I'm going to die. I'm in the trunk of a car and I'm going to die. I was a fool and they're going to murder me.

These were Rick's thoughts as he struggled against the zip ties binding him, plastic painfully digging into his skin as he tried to get himself free. Oh, he didn't have much hope of succeeding, but that wasn't gonna stop him from trying anyway. His drive and recklessness were what got him in this situation in the first place. If only it could get him out of it as well...

The car came to a stop, the low rumble of the engine still running. Opening and closing of doors. Footsteps of people getting off. Muffles of distant conversations. Rick stopped his struggles, but it was too far away to hear any distinct words. He wondered if they were discussing how they'll get rid of him. Will torture be involved or would they have the mercy of a quick death? No time to mope more about it as the doors opened again and the car left in a a hurry. No matter how it was going to happen, his end was soon. Still, he hadn't abandoned his struggle, making banging against the tight walls around him into an art form.

After what felt like hours, the car stopped again. As the engine died down, Rick froze, listening. Door opened. Footsteps shifting around. Rattling a of metal. Silence. And then the trunk opened.

It was obvious that the man looking back at Rick wasn't expecting him in here, as after surprise and confusion, his face finally settled on panic.

"Oh shit."

Rick motioned with his bond hands to his taped up mouth which the man removed in a quick gesture.

"Ouch!"
"Who the fuck?"
"Who the fuck yourself."
"What?"
"Who are you?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Rick, and if you ask, I'm guessing you don't want me killed"
"No of course not wh- OK, wait."

He grabbed a pair of heavy pliers of a tool bench and cut through the zip ties around Rick's wrists and ankles.

"Thanks, bud."
"Get out of here," he grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the trunk, "I've got a buyer coming soon."
"I have no idea what's going on but sur-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, a knock on the door, and a tall woman came in without waiting for clearance.

"Hey Bass."
"Stan." She pointed at Rick. "Who's this punk?"
"Trent. Old friend. Helped me crack this baby."
"Friend? Didn't know you had any."
"Yeah, me neither," Rick snapped back, glaring at his "friend".
Bass laughed heartily, "Good one! Anyway... Lincoln Mark VII? Nice catch. But not what I asked for."
"I get what I can find."
"I know, I know. Ugh. I'll let you know if I find someone insterested."
"I'm counting on it. You know where to find me."
Her face scrunched up as she gave a last look inside, "And next time... get one with no blood on the seats."
"Anything for my clientele."

Once she had left, Rick turned to this "Stan" guy, in disbelief, "Trent?"
"Someone wants you dead, aight? Not taking any chances."
"Fair. But I still have questions. About, like, what the fuck happ- did you really steal this car?"
"Aight, yeah, listen... I was working on a Mercedes when this beauty," he waved at the Lincoln, "parked up right next to me, and these idiots left the engine running! I couldn't pass an opportunity like that. So I sneaked up and drove off with it. Right under their noses! Ha! A joke!"
"You stole... a car from the Gilmaires."
"Whom now?"
"The local gang?"
"Haven't been here long."
He sighed, "Well, I'm gonna skip town. If you're smart you'll do the same. Cause they're defo tracking this down."
"Eh, don't have enough for this month's rent anyway... Want a ride?"
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just gotta grab a couple things upstairs, then we're on the road."

Rick didn't have any objections, and he could use a ride. With Stan's apartment over the garage, it took at most ten minutes for him to gather a duffel bag that he threw into his convertible.

And just like that, they were on the road.