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.
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.
