assist his partner, while Roc and Shock worked the blowtorch on the last piece
of the barrier. Dutch waved for the rest of the crew and they scurried over. Dutch had hand-picked eight well-known car thieves
to assist him and his crew.
“Don’t forget, nothing but sedans,” Dutch reminded them as they hurried through the gate. He was the last to go through as
he looked out over the lot, which was the size of a football field.
It was like a car thief’s heaven seeing all those different-colored and different-shaped BMWs sitting there, waiting to be
driven away. With the keys in all the cars’ ignitions, three dudes had already pulled out by the time Dutch made it to a piss-gold
740il. He looked back just in time to see the second guard’s car lights come into full view, flashing, speeding toward the
lot. Dutch had misjudged the second car; he had misjudged time and it would cost him.
“Damn, get the fuck outta here,” he yelled to the others as he hopped into the 740. Not everybody had time to get to a car
of their own, so members of the clique were doubling down and tripling up in whatever was in motion.
Only seven cars made it out. Dutch could’ve left first, but he positioned himself to be the last car, the sacrifice car. He
floored the 740, leaving dust in the air as he tried to make it to the hole in the fence. He zoomed right by Angel and Craze
as the security guards looked up in surprise.
“What the hell? Come on!” yelled the security guard as he let go of Angel. The two guards ran for their car, pulling their
guns to join the chase.
Qwan, unable to see the security guard’s car traveling east as he was traveling south, rammed right into the passenger side
of the guard’s car. Qwan jumped out and ran, only to be apprehended a few hundred yards away from his parked but still running
car.
With that scene in front of him, Dutch stopped short and hit reverse in haste. He spun the car around in a smooth 360 and
headed toward the rear of the lot as the second guard car took a security road at the rear of the lot to cut Dutch off. Dutch
saw them, made a sharp left, and skidded out of control to a stop. He jumped out and looked over his shoulder. The guards
who had arrested Qwan were on Dutch’s ass. He tried to hop a fence, but the guards who had been entertained by Angel came
out of a service entrance and were right up on him. Trapped, Dutch leaned against the fence as the security guards began going
through their motions.
“Freeze,” yelled the guard nearest him, his gun loaded and ready.
“Get your hands up!” yelled his partner.
Craze and Angel watched the commotion helplessly from afar. They couldn’t make out who got caught and who got away, but they
knew the last driver didn’t make it, and Craze knew in his heart it was Dutch.
Craze plucked his blunt from the window of his Porsche. Still parked in the courthouse parking lot, he sat quietly without
the radio and reflected on his best friend.
Always got to be the last man standin’,
he thought to himself. He only hoped Dutch would be standing after the trial was over.
CHAPTER FIVE
LOCKUP
W ill you please state your name for the court, sir?”
“Kenneth Jackson,” said the slim, lanky black man in the prison-provided polyester suit, the powder-blue suit that prisons
gave to inmates going to court. Dutch looked at the joker on the stand.
This nigga,
he thought to himself.
Kenneth Jackson, aka Shorty, had been locked up with Dutch during an eighteen-month stint up in Annandale, New Jersey, twelve
years ago, and he still looked the same. Kenneth Jackson was a petty thief, a wannabe con man on crack. He was still going
in and out of prison on skid bids. He still had the nervous twitch in his right eye that became more rapid whenever he was
lying. Still the same fast talker, spewing words so fast they often tripped over each other trying to come out.
“And where do you currently reside, Mr.
of the barrier. Dutch waved for the rest of the crew and they scurried over. Dutch had hand-picked eight well-known car thieves
to assist him and his crew.
“Don’t forget, nothing but sedans,” Dutch reminded them as they hurried through the gate. He was the last to go through as
he looked out over the lot, which was the size of a football field.
It was like a car thief’s heaven seeing all those different-colored and different-shaped BMWs sitting there, waiting to be
driven away. With the keys in all the cars’ ignitions, three dudes had already pulled out by the time Dutch made it to a piss-gold
740il. He looked back just in time to see the second guard’s car lights come into full view, flashing, speeding toward the
lot. Dutch had misjudged the second car; he had misjudged time and it would cost him.
“Damn, get the fuck outta here,” he yelled to the others as he hopped into the 740. Not everybody had time to get to a car
of their own, so members of the clique were doubling down and tripling up in whatever was in motion.
Only seven cars made it out. Dutch could’ve left first, but he positioned himself to be the last car, the sacrifice car. He
floored the 740, leaving dust in the air as he tried to make it to the hole in the fence. He zoomed right by Angel and Craze
as the security guards looked up in surprise.
“What the hell? Come on!” yelled the security guard as he let go of Angel. The two guards ran for their car, pulling their
guns to join the chase.
Qwan, unable to see the security guard’s car traveling east as he was traveling south, rammed right into the passenger side
of the guard’s car. Qwan jumped out and ran, only to be apprehended a few hundred yards away from his parked but still running
car.
With that scene in front of him, Dutch stopped short and hit reverse in haste. He spun the car around in a smooth 360 and
headed toward the rear of the lot as the second guard car took a security road at the rear of the lot to cut Dutch off. Dutch
saw them, made a sharp left, and skidded out of control to a stop. He jumped out and looked over his shoulder. The guards
who had arrested Qwan were on Dutch’s ass. He tried to hop a fence, but the guards who had been entertained by Angel came
out of a service entrance and were right up on him. Trapped, Dutch leaned against the fence as the security guards began going
through their motions.
“Freeze,” yelled the guard nearest him, his gun loaded and ready.
“Get your hands up!” yelled his partner.
Craze and Angel watched the commotion helplessly from afar. They couldn’t make out who got caught and who got away, but they
knew the last driver didn’t make it, and Craze knew in his heart it was Dutch.
Craze plucked his blunt from the window of his Porsche. Still parked in the courthouse parking lot, he sat quietly without
the radio and reflected on his best friend.
Always got to be the last man standin’,
he thought to himself. He only hoped Dutch would be standing after the trial was over.
CHAPTER FIVE
LOCKUP
W ill you please state your name for the court, sir?”
“Kenneth Jackson,” said the slim, lanky black man in the prison-provided polyester suit, the powder-blue suit that prisons
gave to inmates going to court. Dutch looked at the joker on the stand.
This nigga,
he thought to himself.
Kenneth Jackson, aka Shorty, had been locked up with Dutch during an eighteen-month stint up in Annandale, New Jersey, twelve
years ago, and he still looked the same. Kenneth Jackson was a petty thief, a wannabe con man on crack. He was still going
in and out of prison on skid bids. He still had the nervous twitch in his right eye that became more rapid whenever he was
lying. Still the same fast talker, spewing words so fast they often tripped over each other trying to come out.
“And where do you currently reside, Mr.
Similar Books
