Air Brushed

Deal's a Deal

Chapter 9: Deal’s a Deal

“No, you have to suck harder.”

“I’m TRYING,” I complain, brushing the hair out of my face to get a better view.

Haz takes in a sharp breath, “Don’t squeeze. I remember the first time this happened to me-”

“Well isn’t that pleasant. Let me concentrate.”

He chuckles, placing a hand on my shoulder, “Ozzie, try holding it THERE.”

I glare up at him, “Oh, why don’t you just do it then?”

“I hate the taste.”

“I’m sorry gasoline tastes horrible. Do you think I’M enjoying this?” I motion to the motorcycle in front of me, clear tube in one hand, the other supporting my weight on the ground.

“Well watching you fail at siphoning isn’t fun,” he sighs, sitting down next to me.

“Why can’t we just go BUY gas? Why do we have to steal it?” I grumble, sneaking a glance above the bike and towards the building.

We are back in the small town, in front of a bar where about twenty motorcycles are parked out front. I can only imagine the owners’ faces when they come outside to find their gas tanks half empty- or even better, when they come outside to find two idiots trying to empty their gas tanks.

In retrospect, there are a lot of worse things that he could have asked me to do, especially in this position, but instead I find myself here, on my knees, sucking the fuel out of some poor biker’s prize possession.

“Oh fine, just let me do it,” Haz gestures for me to scoot over.

I give him the tube without hesitation, relieving myself of responsibility.

My companion has a steady flow of fuel within moments. He fills the dirty, but still clichéd red container up about a third of the way before pulling out and closing the tank’s cap.

“It’s not full,” I point out blatantly.

“Yeah, but we don’t want to strand them,” Haz glances towards the bar. “So I figure we can take a little bit from a few of them instead of all from one.”

“Great, that cleared up my conscience,” I roll my eyes. “But you never answered why we’re stealing it instead of using the station, like, right across the street.”

He lets out a small laugh, “I find it hilarious that you think I have the money for that.”

I give a grunt as he pulls me over to the next bike, popping open the tank cap and handing me the tube. My voice is more like a whine, “Seriously?”

“This was the deal,” he states in the most matter-of-fact tone I have ever heard. “Just do it like I showed you.”

The heat of the tarmac, kept even now after spending all day in the sun, bleeds through my jeans and warms my knees. There is a small rock or something under my right one and I have to shift slightly before settling into position, hiding behind the hunk of metal.

I take the tube with a heavy sigh and insert it in the tank, sucking on the other end. It only occurs to me after I start that I had placed my mouth in the same place as Haz’s. I try not to gag as the dark colored gasoline begins shooting towards me.

Luckily, before the liquid can hit my mouth as my reflexes are much too slow, my companion pinches off the pipe. I tear the thing away from my mouth and Haz takes over the process, filling up until he thinks it unnecessary to drain any more. We repeat this process again, just one more time, before we start walking back to the warehouse.