How to Be Cliche (A Novel)

(40) The Fuzz

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             A normal person would have been hesitant to hitch a ride from a stranger driving a neon yellow pickup truck as they walked along an endless sidewalk in the middle of the night. Then again, I wasn't a normal person. I had just escaped a serial killer with the nicest ass I had ever seen in my life.

                  And clearly whoever was driving the highlighter on wheels wasn't too normal either.

                  The truck stopped a little bit ahead of me. The passenger window slid down. I briefly looked up at him. One young man around my age. One truck that screamed arrogance.

                  This would be a piece of cake.

                  "Need a--?"

                  I threw open the car door before he could finish and sat down in the passenger seat.

                  "Well alright then. Hello?"

                  "You drive a stick," I noted, situating myself. One look in his eyes, and I knew the guy was higher than the clouds. I had seen him before in school. He was definitely a linebacker by his enormous build. But although he was big, it was clear he wasn't tough enough to take on one of the Trinidad's.

                  Linebacker frowned. "Hey, don't you go to Orange Gate County High--?"

                   "I know how to drive a stick," I interrupted. "Can I drive?"

                  He wouldn't be stupid enough to make a move on me already...?

                  "If you take your top off, yeah."

                  "Charming," I muttered under my breath.

                  Charming shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. "I'm not going to ask why you're out in the middle of nowhere.... But you should know that there's a predators out here at night. You're lucky you found me." He smiled. Charming was nice to give me a little pep talk like we didn't even know eachother. He had a nice smile. Maybe in another world we would have been friends. Nah. "So, you drive a stick?" He shifted in his seat, eying me up and down. "I can think of a...stick that could use a good... handling."

                  "You're going to have to do better than that to get into these pantalones." I looked out the window, swallowing back vomit. Jock + Pepper Ballard = NO. "Is this a rental? This is the most obnoxious color vehicle I have ever seen in my entire life." I ran my finger along the dashboard, rubbing my fingers together and inspecting the surface. "Dusty. I guess I can find my way home in this. I'd rather drive one of those "save the environment" cars that look like toys than this d-bag car."

                  "Huh?" Clearly Charming was aback by my complete disregard of his pick up lines. The man placed a hot, sweaty hand on my knee. "Listen. You're pretty and all, but you're not driving my car...."

                  Isn't she pretty?

                  Gripping the jock's hand, I brought his wrist back at an obviously painful angle and struck him hard at the center of his chest, momentarily paralyzing him. "I'll say this once, and I won't say it again. I'm a black belt to the 10th degree with a bad attitude. My Grandmaster was Chuck Norris, who I've out skilled and who can no longer get at my level. In fact, it took him 40 years and a really stretched out television show to get at my level. I was just held hostage by a psychotic serial killer who never got what he wanted from me, and now I'm part of some sort of crazy game. He's going to come after me. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but he'll find me when he wants me. You're the least of my worries, I have to go report the identity of the serial killer to my boss at this club called Crave or else he'll burn my family's house and everyone in it to the ground. Know I won't hesitate to knock you out cold and leave you in the middle of the road for touching my leg with your creepy, sweaty hands. I don't have time for your pedophiliac bullshit, nor do I have the patience. You have five seconds to exit the vehicle so that I can steal it, before I drive your stick up your own ass. "