From a Fictional Standpoint...You Drive Me Crazy

They called him The Bear. 

 Whether it was because of his stature, the thatch of black hair that covered the backs of his nimble hands and tufted out the top of his V-necks, or his stoic silence, punctuated by roars of rage –when pushed; it was the name all of the thugs, crooks, and thieves knew to invoke when they needed a Driver. 

Any schmuck could sit in a getaway car with ‘borrowed’ plates…..

The Bear had systematically and shamelessly outrun law enforcement vehicles in every major (and many minor) cities across the Eastern Seaboard for the last decade.

Hinckley (in a Reagan mask), sat shotgun, watching The Bear flex his hands above the steering wheel….

Flex. Snap.  Flex. Snap

Hinckley hadn’t wanted to use Presidential masks, and he hadn’t wanted to use The Bear.  His cousin Shawn was a great driver. 

When he wasn’t high….

Hinckley had wanted to wear clown masks like the badasses in the Batman movie.  He also wanted to use someone a little less volatile behind the wheel for this job.  The Bear had a reputation.

For fast driving, yes.

But also for mayhem...

There were stories.

Stories about rollovers, and crashes, and vomiting (oh my!), and one story wherein The Bear threw an unwilling payee out the window into the Fall River on a flooding February day.

Monica (Clinton mask), The Boss, insisted on both the Prez masks and The Bear.

There was never a better, faster, more reckless driver than this Mad Aussie, he proclaimed.

The stoic, silent Bear, turned into a mother-fucking GRIZZLY behind the wheel, he said.

So, The Brotherhood agreed to it.

Sitting in the alley, watching The Bear; Snap, Flex, Snap, Flex……unnerving.  Hinckley could smell his own sweat, acrid with adrenaline.

Suddenly, in a burst of machine gun fire, 5 guys exploded out the back of The First Dartmouth bank, swarming at the car like wasps…

The Bear started the engine of his 2015 Hellcat….dropped it into gear, and peeled out of placid Main Street, penetrating the silence of the summer day with a growl then a shriek…

Nixon, Obama, JFK, and Lincoln threw their bulging gym bags in the car, and then were left in the dust.  Dazed. 

Rolling in the dirt.

Hands up!!!

The Bear felt a surge of satisfaction at the dismay clearly telegraphed through their eyeholes.  

 Monica (Clinton mask) was halfway through the back driver’s window when The Bear  yanked the wheel hard right and watched him barrel roll  out of the rearview.

“Shit!!”  Hinckley screamed. “Shit, motherfucker, this wasn’t the deal!”

He pulled out his Lorcin, a cheap toy bequeathed by a cheap man.

Pointed it at The Bear.

The Bear reached out, broke Hinckley’s wrist, tossed the cheap gun out the window, and reached past Hinckley to unlatch the door.

BYE. Felicia!!!

“No, man!” Hinckley shrieked.

The Bear pushed.  Accelerated.

Drove.

He did not look in the rearview; that was the past.

He did not worry about repercussions.  Why?

He just pushed the accelerator and drove.

Fast.