Whitewashed

Almost Paradise

Chapter 6: Almost Paradise

“C’mon Ozzie, first things first, just get out of the car,” Prints opens the vehicle door for me, grandiloquently gesturing for me to exit.

POGs slides out of his seat, putting the keys into one of his many pockets, “I’ll be over der, in case ya guys need somethin’.”

“I think I’ve got this,” our curly haired companion nods and we go our separate ways. My heart hammers in my throat as I fall in step right behind the kid, an odd adjective considering he is taller than me and obviously much more experienced in his trade.

“I’m not doing this, I hope you know that,” I frown, holding my purse to my chest so he wouldn’t be able to steal it a third time.

He gives a small hum, stopping in the middle of the nearly full apartment parking structure to look around, “You don’t really have a choice, I hope YOU know THAT.”

I pout.

Prints takes my hands in his, a gentle motion attached to a chuckle, like he were explaining a fragile topic to a child, “Tommo said so.”

“Unhand me you deplorable heathen,” I say, completely deadpan, monotonous, so much so that it is funny and we both burst out in laughter.

But then I feel my eyes widen, the severity of the situation fully sinking in.

I have to steal a car. A car. Someone’s ride home or ride to work or only way to pick up their children from school. This is not something I can live with.

But I CAN live with stabbing someone?

I know this statement is untrue, but the ‘stealing a car’ thing seems much more urgently pressing.

Prints is right. Fuck morals.

Maybe I don’t have any after all.

“That one’s easy enough,” my companion had walked a few dozen steps to my right, towards a faded, blue minivan. “Let’s get this over with. Since it’s your first time, I’ll take you through the steps nice and easy.”

“Oh if only POGs and Haz were here to give a follow up to that one,” I roll my eyes, mechanically going towards him and finding no humor in something I would have usually found slightly humorous.

“Right, so what do you think the first step is here?” Prints folds his arms over his chest, ignoring my comment.

I scoff, “You think I would know how to STEAL A CAR-?”

“God! Keep your voice down!” he shushes me, then sighs. “Just guess.”

“I don’t know…” I feel the grimace before I am aware of the extreme displeasure rushing through my veins. “Get inside the car?”

“Very good!” he claps his hands quietly. “And that’s all I expect you to know, but humor me. How do you think we’ll get inside?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me eventually,” I let the words come out like a breath.

Prints’ shoulders drop, “Yeah. It’s probably better I walk you through it before you go setting any alarms off.”

Five minutes and a lock pick later, we are sitting inside the minivan, me in the driver’s seat and him in the passenger.

“I’m telling you, the alarm is off. I TURNED it off-”

“Will you just stop?” I glare at him as he taps at the skirt of the dashboard hula girl that he had placed in front of him. Maybe if I stall long enough, I won’t have to do this. “And STOP-! Stop touching that thing.”