Drive

Chapter Six

Second job he ever drove on, everything went wrong that could. Guys had passed themselves off as pros. They weren’t.

The mark was a pawn shop out towards Santa Monica, near the airport, by a couple of buildings that put you in mind of old time computer punch cards. Shop wasn’t much to look at if you went in the front door, the usual accordions, bikes, stereos, jewelry and junk. All the good stuff went in and out the back door. The money to pay the toll on that back door was stashed in a safe so old that Doc Holliday could have kept his dental tools in it.

They didn’t need any accordions or jewelry. Money in that safe was another thing.

He was driving a Ford Galaxie. Right off the line this thing had more power than made any kind of sense, and he’d been seriously under the hood. From an alley alongside, he watched the principals, two of whom he figured as brothers, head towards the pawn shop. Minutes later, he heard the shots, like whip cracks. One. Two. Three. Then a sound like a cannon going off and a window blowing out somewhere. When he felt a load hit the car behind him, without even looking to see, he peeled out. Half a dozen blocks away, cops pulled in hard behind, two cars at first, then three, but they didn’t have much chance against the Galaxie or the route he’d mapped out-not to mention his driving-and he soon lost them. When it was all over he discovered he’d got away with two of the three principals.

Fucker pulled a shotgun on us, you believe it? A fuckin’ shotgun.

One of the presumed brothers they’d left behind, shot dead or dying on the pawn shop floor.

They’d also left the fuckin’ money behind.