The streets in the industrial area of the city mostly belonged to the homeless. Their camps and tents lined entire blocks but despite the area's reputation for drug use and being generally avoided by most traffic and people, the homeless here were surprisingly hospitable and virtually no violence ever occurred. That didn't change anyone's perception of this harmless, homeless community whose only concern was to look after each other, and ironically, from home-having outsiders.
Jimmie glided the Yeehaw into an alley that was a block away from the location of his car, and hid it as best he could near some rusty dumpsters.
"I'll be back for ya, don't worry," Jimmie whispered to the bike before pressing a button and watching it disappear. He then made the walk to the building which was at the end of the alley, about a half mile walk.
Jimmie glanced at his phone and saw that he was only a few yards away from his car. It was in the building that was now in front of him, an abandoned car garage. He could see lights were on inside through some broken windows. He jumps onto a dumpster and peers inside. Two men stood talking to each other while one of them tinkered with the engine of someones car. Just as he thought, a chop shop. Looking further into the building, passed lines of stolen vehicles and parts and stacks of tires, he spots his Musty Dang. It was sitting on a ramp at least two feet off the ground and a motherfucker was sitting in the driver seat, tinkering with the dash. Jimmie's stomach churned and a familiar thrill arose inside of him. The one he would get after spotting enemies and just before making contact with said enemies. He felt in his pocket for the sack of Cinderella and took it out. He wanted more of a boost for this one. Jimmie snorts the rest, jumps down from the dumpster and makes his way to a side door of the building.
Jimmie turned the knob and found that it was unlocked, which kind of surprised him. Crouched and with the eighty-eight in hand, he ducked behind stacks of tires, rows of seats and stripped cars as he snuck his way to his own. There was only three men that he could see; the one closest to him who was messing with his car, and the two at the furthest end of the building near the big garage door. Jimmie continued around some cars and snuck around to the rear of his. He pulls out the eighty-eight then approaches the chop shop mechanic and points it at the mans head.
"Howdy partner," Jimmie greets. The man startled as he turned to see the barrel of a gun pointed at his face.
"Whoah, Whoah!" the mechanic puts his hands up.
"Nice ride you got here", Jimmie says, "Where'd you get it?"
"Aye, I just work on the cars, man."
"By work on em, you mean take em apart?"
"It's what they told me to do. I don't know anything else about anything. If this is your ride, talk to one of them." The mechanic jerks his head in the direction of the other two mechanics.
"Yeah, here's what's gonna happen", Jimmie shifts his weight, "You're gonna git the hell outta there and give me my keys-"
"I don't got the keys, homie. They got em."
"Alright, well then, here's what we're gonna do, you're gonna git the hell outta there, I'm gonna use you as a shield, and we're gonna walk over there and ask them politely for my keys. Come on!"
The mechanic hurries out of the car and Jimmie grabs him. With the gun to his head and one arm held behind his back, Jimmie walks the man to the other two mechanics. They immediately dropped what they were doing once they saw Jimmie.
"Whoah! What's going on!?" says one of them. "How'd you get in here?"
"Don't matter!" Jimmie answered. "I'm here to take my shit back. Where's the key to the Musty Dang?!"
"You can't just come in here! This is a private spot."
"I don't give a shit! Where's the key to my car!?"
Little did Jimmie know, but the second mechanic was reaching for a gun while the first mechanic was trying to bargain.
"I'll give it to you, just let my mechanic go", The guy says.
"Can't do that, he's my cover."
"He's just a mechanic I hired, he ain't got nothing to do with this. He got a family and everything. Hurt him, we're gonna hurt you."
"Ya'll ain't in a place to be makin' threats against me!" Jimmie couldn't believe the nerve of these guys. "I'm here for MY belongings that ya'll stole from ME! Ya'll lucky I ain't run in here guns-a-blazin'!"
As he yelled at them, he found himself nearing a table with several car keys sprawled across it. He spotted his because it was the only one with a distinct mini jet dangling from the chain, a Blue Angel souvenir he got in San Francisco. Right after snatching up his key, the second mechanic that had been floating a few feet from the one Jimmie was bargaining with, suddenly pulls out a shotgun and points it at Jimmie whose cover ducked and managed to wiggle away leaving him exposed for a shotgun blast. Just before the shotgun could fire, Jimmie ducked behind a car that was hoisted up on jacks and missing its wheels. The blast of the shotgun ripped through a bunch of metal parts on a shelf behind where Jimmie was standing before stripping paint off the car he was taking cover behind. The other mechanic had since armed himself with a handgun and was waiting for a good shot on their intruder.
The shotgun mechanic could see the top of Jimmie's cowboy hat through the back window of the car and takes aim, shattering both rear passenger windows and knocking the half gallon hat off his head. During the pause in firing, Jimmie takes the opportunity to make a run across the shop and replan his next course of action. As he dove across the floor with a smooth roll, 9mm rounds narrowly miss grabbing his ass and instead bounce off the grill and rims of some stripped cars.
"You might as well get the fuck outta here while you still can!" The handgun wielding mechanic shouts. The mechanic with the shotgun had just finished reloading the last buckshot round into the chamber than pumped it.
"Not without my fucking car!" Jimmie yells back. He was now behind a stack of tires, more than enough cover. The problem was, he didn't know where to go from there. What was he going to do next? He could shoot them, but it would be like hitting them with a pellet gun. No, a little bit more deeper and painful than that, Jimmie thought. He forced himself to have confidence and believe in his .088 six shooter, that it would stun them or at least shock them enough to think they had been shot by a larger caliber and force them to retreat long enough for him to high tail it out of there with his doggone musty dang. The sound of police sirens nearing the building un-clouded his brain. He listened for how the criminal mechanics were going to respond to the sound of the law heading their way.
"Shit! This guy fucked up our whole thing!" One of them shouts.
"Come on, let's go!" The other one says and Jimmie takes the opportunity to make sure they run out of there with a round in their ass, or in this case, in the side of the back of one their necks. The mechanic yelled, grabbed the side of his neck and tumbled into a tool dresser.
'I'm shot!" he yelled. The other two mechanics were dashing for the door but stop when they hear the police just outside of it. They were all surrounded.
Jimmie ran over to his car, slammed the hood down then jumped in. He pressed a button on the key and the engine neighed itself awake. He looked over at the garage door, the mechanic goons were standing in front of it, unsure of what to do being that the police were out there yelling about how everyone inside should come out with their hands up. The one with the round in his neck was slumped against the wall, whining like a sissy about the tiny round that barely punctured his flesh, especially from the distance that it was shot from. Jimmie moved his mind over to how he was going to shake the police after crashing through the garage door. He would certainly have a head start being that they were most likely outside of their vehicles and ready to barge in. Being that his Musty Dang was upgraded with a reinforced, super durable alloy, hitting that garage door would be like driving through a wall made of cardboard. He decided he was going to wait until they were pouring into the building from the door that was just beside the garage door.
Not only will he discourage a high speed chase through the night life of downtown, but just in case, he had a few super advanced tricks under the hood that he doubted the dimwitted mechanics were able to find and remove. As soon as the police barged in, guns drawn and screaming their heads off, Jimmie hit the gas and shot forward, leaving his wheels behind. The musty dang scraped the rest of the way down the ramp and across the floor about a foot.
"Aww shit!" Jimmie slams his hands on the wheel. While the mechanics were being apprehended, Jimmie breaks for it towards the back door that he came in through. When the police noticed the failed attempt to make a grand escape, they turned their attention to the fleeing outlaw, yelling for him to stop but just like literally every other instance where someone was commanded to stop, Jimmie kept running and burst through the door and back out into the alleyway.
He cussed as he ran. Not because the police were on his tail, but because his musty dang was gone, put down like an old broken legged horse. She was going to be thrown into the junkyard and compacted into a giant metal cube along with the innards and parts of other dead cars. He could try to rescue her again, or build a new one…
Jimmie realized how difficult it was to run in his new cowboy boots and knew the officers behind him will catch up, that is, unless he could make it to the Yeehaw in time, which he was confident he would. He ran in even less comfortable footwear before and for much longer distances. He would deal with the foot ache at home, after a long hot shower and while eating dinner and binge watching his favorite western saga starring his hero.
As soon as Jimmie turned the corner at full speed, he was suddenly catapulted over the hood of a police car. The officers inside jumped out and pointed their guns at him as he lay dazed on the hood of their car, his shins hurting like a bitch from smacking into the front bumper.
So much for dinner and a western movie…