Writing in Cadence

Tommy looked up from behind the smoke rising out of the large cigar smoldering in his hand. He took a large draw and the glowing ember lit up the dark room. The fire reflected in his steel-blue eyes. As he exhaled, he watched a smoke ring float to the ceiling.

“That’s not the deal we agreed upon, Mr. Higgins,” he said.

He lowered his eyes and met the gaze of a man in a black, three-piece suit sitting behind an antique desk.

Mr. Higgins wiped the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief and twisted his head back to confirm that his bodyguards stood behind him. The broad oak desk did little to separate the two men. He cleared his throat; it still cracked as he spoke.

“The terms have changed, Mr. Hatchet,” he said.

Mr. Higgins’ voice became cooler as he collected himself.

“It would be unwise to back out now,” he said. “An auto auction is taking place in two days’ time. There are cars in the listing that have arrived for the preview tomorrow; they’re of interest to me. They must be procured and brought to the train yard before the 9 p.m. freight departure tonight. Time, Mr. Hatchet, is a valuable commodity in this moment.”

Tommy looked at the clock on the wall; it was already 4:35 p.m. Time was shorter than the cowering man in front of him. Still, he knew he couldn’t simply submit; weakness would not be respected here. He slammed his worn-out boot to the ground; dust rose from the concrete floor in a flurry.

“Are you trying to pull a fast one on me, Higgins?” he said. “Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with here? I put bigger men than you into smaller holes back in ’Nam.”

One of the henchmen stepped forward, but Mr. Higgins waved him away. Tommy hesitated for a moment before continuing.

“I never agreed to any of this,” he said. “You’re talking about grand theft auto—of multiple cars, by the way—with no mission prep, at all!”

Mr. Higgins was no longer sweating. Fire burned in his eyes; he adjusted his diamond-studded cufflinks.

“Threats will get you nowhere but a shallow grave, Mr. Hatchet,” he said. “If you want your debt cleared, a price must be paid. Are you willing to pay that price, Mr. Hatchet?”

Tommy thought back to the deal he had made to save his family’s land: the last-ditch effort to stop the oil company from stealing the home his father had worked so hard to build for them all; the promise he made to his mother that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He had found Mr. Higgins through his girlfriend (she was the leader of the Lip Bombs motorcycle club) and had worked out a deal to pay off the rest of the property’s mortgage: Tommy just had to work for Mr. Higgins. He assumed Mr. Higgins had wanted him as a guard, due to his combat experience in Vietnam. Tommy hadn’t expected to be used as a car thief six months into his new employment. He chomped down on his cigar.

“Dammit, Higgins, I’ll do the job!” he said. “If you double-cross me, I swear I’ll burn this building down with you in it!” He stood up and threw the still-lit cigar on the floor to drive his point home. He crushed it out under his boot and leaned across the desk to meet the man eye-to-eye. “Time’s not something either of us have, Mr. Higgins,” he said. “Shall we proceed?”

Mr. Higgins adjusted his glasses. He produced a piece of paper from the top drawer and laid it on the desk: the list of the cars Tommy was supposed to steal. It read:

’59 Corvette                           ’65 Shelby Cobra                  ’40 Cadillac Coupe

’71 Barracuda                       ’53 Porsche 356                     ’62 Pontiac Grand Prix

Tommy looked at the list and back at Mr. Higgins; the cars here weren’t easy to come by.

“This is one hell of a list you put together, Higgins,” he said. “How do you expect me to get these back in time? You know damn well what kind of clock you’ve got me running against.”

Mr. Higgins met his gaze and took the list back.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to deal with that inconvenience. The train leaves at 9 o’clock sharp, Mr. Hatchet, with or without those cars. If I was you, I wouldn’t want to find out what happens if it leaves empty. Tick-tock, Mr. Hatchet.”

Mr. Higgins smiled and motioned one of his men forward. He handed the document over and turned his attention back to Tommy.

“My associate here, Mr. Browning, will join you,” he said. “He’ll make sure that you complete your part of our arrangement. I suggest you leave at once.”

Mr. Browning motioned toward the door. Tommy ignored him and continued to press Mr. Higgins for information.

“Two people ain’t enough to pull this thing off, chief,” he said. “You must think higher of me than I thought if you expect me to get six cars across town in four hours. I hope you don’t expect us to break in multiple times.”

Mr. Higgins looked amused.

“Of course not, you fool,” he said. “The cars on that list are too valuable to leave up to an either/or scenario; I want them all. There’s a team waiting for you outside. Mr. Browning has the details for the job, or ‘mission,’ if you prefer, so get to it while the opportunity still presents itself. I want those cars!”

Tommy nodded and left the warehouse office in search of the men whose hands he was about to place his fate into. With Mr. Browning on his heels, he began to plan his next move. That office visit showed him that it was time to start thinking of an exit strategy. Tommy knew the situation was getting serious; he only hoped that he could get out before it was too late.

They found the crew of four gathered around a faded blue Transit van. Tommy looked at his babysitter.

“Where’s the rest?” he asked.

Mr. Browning spoke for the first time.

“This is all we need—six cars, six drivers,” he said.

Tommy found his opening.

“And who’s going to drive the van away from the crime scene, genius?” he said. “We’re not leaving behind the only evidence the cops need to find us. If we’re doing this job, we’re going to do it right. Go tell Higgins I need two more bodies. I’m going to go call my wife so that she doesn’t get suspicious.” He stared at Mr. Browning until the larger man walked away. Tommy turned his attention to the new faces in front of him. “Alright, we’re going to be here for at least another five minutes,” he said. “I don’t want to get there and find out we left anything behind. Let’s do a quick inventory before we roll; I’ll be back after I make that call.” He headed back to the warehouse.

He remembered a telephone on the wall near the hallway he had been led down to meet Mr. Higgins. Once he found it, he dialed up a number and waited for a familiar voice to pick up.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “I’ll be home later than planned. It’s bowling night at the country club with the boys. I packed my eight-pounder in the blue bag, so I’m looking for a strike on the back lane. Momma would love to see this. I love you.” He got a response, and the line went dead.

He ran into Mr. Browning on the way back out, who didn’t bother to slow down as he spoke.

“Mr. Higgins agrees with you,” he said. “He has two more men on the way. What was that about bowling?”

Tommy dismissed the other man’s question.

“Oh, I picked up bowling when I got back from the war,” he said. “It was just something to tell the old lady. Let’s go see about the rest of this crew.”

The four men were still where they had been, smoking cigarettes. Tommy looked confused.

“Where’s the inventory I asked for?” he said.

A man in an acid-washed jean jacket spoke up.

“It’s only a handful of screwdrivers and crowbars,” he said. “What else did you expect us to bring?”

Tommy closed the distance to Acid-wash.

“I expect you to follow instructions,” he said. “We have two more drivers joining us; do we have tools to equip them? How about flashlights? These are things to think about.”

Tommy checked his watch: 5:06 PM. He had stalled as long as he could.

“Alright, ladies,” he said, “we can’t wait any longer. We’ll have to ditch the vehicle before we move up to the fairgrounds, but we’ll be able to drive away clean. Let’s roll out!”

The men piled into the van. Tommy hopped into the driver’s seat and Mr. Browning jumped in beside him with the map to find a place to stash the ride when they got close. After forty-five minutes of driving, Mr. Browning spoke up.

“This trip is taking longer than it should be, Hatchet,” he said. “We would be at the fairgrounds by now if we hadn’t taken your backroads tour.”

Tommy kept his eyes on the road and tapped the map Mr. Browning was holding.

“You need to learn how to read a map, Browning,” he said. “This road takes us behind the fairgrounds. We can dump the van and walk up to the car storage with no problems.”

Mr. Browning was on the verge of protest when there was a loud bang from the rear of the vehicle and the van began careening out of control. The Transit van stopped spinning, and everyone piled out to find a flat tire. A dozen armed women wearing black leathers emerging from the wood line. The men put their hands up, but Tommy walked up to a tall blonde with the word Bombshell written on her vest and gave her a kiss.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “I’m glad to see you.”

The blonde smiled.

“Looks like you’ve got some car troubles, Tommy,” she said. “Whatever shall we do about that?”

Before he could answer, Mr. Browning exploded.

“Tommy, you no-good, double-crossing, son-of-a-bitch!” he said. “Mr. Higgins won’t rest until you’re dead, you hear me? Dead!”

The women aimed at Mr. Browning, who shut up. Tommy laughed.

“Diane, baby, tell your ladies that he’s not worth killing,” he said. “He is worth frisking, though. He’s got the list of cars we want.”

Diane nodded to the girl closest to Mr. Browning and she moved in while everyone else kept their guns trained on him. She walked back with the paper held high. Diane took it from her and handed it to Tommy.

“Thanks, Browning,” he said. “We couldn’t have pulled this off without you. I wasn’t sure when I’d find the opening I needed to get out of this mess, but you gave me one. Now we get the goods, too.”

Tommy looked over at Diane and waved the list at her.

“We’ve got our golden ticket,” he said.

Diane softly pushed him away and laughed.

“We’re not there yet, killer,” she said. “Come on. Your mother’s waiting in the trees. Let’s go finish this job and get her on that train.

Tommy nodded and looked back at Mr. Browning.

“If you know what’s good for you, Browning,” he said, “you’ll tell Higgins I set you up; he’ll go easier on you. If you know what’s good for him, you’ll tell him it’s over. This is me exiting the picture in a polite fashion.”

The men were being rounded up and tied together in the back of the van at this point. Diane drove out of the woods, the rest of her crew falling in line. Tommy climbed in beside his mother, and they drove off, eager for the payday that was coming.