and a red tie. Does that look like Everest to you?" Chess asked me. (He's got a split personality; I call him Anti-Chess because he is the complete and total opposite of Chess himself, but Chess calls him Everest. Like the mountain. But he won't tell me why.)
Sorry to just launch into this at this speed, but speed is basically my "job." I'm a get away driver for various gangs, rich folk, and mafia. Due to some privacy issues, I can't give you specific names. Hell, I barely know who I'm working for half the time! Thats neither here nor there though. I am Kyler Knox Solomon, but call me Get Away- thats what most people do. In the back seat is Chess/Anti-Chess/Everest. Theres also Terro- The Technology Terror, but he had a "wedding" to go to. We're a team. Sometimes we have a few other gunmen I have termed 'lackeys' because they usually just get in the way.
Anyway, this is my third job in Detroit and I still haven't gotten the roads down, but I usually don't have a route anyway. I looked around the small stream-like car and switched on the radio. Bitch Came Back by Theory of a Deadman came over the speakers and I turned it up. I hummed to the song and increased my speed to about 150 in a 70 zone. Big deal. I was invisible and could easily dodge, plus there are barely any cars out here.
One more thing you should know- I'm a mutant. My powers, I can turn things invisible, well, except living organisms, and I have a reaction time of .04, suspiciously the amount of time it takes an air bag to inflate. I guess that's it.
"Could you turn that bat shit off and put on something classical?" Chess complained from the backseat.
"What? You don't like Theory of a Deadman? How aristocrat can you get?" I mocked from the drivers seat.
"Actually, my family are dependents from the ancient Greeks. They were aristocrats." Chess stated from the back seat.
"Yeah, I'm sure." I said. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Chess's long and lean arm reach from the backseat and push the radio button. NPR was suddenly blasting Beethoven's 5th, but it was the Trans-Siberian Orchestra version so it sounded oddly darker and, well, heavy metal.
"Is there anything on the bloody radio that isn't metal?" Chess asked in frustration.
"Prob'ly not." I said. "But, since you insisted that we listen to NPR we have to listen to this song, then it's my turn to pick." I looked at my rear view mirror and gave a smirk at seeing Chess's annoyed face. "Hey, driver picks the music. Your lucky I let you listen to this song."
"Americans. . ." Chess mumbled under his breath. "so obsessed about your heavy metal bands. . ."
"Hey, let's not forget the Brit Invasion! Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath all came from England. So us Americans are not the only ones to blame!" I pointed out to Chess. He simply rolled his white-gray eyes and flicked his russet hair away from his face.
"That doesn't mean that every bloody person likes heavy metal. There are still a few sophisticated people who like the original Beethoven, or Bach, or even Yo-Yo Ma." Chess grumbled from the backseat.
"Yes, there are a few crazy people out there, including you, who enjoy that type of. . . sound. But the majority over here prefer metal, or at least rock."
"I am not crazy!" Chess proclaimed from his seat.
"You have a split personality! You would be classified as crazy with a capital F!" Chess gave me his 'Whatever, you American' look. I smirked. I turned the required right turn to get on I-95 towards Chicago.
Seek and Destroy came over the radio and Chess let out an exasperated and annoyed groan and let his head band against the window.
"I'll tell you what." I said to Chess, "the next song, you can pick." I knew I'd regret this, but we had about a two hour drive ahead of us. I looked in the rear view, Chess was thinking it over.
"Agreed." then there was only music. After Seek and Destroy Chess channel surfed until he found a station that was playing the classical version of Ode To Joy. It wasn't the Trans-Siberian Orchestra version. But Chess was in the backseat, a pretend violin was held in his hands as he mimed bowing the air-instrument. I rolled my eyes. I really need a camera in this car.
When the song was finally over I switched it back to the station before.
Smoke on The Water. I tapped out the beat on the steering wheel. I glanced up through the sunroof. There was a giant jet a few thousand feet above my head and I wondered what people up there did when they didn't have a road to watch. They must get pretty bored. I pulled my attention from the jet and watched the road, almost becoming hypnotized.
HotelCalifornia-The Eagles. Won't Back Down- Eminem Ft. P!nk. Silent Night- Straight No Chaser version. Black Wax- Dananananaykroyd [1]. Won't Back Down- Tom Petty. Behind Blue Eyes- The Who. Pumped Up Kicks- Foster The People. Muscle Memory- Dananananaykroyd. And Funhouse by P!nk had all played before Chess spoke again.
"You're low on gas." he mumbled from the backseat. I drove off the next exit. I only had about ten-twenty miles left in my tank. We got to the closest gas station and I went in and got ten gallons of gas for number three. I pulled out my old and ratty leather wallet that I've had since I was ten and pulled out a hundred. The cashier gave me a strange look, but broke the bill just the same. I walked back out to my car. Chess already had the pump into the car and was trying to figure out how to make the gas 'go'. He had never really gotten car stuff.
I walked over to him. In the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty tall (about six foot two) and I'm basically a twig. Chess is me, exaggerated. The guy is insanely tall and so skinny I could barely see him if I was looking at his side. (Terro- The Technology Terror only comes to about my shoulder (about five foot seven) but is every bit as skinny as Chess.) So it was a bit strange to have to look up at him. I've never really had to look up to anyone.
"Watch." I said like I was talking to a kinder gardener. Chess rolled his eyes but still payed attention. I pulled the pump all the way to the handle, and it stayed there, I could hear the gas go into the tank.
"Like I need to know any of that stuff. I have a chauffeur."
"I bet Anti-Chess can drive." I said.
"Yes, he can." I heard Chess mutter before slamming his car door closed. The gas clucked off and I screwed on the lid and shut the flap. Then we were off (Not Strong Enough- Apocalyptica). We continued until we finally got into Chicago. The city at night was all lights, and I let a smile paint itself on my face. I slowed down to the speed limit and became visible.
I turned a maze of lefts and rights, and I finally got to the run down house on the outskirts of town. I turned off my lights and parked. Chess leaned forward to me.
"You know the drill. If I'm not out in fifteen minutes, you leave." I nodded. Chess clapped me on the shoulder and then climbed out of the backseat. I watched his bean pole frame walk up the path and then take the steps to the front door two at a time. He opened the door, turned to me and tapped his watch, and then disappeared into the door.
Now all I have to do is wait. I suck at waiting. My power is speed, my forte, my job. I sighed and let my head bang against the headrest. I turned on the radio, You're Going Down by Sick Puppies was on, I turned it up. A few more songs passed, a lot of bad jokes from the DJ's passed, and then I heard the town house door open with a creek. I opened my eyes and saw Chess coming from the house.
He didn't look beat up, he wasn't running like Hell hounds were chasing him, and he wasn't limping. He climbed back into the backseat.
"So how'd it go?" I asked, turning Careless Whisper down. Chess shrugged.
"Same as it always is. They want their money, we have their money. Bad mix, by the way." Chess leaned back in the seat.
"Well, lets give them their money." I said.
"I have already been in there, it's your turn." I sighed. I was not the confronter. That had always been Terro's job. I picked up the black briefcase beside me, and got out of the car. I walked up to the house, put the case on the first step, and then ran back into my car. It couldn't seem to turn the key fast enough, and when I finally managed, I was out of there like a bat out of hell. I was invisible and speeding at 100 down the maze of streets toward I-95.
When I got on I-95 I let myself slow down a bit. I got on I-80, the quickest way from Chicago to New York. On the border of New York city is where my town house is, and a few miles up state is Chess's one floor house.
"Ready to start the seven hour stretch?" I asked Chess.
"Ready if you are, mate." Chess said. I sped up to 120. if I went 120 the entire drive I would make it in seven to eight hours, I had enough gas to last for about ten. I let Chess pick every fourth song, and soon I was in the Driving Zone. It's a place I found quite affective during long car rides, I remain totally attached to the world around me, but go into a state of, like, meditation.
The sun was starting to rise in the east, illuminating the road in pre-dawn light. Chess was snoring in the backseat, his legs pressed against the door and his head on my crumpled jacket were simply screaming for room. I started listening closer, I had been in this situation before, with Chess asleep in the backseat, you see, Chess talks in his sleep.
"No. . Be nife to duff llama's, Feto." Chess mumbled, "Don't puth the llama off daf quiff!" I held in a snigger. Why was Chess dreaming about llamas? "Leaff da Pwincesser llama alone, Feto." Chess turned groggily over in his make-shift bed, trying to stretch his way-to-long limbs. I was about to burst out laughing, when Chess woke up with a start. He always does that, wake up at the same time every day with no alarm clock. The sun had barely risen over the horizon when Chess spoke next.
"How long, mate?" Chess said, popping his back and rubbing his neck.
"Another hour, two maybe." I said from the front seat.
"So we'll be there at approximately. . . 7:23." Chess said, leaning back in his seat. That was another freaky thing about Chess, he always knew exactly what time it was, right down to the second, all the time, everyday. He is one weird Britt.
The rest of the drive was filled with a pattern: Heavy Metal (yes!), Classical (NO!), Heavy Metal (Yes!), Classical (NO), ect.
Soon I could see the familiar buildings of New York, my home. I let a sigh escape my mouth as I came close to Chess's one floor house.
"Ceerio, mate. Till next time." Chess said as he slid from his seat and out the door. He walked up to his house, went in, and closed the door without as much as a backwards glance.
I turned the car back onto the road and drove the few miles to my town house. I parked my car, I'd just give it back to my employer tomorrow. I was beat. I trudged through the front door and dropped the Mustang's keys into a bowl b the door. I walked into the kitchen, wanting a glass of water before I went to bed.
Thats when I got jumped by about twelve big-ass guys. I know my reaction time is .04- but I was tired. Plus I didn't see them coming. It was like I was in a dream when they tied my hands together, and bound my ankles and shoulders to a chair. Then came the torcher.
~A Few Minutes Later~
My hands felt like melting wax in the boiling water, but I refused to scream.
"I asked, where is their base of operations?" the mafia king in fornt of me snarled.
"And I said," I gave a shakey, breathy laugh, "To piss off. I'm not telling." they stuck my hands back into the water and I groaned in pain. Too much pain. I shut down. I couldn't feel anything, couldn't comprehend why I was in pain at all.
It's because you're stupid, thats why you're in pain. My concious mocked.
Then the boy with cherry eyes came and saved the day.
AN~ So, thoughts?
1: Dananananaykroyd is an awesome band. youtube them!