A Mafia Romance

Alan

ALAN

I’ve got a weakness for Ford LTDs.

It’s completely stupid, I know. But when my grandpa retired, he came home with a Ford LTD Crown Royal he had driven for his cover job, and I loved that car. It was huge, powerful, and drove like a dream.

I learned to drive in that blue LTD. Grandpa’s father used to run booze over the border from Canada and had taught him how to drive that big boat of a car like a bat out of hell. Behind its wheel, he taught me everything he knew and then left it to me in his will, and I drove it for ten years.

Subsequently, some drunken piece of s**t t-boned it—while it was f*****g parked. The sound practically knocked me out of bed by itself. Shattering glass, tearing metal—the death cry of a damn good car.

The bastard was going ninety. Totaled both cars and nearly killed himself. Turns out he mistook the LTD for one belonging to the dude he thought was f*****g his girlfriend.

Why would anyone look for love elsewhere with such a model of loving stability like that guy waiting for her at home? Yikes!

That was the one and only time that my real name ended up on a police report. The law has been after me in several cities, but they never know exactly who they are looking for. I’m a ghost.

A ghost who drives like a demon.

Tonight, I have my sights on a top-of-the-line Ford LTD Crown Victoria, restored from the mid-1980s. Black instead of the dark blue I remember but just as elegant and enormous. Chrome trim, a bench backseat you could f**k in without banging your head on anything. Two big, greasy-looking guys from the city just left her at the far corner of the diner parking lot, and I’m ambling over there now to have a closer look.

The key to going unnoticed late at night is to act casual and relaxed, like you belong. I’m just another guy strolling out of the diner in a hipster watch cap and skinny gray jacket, my hair tucked up out of sight and black-framed glasses covering my eyes.

I picked the outfit at a Goodwill a month ago. I always go incognito when I’m looking for a car to steal. I hadn’t planned to take one right out of a parking lot, but for another ride in my favorite kind of car, I’m tempted to risk it. At least nobody will remember details about me that I can’t instantly change.

It’s a freezing night; my breath steams through the gap in my upturned collar as I cross the parking lot. There’s a huge patch of black ice in the middle of the blacktop; I skirt around it nimbly and move on.

Maybe I shouldn’t take the car. It’s still technically in view of the café windows.

But it’s more than nostalgia telling me to take it. Something in my gut is telling me, too. I notice that the car’s lights are on.

Wait...you’ve got to be kidding me.

The car’s rumbling away, exhaust pipe steaming, heater on, and Frank Sinatra playing on a good stereo. The keys are in the damn ignition! It’s as if they deliberately left it running so it would keep warm.

This means they’re getting a takeout order and will be back in very few minutes. Think fast, Chase!

I go for it!

Without breaking stride, I walk around to the driver’s side, open the door with one gloved hand, get in, shut the door, and check around for any surprises. There’s a tough purple suitcase shoved onto the back seat. What’s in the trunk that they’re using passenger space for luggage? I sling my Goodwill backpack next to it. I buckle in and back up smoothly, just like it’s my car, and I’m pulling out to drive home.

Nothing to see here, everything’s perfectly normal...I drive casual, not too fast, not too slow, keeping away from the patch of black ice.

I make it through the parking lot and maneuver the LTD’s front end is into traffic to make the turn, when I hear a shout. In the rearview mirror, I see two fat goons lumbering out in my direction, coats flapping open, gripping white takeout bags and pistols, the glints of chrome warning me.

Oh hell!

One fires and I lurch forward into traffic, hearing the bullet ping off the frozen asphalt. My wheels slip on the icy road before catching a patch of sand and jolting forward. Another bullet follows, whamming off the back bumper.

“s**t! s**t! s**t!”

Cars in the road stop short for me; nobody wants to argue with a giant, old steel-framed car lunging into traffic. I hit the slick road and spin the wheel just enough; the Ford makes the turn—and the light changes at the corner and locks up traffic on every side. Are you kidding me?

Trapped, I turn my worried eyes back to the parking lot. The two argue, one forcing the other one’s g*n arm down like he doesn’t want his car shot up. I can’t blame him—especially since I don’t want more bullets coming my way.

“Come on,” I mutter, counting down the seconds until the light changes. It would be a shitty way to die, holed out over a midrange sedan that hasn’t been a hot property since the late nineties.

They notice I'm trapped and start running as fast as they can across the parking lot. Staring at them in horror…I'm sunk! Even if I abandon the car and run across four lanes of traffic, I will be in reach of their bullets. Chase, you're an i***t! This was a really bad idea!

Then a miracle happens! One I probably don't deserve right now. They run out onto that big patch of black ice without noticing it.

The first guy hits it with the heel of his fancy wingtips and does an awkward split, yelling in alarm and accidentally firing into the air. The second guy can't stop in time and crashes into him. They both go down in a heaving tangle. And I finally remember to blink.

Bye, boys! I bark out a laugh as the light changes and the traffic shifts. I ease onto the accelerator as space opens up...and suddenly, I'm free!

The road is my home. Four wheels on the blacktop, enough room to maneuver, and a good car. That's my idea of comfort. And even after years without one, being in a LTD really feels like I belong.

I drive all the way out of Lloyd, not chancing a stop within city limits. I have no idea who those guys were or why they had guns, but it was pretty damn clear they were guarding either the car or something in it.

The suitcase? Or maybe whatever is filling up the trunk? The contents are probably valuable.

I could use a good score before winter really sets in. It started late this year, aside from one big blizzard in mid-November. A little extra capital would be nice before I shut down until next year.

I'm twenty miles Upstate when the LTD's gas meter starts edging toward empty. The nearest town, West Camp, is a few miles off yet: a collection of houses around a church, a few shops, and a gas station connected to an all-night café.

I'll unfortunately need to ditch this vehicle knowing that livid armed men are looking for it. Best to dump it at the edge of town and use another way back to Lloyd.

After I find whatever those guys were guarding, anyway.

I park the LTD in a lot near the end of town. It's late enough that nobody's around except for the café and gas station, blazing with an inviting light. That’s good; I need coffee and a warm place to wait for my ride.

First things first, though.

I check the suitcase. It smells of some delicate, expensive perfume, and I find a travel bottle—which is of blue-enameled gold in the shape of a f*****g peacock. This suitcase belongs to a wealthy young woman who is either really hot or thinks she is.

There’s a half dozen posh, sexy outfits: silk, mostly in shades of blue, including some lingerie for a curvy, busty woman. Not much jewelry, but what’s in there would pay rent on my apartment for a few months. A heavy, lined wool winter coat and a pair of surprisingly sensible leather knee boots take up the entire other side.

“Wow. Who did you fuckers steal this from?” I mutter, checking my peripherals before turning back to the case. My fingers trace the fabric lining, encountering several rectangular lumps.

Those are bundles of cash, I’m sure. The smaller lumps feel like more jewelry. Smuggling? Or someone’s personal stash?

Good news for me, either way. Finders keepers!

I close the back door and go around to pop the trunk. If they left a jackpot like that in plain view, how valuable is what they hid back here?

This could end up being one hell of a payoff! Maybe even worth almost getting killed for?

I walk back and pull the trunk lid open; the tiny light pops on. I stand there blinking for a moment, staring down.

A large, canvas laundry bag, the heavy kind you can drag four loads in, fills almost the whole space. The curled shape inside sets off alarm bells in the back of my head—especially since instead of the smell of dirty laundry, the delicate scent of that same perfume wafts at me.

“Oh s**t!”

I start untying the heavy rope fastening the bag like a giant drawstring and tug the bag opening to loosen it. Almost at once, something makes my heart sink even further: a soft tuft of strawberry blonde hair.

“Please don’t be a cadaver.” I undo the bag further and tug it down over her face. “Please be alive. I didn’t even know you were back here...”

She’s beautiful. Soft features go with the lustrous hair and full lips. She’s maybe twenty? Her cheeks have color. She breathes.

“Oh, holy crap! Okay. You really scared me for a minute there, lady.” I free her from the bag; she’s dressed in leather pants and jacket with a silk blouse underneath.

She stirs. I notice a small bruise on the side of her neck centered around on a red mark. An injection site?

No wonder she was so still and quiet. She’s drugged! Maybe just coming out of it with the cold air hitting her?

“Hey,” I pat the side of her sweet face. “Hey, wake up, we’ve got to move.”

Kidnapping? They were k********g her! Holy s**t, I just rescued a loaded k********g victim!

That’s promising. Maybe not as promising as walking off with her stuff, but a guy like me always needs more rich friends. Especially if they are heart-breakingly beautiful and owe me big time.

I take her by her shoulders and shake her gently. She stirs, frowning in her sleep, and lets out a soft sigh.

“That’s better. Come on back now. I know you’re sleepy.” I’m starting to worry. The sooner we get out of here, the better; this car might have a LoJack on it…

They may be on their way right now to get their damn car back. And kill me, of course.

I leave her to awaken as I grab my backpack and quickly change my outer clothes. I shake my hair loose and replace it with a fleece-lined deerstalker like a lot of the locals wear. The terribly tight jacket gets replaced by a heavy red plaid coat.

When I get back to her, she’s fallen back asleep again.

“Dammit, sweetie, this is not good,” I grumble, scooping her out of the trunk and setting her rounded butt on its edge.

She sags forward; I hold her up by the shoulders. Her eyelids flutter—and then fly open.

She stares at me in shock and confusion. She looks quickly around, her sky-blue eyes enormous.

“What—?!?” she gasps, her faint Brooklyn accent sharpening the word.

“Shh, please, don’t scream, its okay.” What can I say to calm her down? “You’re being rescued.”

Her mouth closes and she blinks, shaking her head to clear it. “Who are you?”

“Uh, that’s a long story. I’ll tell you the whole thing once we get out of here.”