---chapter 8
Cymaenie was still laughing as he rolled the television on the dolly into his safe house. He set these aside, and headed back out to the Monte Carlo, still idling outside. He got back in behind the wheel and headed off down the street again with the Ferrari still in tow.
He now actually had some work cut out for himself before the morning came. His first stop was at Forere’s Jewelry shop. He parked the Monte Carlo in the alley behind his store as he didn’t want to risk the suspicion of the Ferrari chained to the back of another car.
He entered through the back door, catching Forere quite by surprise.
“I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that!” he said after he realized that it was only his regular raccoon thief. “What have you got today?”
Cymaenie opened his bag and pulled out the several boxes of jewelry that he had stolen and set them on the counter.
“You keep this up and I won’t even have to order anything new for the store.”
“You sell stolen jewelry in your own store?”
“Why not? Its catalogued, stamped with my logo and displayed like any other thing here. The paper work is all forged on it. Bring forth any sting, and I’m ready for it. Do you really think I would run a front like this if I risked getting caught for stolen merchandise? I think not.”
He quickly looked over the lot and pulled out his metal tin. He flipped open the top and counted out the value of the pull Cymaenie had brought in. He then quickly laid out his fare for the stolen goods and handed him the money.
He closed the box and put it back underneath the counter. “Thank you for stopping by.” He said nodding.
“No thank you for doing business.”
Forere shrugged. “Hey, the stuff has got to be sold. I just get the joy of marking up- way up.”
Cymaenie nodded and headed out the door. He slid back behind the wheel of the Chevy and started it again. He pulled out of the alley and was soon on his way across town once again.
His next stop was Kiryan’s. He pulled behind the strip mall where his store was at and again was out of the car. He walked up to the bookstore and banged on the door. There was no answer. He pounded louder.
Cymaenie growled a little. Kiryan must have been asleep. He stepped on an old milk crate, and from there to the top of a dumpster to peer in through a rear window.
The back of the store was dark, and only a few red lights were visible on his computer and security system. He scratched his head. Breaking in would be no problem, but he wasn’t sure of what kind of alarms his tiger friend could have rigged.
As he pondered the fortified book store over, a grinding sound came from the rear door and it popped open. Cymaenie jumped with surprise. Kiryan was at the door with a dual handed axe.
“Who goes there?” he snarled. Cymaenie jumped off the dumpster into view.
“Just me.”
Kiryan lowered his axe. “Figures. I get all worked up for a freaky raccoon.”
“Nice to see you to. What in the hell were you doing? Sleeping?”
“I was taking a shit. Bite me. What are you doing back here? Normally you only come around once a week.”
“I have come bearing gifts.” Cymaenie said stepping over to his car. He leaned in and started pulling out the gun cases.
“I would believe that more if you weren’t after money. Gifts are not something you have to pay for.”
Cymaenie chuckled, stacking the array of weaponry on the roof of his car. Once the backseat was cleaned out, he piled them into his arms and carried them to Kiryan.
They both entered the back room where racks upon racks of weaponry lined his walls. Cymaenie set the pile down on a large wooden counter in the middle of the room and Kiryan stepped to the other side after hanging his axe back up.
He quickly unzipped the bags, and took each antique rifle out and looked them over. After these, he examined the cutlasses and nodded, clearly pleased.
“I still don’t know how you have such a knack for finding some of the things you steal.” Kiryan said shaking his head.
“Raccoon luck. It’s a powerful thing.”
Kiryan chuckled. “Apparently.” He thought for a minute. “And what’s with the sports car outside?”
“It was a five fingered discount that came with the rifles.”
Kiryan raised an eyebrow looking at him. “Since when do you steal cars?”
“Cars are easy. They are just trickier to fence, and can’t be hidden as easily.”
“That much I figured. But… since when is a little red car easy to do that with?”
“It’s not. But, I have a guy who collects classic cars. It will bring me a nice bit of cash. Then I can retire and hang up my night gig for a while.”
Kiryan snickered. “Considering that it is your only source of income right now, I highly doubt that. You couldn’t sit still around your house for more than five days without getting itchy fingers.”
“I can and have. I did it last year.”
“You had the flu. And even then you were stealing cough syrup!”
Cymaenie shrugged. “Alright, so I keep myself busy. What crime is there in that?”
Kiryan had a good hearty laugh on that comment.
- - - - -
It was somewhere around three in the morning when Cymaenie was rolling down the street again. He looked at his watch and sighed. His stolen car dealer had left his shop around a half hour ago. And wouldn’t be back until the following weekend.
Cymaenie was a little angry with himself for having stayed by Kiryan’s for so long. Cars were not something he wanted to sit on unless he had plans on keeping it.
However, he had very little other choice as rolling behind his Chevy was at least a one million dollar car. He cringed. The car would undoubtedly be reported stolen first thing in the morning. At least he had a place to stash it where it would slip out of everyone’s eye.
He was out near the docks, where he had a small warehouse. It wasn’t anything larger than a four car garage, but was in the middle of a sea of others just like it, brownstone apartments and old factories.
It was perfect. He pulled the Monte up outside of his building and quickly unloaded the GTB. He packed up his chains and drug them all inside the warehouse where he dumped them.
He leaned into the Ferrari and pushed that into the warehouse next, and threw a large dust cover over it. He left, and securely locked up the large door and was back in his Monte in a few short minutes.
He smiled. It was one of his better nights and everything had gone smoothly. He put his foot in the gas and roared off down the deserted two lane road.
He had made a few thousand dollars in just a few hours. It was more than he could ever make at his desk job in a whole month. He laughed as it was all too easy for him.
He rolled through an intersection of a cross street and into the water tanks of Herdnan. He scratched behind his ear and got comfortable it would be a while before he would be back at his main safe house.
There was some blinding blue flashing in the corners of his eye. He looked up into the mirror to see the blue lights of a police cruiser. His smile quickly wiped from his face.
“Oh shit.” He said. He was armed to the teeth with a backpack full of money, in a car with forged plates, no registration and no drivers license. There was only one option he had as he knew he was the only car on the whole road.
His foot sunk the pedal on the Chevy and with a roaring engine, lurched its huge mass forward. The sirens on the police car wailed now as the pursuit began.
Cymaenie cursed himself for apparently rolling a stop sign. Such a stupid mistake could cost him a lot. He looked down at the speedometer slowly climbing over 100.
His eyes darted around his surroundings. He didn’t have many options. To his right was a concrete wall, to his left was a chain link fence surrounding the water tanks.
Ahead, was nothing but straightaway for another two miles. He looked in his mirrors, as the police car stayed right on him. He growled and gripped the wheel tighter as he was sure to be going at least 120 by now.
The squad car behind him started to close the gap to try and bump his car. Cymaenie pressed as hard as he could on the pedal, but it would go no farther. He cringed.
The squad car bumped him, he let off the gas a little so as not to lose control. He looked up the road; an intersection was coming. Putting his knowledge of racing into effect, he pumped the brakes, slowing the car down. He turned the wheel and accelerated again, cutting the corner on the inside, and pulling out.
Luckily the area was deserted, making his driving a lot more fluid. He took another corner in the same manner and again put his foot to the floor. The squad car was still close behind. Clearly, it was going to be harder than he thought to shake the squad car with his massive Chevy.
He turned hard again with squealing tires. This put him onto a gravel service road, where he started kicking up dust. The tail of the car was a little loose, but he kept the gas feathered to maintain his heading.
He looked in the mirrors to see nothing but the dark cloud of gravel dust. Another cross street was coming. He slammed the brakes and skidded out into the street. He power slid a full 180 and crashed through a low hedge back the way he came.
The car bounced roughly into the dirt surrounding more water tanks, and was shrouded by the massive gravel dust cloud. He killed the lights, and rounded a tank.
He saw for a brief moment the police car’s blue lights rush by him and press on in pursuit. He kept on heading in the opposite direction, sliding back onto the gravel road going back the way he came.
Once back on the street, he turned and started distancing himself as much as possible. He turned frequently, and kept moving as quickly as he could. As he rounded another corner, the Chevy felt rather sluggish. He pumped the pedal, but it didn’t seem to matter.
He looked down at the dashboard. He still had a quarter tank of gas. So what could be the problem now? His speed was slowly dropping, and the engine starting to bog.
He growled. His headlights were dimming. The alternator had gone out. He killed his lights once again to save as much battery as he could. Good thing he did as a police car rolled up to a stoplight at a street a few blocks behind him.
‘I’m not getting arrested because of a dead car.’ He told himself. Using what rolling speed he had left, he quickly turned the wheel, veering the car to the left. He crashed through a chain link fence, and bounced down a shallow dirt hill crunching over several bushes.
By the time he was halfway to the bottom of the shallow gulch, the car was completely dead. He popped the trans into neutral and coasted, roughly bashing the car over rocks.
He pressed the brakes to slow himself, but the wheels only locked and slid in the loose terra. “Oh shit.” He said. The Monte’s rear got sideways and he was in a helpless slide.
He jammed both feet against the dashboard as the car scraped along a palm tree, and plunged the left side of the nose into a shallow creek with a crunch, where it came to a stop on a rock.
Cymaenie quickly wasted no time, and removed the ring of keys from the one in the ignition. He grabbed his backpack, and his map from the glove compartment. He looked around the car to make sure he had everything and opened the door.
He crawled out of the a kilter car and slammed the door shut. He popped the trunk which was empty. He closed this and started jogging up the shallow incline to get back to the road leaving the car where it was.
Back up at the street, he cautiously peeked around a tree to see a squad car patrolling the area. He cursed. Nothing after his loot haul was apparently going his way. He came up on the sidewalk, checked his coast and started sprinting down the street. He had to get out of the area before his car was discovered.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have many options. He did the only thing he knew he had an decision for.
- - - - -
Cymaenie pulled the car cover from the Ferrari. He sighed looking over the smooth lines on the sports car. He nodded, his mind made up. It was the only way out of the warehouses and back to his main safe house to pick up his car and go home.
He opened the door and tossed his things to the passenger seat and climbed in. He closed the door, pushed in the clutch and turned the engine over.
A smooth grumble poured out of the exhaust pipes. He was going to have to drive a stolen car to safety. His right paw wrapped around the cool knob of the shifter and felt the inner linkage move in the transmission.
It really was a beautiful car. He shifted into first as the door opened, revved the engine up slightly and let off of the clutch. He rolled out of the warehouse, closing the door behind him.
Once he hit pavement in the Ferrari, everything loosened up and suddenly he was free. By some stroke of luck at last, his trip home was free of any police officers, which made his joy ride that much more enjoyable.
