Fighting to Be Free

As we stepped out of the room, Vincent held up his hand for a high five. I grinned and slapped my hand against his victoriously. The rest was the fun part - the boosting the little things of beauty.

Once we got to the room where the ten cars were parked I stopped and just let my eyes rake over the beautiful sight before me. My gaze settled on the C-X75, these things weren’t even for sale yet.

I groaned as my mouth actually filled with saliva at the sight of it. “That’s mine,” I mumbled.

Dodger grinned and shrugged immediately walking up to the side of a XKR-S convertible.

“Whatever. You can keep your eco car, I want this!” he chirped, running his hand over the hood in awe.

I grinned and pulled out my cell phone, dialling Terry and telling him the coast was clear. The guys were cutting the lock on the front gates and coming in that way - that would be the way we would leave too, driving straight out the front. I moaned in appreciation of being in the same room with all these cars. I literally couldn’t wait to get my hands on them.

“Let’s get to work then,” I suggested, rubbing my hands together excitedly as I unzipped my bag and reached inside for my tools. Dodger grinned and followed suit, I would imagine that my eyes looked just as excited as his did in that moment.

By the time the others entered the warehouse, seven of the cars were already sitting there, engines running, ready to go. Jaguars were easy pickens; we’d be home free in less than five minutes. The guys all stood around, not really knowing what to do with themselves, well, some of them did anyway, some of them, the more experienced ones, were already standing by their chosen car waiting for the sign to say they could go.

Dodger and I were the only ones boosting tonight because the cars were being immediately shipped off, there was no margin for error tonight, no scratches would be allowed because someone had been too forceful. Everything had to go perfect - which meant I was going to have a busy night indeed.

When I started the final car that I was working on, I pushed myself out of the seat and walked up to the group that were talking in hushed whispers. They all quietened as I approached and looked at me with expectant eyes.

I nodded. “All ready to go. No one touches that,” I pointed to my car of choice, “that’s mine. You know your routes, stick to the plan and keep it legal. Straight back to the meeting point using your route you’ve been assigned,” I instructed. All of us were headed in slightly different directions to get back to Brett tonight; it would look slightly obvious with ten brand new Jags driving down the street in a neat little line. “Go. See you all back there.” I nodded to the cars and they all ran to their chosen cars. Dodger was sitting in his, running his hands over the wheel appreciatively.

I walked to the sliding garage door and grabbed the bolt cutters, positioning them around the lock and clamping down tight. When the lock and chain chinked to the floor, I raised the door and stepped back as they filed out of the warehouse in turn.

I let everyone go first and just sat in my car, taking in the expensive smell of the new leather. The mileage counter only read four, and that was probably just the test run in the factory when it was made. It was beautiful.

Dodger leant out of his window as he inched forward so he was level with me. I wound down the window and looked at him expectantly. “You really think you’ll be able to give up the buzz that you get from this shit? You look like you’re having a car-gasm. Don’t jizz on the seats,” he joked, winking at me before pulling out laughing to himself.

I laughed too and followed behind him, turning left at the gates like I was supposed to. He flashed his hazard lights at me as a goodbye as we both went in separate directions.

The hours passed quickly. Vincent/Dodger was proving to be more than an asset to the team. He was a great guy and the couple of cars that I’d worked on with him, he was a total pro too. The dude couldn’t stop talking though, that was the only fault I could see, but at least he was funny with it.

We were down to our last two cars now. Vincent drove to the location; Terry was sat in the back, still gushing about the Harley Davidson he’d just driven back to the warehouse. We were on our last two boosts now. Terry was taking the sleek little red Mazda that we were stopped next to, and then Vincent was driving me on to the last boost of the night, the Aston Martin DB9.

I hopped out when he stopped the car, heading over to the Mazda, sliding in the bar and popping the lock quickly. I pulled the door open and leant in, disabling the alarm and immobiliser before climbing in and sparking the wires to start it up. I pulled out, closing the door as I drove down the road, and pulled up a few streets away to swap with Terry. He skipped to the car, slapping me on the shoulder on the way past, grinning happily. He definitely enjoyed cars, that’s for sure.

As I slid back into the seat of Vincent’s Porsche Boxter, he grinned. “I’m hungry. You hungry? After I drop you off I think I might stop for some chicken or something. Want me to get you something?” he offered, fiddling with his radio to find some rap station.

“It’s three thirty in the morning,” I countered, looking at him like he was crazy.

He shrugged unashamedly and rubbed his stomach. “When a boy’s gotta eat, he’s gotta eat.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Nah, I’m all good thanks.” He didn’t reply, just mouthed the words to the Missy Elliot song and bobbed his head to the beat. I couldn’t help but laugh at him but he didn’t seem to care.