Chapter 37 #2
Ciaran stopped in front of the vehicle as Andy pulled the door open and slid inside. He searched the cabin, flipping down the visors, checking in the glove box. Finally, he stuck his head out the window and said, “Yo, where are the keys?”
“Hell, if I know.” Ciaran replied, looking around the room.
There were so many places that Luna could keep the keys for the vehicles and for a moment, his blood went cold, thinking they’d need to search the whole house to find them.
Then he spotted a white cabinet attached to the wall over one of the red mechanic’s cabinets near the door to the main house and almost punched a fist in the air.
Ciaran jogged over to it, his bag bouncing against his hip as he went.
It was the kind of cabinet that a valet might have on the side of a stand.
And just like a valet stand… he tried the bar-shaped handle, and wasn’t at all surprised when it didn’t budge.
He ripped open the zipper on the flap of his messenger bag and withdrew a small black pouch.
His fingers tingled as he withdrew a pair of picks and got to work.
There was a time when he could have had this lock open before he could count to fifty.
It was a simple tumbler lock, but his tools kept slipping off of the pins inside.
It took far longer than he would have liked, but finally, cheeks blazing, the last tumbler flipped, and the handle turned freely.
Inside, nearly every hook had keys dangling from a different keychain, most with a fob in the shape of an emblem or symbol related to the vehicles they went to.
Ciaran ran a finger through them, turning some to the light, but nothing jumped out at him to represent the white and blue vehicle Andy had chosen.
He swallowed his pride. “What does that car’s emblem look like?” He called.
“The fuck? Have you never seen a Mustang before?” Andy called back.
“Aye, I’ve seen Mustangs before,” Ciaran muttered under his breath as looked them over again. After a moment of fruitless searching, he sighed. “I don’t see any horses that don’t clearly scream Porsche.”
“For fuck’s sake…” There was a creak of a door opening and an echoing slam, then footsteps thundered across the garage floor. A meaty arm snaked over his shoulder and plucked a set of keys off a hook.
Ciaran followed. “That’s a snake.”
Andy sighed like Ciaran was an idiot and walked away. “A cobra.” He yanked the door open a second time. “This is a 1967 Shelby Cobra GT500. They only made a couple hundred of these and a honey like this one, with so few miles, could easily fetch half a mil.”
Ciaran seriously doubted that this car would be any easier to dispose of than the Aston, but then he reminded himself that if everything went as planned, he wasn’t going to get to do anything with this car anyway.
Andy cranked the key, only to get clicks in response. He pounded his hand on the steering wheel with a loud curse.
Before he could climb out of the car, Ciaran yanked the cotter pins free from the bonnet—Andy would call it a hood—and lifted it up. He glanced around and spotted the problem. After connecting the battery cables, he dropped and resecured the pins. “Now, give it a go.”
Andy tried again and the car roared to life. The sound filled the air as Andy revved the engine once, twice and it settled into a purr any tiger would be envious of.
Ciaran went to the passenger side, but the button on the door just sank in.
He jammed his thumb on the button a few more times, yanking on the door each time, but still the door wouldn’t open.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise when he bent down, just in time for Andy to put the car in gear and flip him off, before the car started rolling forward.
Yet, somehow it did.
He jogged alongside, his hand still wrapped around the handle, as if there was actually a chance that the bastard would change his mind and unlock the door. Once on the apron just inside the doors, Andy stopped.
Ciaran tapped on the window, and pointed at the stem of the door lock, but Andy just flipped him off again and revved the engine. “Looks like we’re out of time,” he yelled over the rumble.
Ciaran’s head snapped around, in time to see the flashing red and white lights illuminating the trees. A moment later, the first police car passed through the gate in the distance, its siren barely audible over the din inside.
“Let me in!” Ciaran ordered, yanking on the handle.
“I don’t think so.” With another gun of the engine, this time deliberately spinning the tires until the garage filled with black smoke and the foul smell of burning rubber, Andy took off.
Pain erupted in Ciaran’s hand as it was yanked free from the door handle, the force of it sending him spinning away to sprawl across the hood of a Mercedes. He groaned, clutching his hand to his stomach, as the Cobra sped down the driveway toward the advancing police car, gaining speed.
“Turn away,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Turn away!”
At the last second, the police car slammed on its brakes and Andy swerved, cutting deep furrows in the grass and roared away through the gates.