body electric || kirk hammett

xvi.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

sticking to the side of the house, you heard james let the cops inside.

as soon as you heard their voices muffle by the door shutting, you made a run for your jeep, the duffels slung around your back.

you flung open the door, threw the bags in the back seat, hunched down, insert the keys and reversed out.

driving down the street, you tapped the steering wheel impatiently with your thumb, drumming to breaking the law by judas priest. it seemed fitting at the time.

now let's hope they either didn't notice or don't realize that the jeep parked in the driveway isn't there anymore.

you recite in your head what kirk said about jared's car. he said, on wednesday's (which was today), jared liked to go to this sports bar off dean street. it was a forest-green, small crummy one with little parking & an outside bar that served cheap brands & wings.

dead center in the street. you couldn't miss it.

—

the sun set; it was getting dark when you turned on dean street and spotted the bar. sure enough, just in one of the few available parking was jared's dirt-brown 1980 buick rivera.

"gotcha son of a bitch." you pulled into campbell's 24/7 convenience store across the street and parked along the curb.

providentially it was dark, few people were out (either sharing smokes or dealing drugs behind turned backs), & it would only make it easier to fit in walking around with a few duffel bags.

you grabbed the bags from the backseat, slinging them over your shoulder.

while the stores weren't, the road & street was busy. cars dashed across while you stood alone by the crosswalk sign, restless for the light to change. the orange hand signaled you to wait until it blinked green approvingly.

you held your breath, clutched the bag tighter, and walked along the crossing. approaching from the short distance, the closer you came to his car, the louder you could hear tough, chest-puffed men on their 2nd divorce talking, laughing, about the latest news of reggie jackson.

before you knew it, his car was right in front of you. you paused and looked towards the bar only a few feet away.

there jared was.

he was hunched on a barstool, elbows on the counter, wing bones on a slide, a dusty beer liter in his hand. his eyes were glued to the tv football; he lifted his wrist up to take a sip.

you crouched behind his car, set down the bags, and fished in your jacket for the key. kirk gave you a spare one jared gave him in high school before he went to jail. he didn't know if it was for his house or for his trunk, he never asked or had reason to use it. but you really hoped it was for the trunk.

you snuck to the back, insert the key (it fit!) into the trunk lock and turned it. you jammed your eyes, held your breath. the lock clicked and the trunk popped an inch.

you shakily exhaled, glanced back at jared (who was still eyeing the tv) and then lifted the trunk up higher to fit the bags. one by one you loaded them until they were all in. and finally, quietly, you shut the trunk and locked it.

hard part's over; all you had to do was walk away and wait for the boys by the payphone at campbells. that is, if they passed the search.

now that your plan was coming into action, you really noticed how impossible it sounded. no wonder they were skeptical, you're out of your fucking mind.

jared never saw you.

concealed by your jacket hood and hands in your pockets, you walked back across the crosswalk and to the payphone. you pulled a cigarette from your jeans & lit it; all you had to do was wait.

—

the boys waited impatiently in the living room on the couch, hands anxiously in their hair, tapping their foot.

an officer sat across from them, observing intently, hands clasped, waiting for the other officer to finish the search.

"alright." he said, coming out of kirk's room and clicking his flashlight off. everyone in the living room stood from their seats when he appeared. "you kids are clear."

they all relievingly exhaled. lars started laughing but cliff elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up before he set them off again.

"tom called it. guess that jared guy is a loose case after all." the seated officer announced, standing up by his partner's side, "oh." he (intentionally unintentionally) remembered kirk was there, his nephew. "no offense kid."

"none taken." kirk responded. james followed and walked them to the door, nodding as they walked out back to their car. he shut the door, leaning his back against it, exhaling again because he couldn't believe it.

"fockin' pricks." lars said, falling onto the sofa exhaustingly.

"fuckin' government, man." james added.

"grrr. protest the anarchy." cliff joked and everyone laughed. "make sure they leave before we call y/n."

"will do." james peeped out the window and watched as they got in the car and drove off. he signaled with a thumbs up it was clear. "i can't believe this fucking actually worked."

"none of us can." cliff said. kirk made his way past them to the phone in the kitchen, taking it from the hook. "now we just gotta hope she's ok."

kirk picked up the phone and dialed the campbell's payphone number, holding it to his ear tensely.

—

the phone beside you rang. you threw your bud to the pavement, stomping it out as you picked it up hurriedly. "hello?"

"hey," kirk said.

you smiled, "thank god," putting your hand to your face sorely, "are you clear?"

you could hear him smile through the phone. "yeah. i'm clear. we're on our way now."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　𓆩♡𓆪　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
word count: 990