Firebird Part IV

I know where we can go" I repeated as I trudged across the street, not paying much attention to whether or not my mother was following me. I hunched down and got into the Firebird and turned her over. The engine roared to life, still happily warm from the long drive from Tennessee. 

My mother stopped dead in the middle of the street. She recognized the car. I knew it from just an hour or so before. A single tear started to roll down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and stomped over to the passenger side of the car and hopped in.

She looked straight ahead "Let's go"

I slapped the car into gear and drove away, a bit of tire squeal coming off the pavement from the hot mid day sun. I drove straight out of town and onto the back roads. I was sure that if i kept driving out of town I would figure out where to go next. What to do with my mom. How we could run from her captors....my employer. I got the car into high gear on the highway, slipped over into the fast lane, and set the cruise control.

After about thirty minutes of silence, my mom looked over at me. " John" She said with a smile in her voice. "where are we going in my car?"

I looked her dead in the face. I nearly forgot about the road and had to slow down. "Your car?!" I exclaimed. "I woulds swore it was dad's"

"He told you?" she said, amused.

"No." I said, looking straight ahead, swerving between two semi's. "It was the first thing I divined..."

"Right before you  met me?" She said, shifting in her seat to face me.

I let the silence sit for a minute, not sure what to say next. I accelerated to match the speed in the fast lane. "I just wanted to see what you looked like before...before I met you"

"oh honey" she whispered, touching the nape of my next with her palm. She held it there a while. "I'm so sorry"

I drove along the highway, heading west with not much more on the road than a few semi's and some station wagons loaded with kids and luggage. The A/C lulled us into silence for the next few miles. Finally my mom asked the questions I hadn't answered before.


"so where are we going honey"

"Don't rightly know at the moment" I said, shifting in my seat. "I'm hoping that my buddy Greg will be at his shop in Nebraska, but he's usually off up north this time of year, hunting at his Camp in Alaska. If he is there we can get a new set of wheels that they can't trace, some new identities maybe. I'm not sure"

"and how did you meet Greg, John?" She asked. looking me straight in the face."

From work.

"Well, he was the mechanic that they assigned me for that region of the country...But Greg and I have been friends for 10 years or more now. He's always looked out for me, helped me with my driving logs if they were off, kept my tickets off the books at the company. He's a good guy"

"we can't trust anyone associated with them. Are you insane?!"

"insane enough to drive cross country with a woman who is claiming to be my mother, and sent me a book on reading the future."

I downshifted and crossed 2 lanes of traffic to make the exit. "We're going to Greg, he'll know what to do"

About three hours later we arrived at Greg's shop. It was down a dirt road that only went to his shop, and was a good 10 miles away from the main road. I figured we'd either pull up there to a bunch of black SUV's ready to snatch us, or not a soul would be visible. Fortunately for us there wasn't a soul there. 

The shop was a part of an old farming estate that got sold off. This portion used to be a large grass field that the previous owners used to pasture their cattle when they owned a few hundred more, and also to land small planes as it was flat, and the ground wasn't much good for anything except growing grass and landing planes. Right smack dab in the middle of the lot was a huge aircraft carrier, which was the location of Greg's shop. He had been working out of the building for the better part of 20 years, and had built up quite a clientele even though he was so far out in the sticks. He lived in an apartment he had built himself up above the hangar, inside the loft. He would either be home and we would have a chance, or we would be stranded out here, and the men in black would be here any moment to snatch us up.

"This is the place." I said, unbuckling and hopping out of the car.

"Greg?!" I hollered toward the hangar. "you com on out now ya hear?!"

I started to mosey on toward the hangar doors, and they started to slowly slide open as Greg hit the mechanical openers and the slow open from the center. I put my head down in thanks to the Lord as I walked toward the hangar doors. My mother didn't get out of the car.

"John, what in the hell are you doing" Said Greg, he didn't sound like his usual happy self.

"I can't have you here right now and you know it, the entire cavalry is out looking for you."

I looked over Greg's shoulder to his laptop on a picnic table behind him. thee on the screen was a flashing picture of me saying WANTED, right next to that was a picture of my mother with the same words.

"John, they're trying to get you listed as terrorists with the government. shit's gonna get real hot before it cools off, you need to leave the country. NOW." 

I looked at the pictures. I knew my mother could see them flashing form the car seat, even if it was some 50 feet away. I pulled the old pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one up.

"Smoke?" I handed the pack to Greg.

"you know i don't do that shit, John."

"Yeah well me either, desperate times."

Greg took a cigarette and lit it. He coughed horribly from the first drag.

Greg was a short stocky guy, who had always been a hard working, nervous guy. He knew his way around most of the systems that I worked with, though, and always kept my nose clean. I had never seen him not in full denim, nor without grease all over him. He was constantly working on something. It wasn't always a customer's car either. He had build himself quite a few scratch built cars. Some made for off road, some for track racing. There were several race plaques hung up all over the hangar: showing first place trophies for many different types of races. Greg built his way to victory, and he was damn good at it. You could see the skill he had simply from the way he kept the hangar. Every tool had a specific place, every car sat in a spot that you knew was custom made around it. It looked like a museum exhibit, and a damn hard worked shop all at once.

Greg paced down the length of the shop once, took another drag, coughed, and duffed the cigarette out on the floor before picking it up and putting it in the trash. "Who smokes this bullshit?" he said under his breath. He walked back towards me as I laughed silently.

"John, I love you my man, but you gotta get the fuck out of here, you and that hot fuckin car of yours"

I looked over at the screen again, there on the screen, now cycling was a picture of us, and then a picture of the firebird.

"Well, looks like its time for you to do what you do best, Greg" I said with a smile, finishing my cigarette and putting it out in the gravel outside the hangar. "I'm gonna need the rat"

Greg looked at me like I had just insulted his mother, then he slowly smiled and nodded.

"No VIN, great off road....huge motor." He said as he walked toward a large pegboard that held all the keys. He snatched a huge Bowie knife off the pegboard that had a single short key on it. Scrawled down the blade of the knife it said RAT.

"We're gonna need to fill the reserve tanks if you want to make it to Mexico, though" he said, handing me the knife.

"We ain't going there." I said, grabbing the key from him. "Let's get them Jerry cans filled"