The Car Robbery

Sylvester “Syl” Young was a veteran when it came to stealing cars, and he knew exactly what to look for.  Never mind the Lexus or the Audi.  Those cars would be locked securely and have alarms, most likely.  The easy pickers were the models from a few years back, particularly ones with dings or dents.  Most people figured no one would ever steal a car like that; thus, these were often left unlocked and were easy pickings for Sal.  Open windows?  Even better.

However, you can imagine how happy he was the day he walked into the Metropolitan Market parking lot and found a blue convertible.  With the top down.  Oh-ho!  That was like finding a word spelled horizontally from left to right in a word search.  It was the easiest thing in the world to steal.

Suppressing his euphoria, Syl walked over to the car and hopped over the side in one graceful motion.  He pulled out a toolkit and proceeded to destroy the ignition key.  An expert at this, he was soon able to turn the rotation switch, starting the car.

Carefully, he backed it out.  He looked around the parking lot to make sure no one was coming.  Then, he drove to the edge of the parking lot, put on his turn signal, and waited for a break in the traffic.  One soon came, and he turned.  He had gotten away.

Now, a huge smile graced Syl’s face as he drove, wind whistling through his thick black hair.  He waved to people he passed on the sidewalk.  He turned and smiled at the driver next to him when he stopped at a streetlight.  By the time anyone caught up with him, Syl would be several miles away, at a not-very-reputable auto dealership.

In the backseat of the car, a blanket stirred.  It moved very slightly at first, then began wiggling even more.  Finally, seven-year old Emma Barnes’s head popped up from beneath it.

“Are you done shopping yet—oh, hello,” she said.

Young looked back quickly and cursed.  “Er, I mean—hi!” he said.

“Where are you going in my car?”

“Um—your mom asked me to drive it somewhere for her.”

“Oh,” said Emma.  “That’s funny, because I went shopping with my dad.”

“Well, he’s taking the bus home, and I’m driving this car somewhere for your mother.  Okay?”

“Don’t you have a better story than that?” asked Emma, blinking at Syl in the rearview mirror.

Syl glared back at his passenger.  “No, I don’t!”

“You should have done your homework before you tried stealing this car.  You see, my parents never let strangers drive their car.  They’re the only ones that get to—”

“Will you stop talking?” asked Syl.  “This drive was nice and peaceful until you showed up?”

“My nap was nice and peaceful until you showed up, as well,” responded Emma.  “What’s your name?”

“Sylvester.  Sylvester Y—why am I telling you my name?”

“Sylvester,” said Emma.  “You mean like the cat in Looney Tunes?”

“Don’t you dare say that!” yelled Syl.  “You know what I do to people who say that to me?  I—well, don’t say that again!”

“Do you like Tweety Bird?”

“Kid, shut your mouth.”

“My name’s Emma.  I could tell you my last name, too, but I won’t until you tell me yours.”

“You don’t need to know my last name, kid.”

“Do you like this car?”

Syl glowered at his talkative passenger.  “Why, of all the people that might be sitting in the back of an automobile, did I have to pick you up?”

“Simple,” said Emma.  “This is my car.”

“I know that!” said Syl.  “I meant—oh, never mind.”

“Do you like Mentos?”

“No, I don’t like Mentos.”

“Are you sure?  What about Altoid’s?”

“No, I don’t like Altoid’s either.  Will you just—”

“Don’t you like any mints at all?”

Syl sighed.  “I like peppermints,” he said.  “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  Syl started thinking about what to do with his annoying passenger.

“How long have you been stealing cars?”

“Will you knock off the chatter?”

“I thought most people liked to talk about their jobs.  When my dad gets home from work, he always tells us exactly what went on, and who he yelled at, and—”

“Let me tell you something,” said Syl.  “In my business, one does not discuss details.”

“Oh, I get it,” said Emma.  “You don’t want anyone to go talking to the cops about you, is that it?”

“Don’t say cops!”

“Why?  Oh, wait, I forgot.  You don’t like the police.”

“Don’t say that either!”

“If my dad were a police officer, would you not like him?”

“Will you shut your little trap?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Sylvester.  Can you say ‘Suffering Succotash’?”

Syl turned his head.  “For the last time, kid, Don’t!  Mention!  LOONEY TUNES!”

“Alright,” said Emma.  “What do you want to talk about?”

“Just don’t talk kid!  Shut up!”

Finally, Emma did shut up, and Syl relaxed.  For five seconds, there was no sound except for that of the other cars going by.  Then—

Weeeee-oooooooooo!

“Where’s that siren coming from?” asked Syl, checking the rearview mirror?

“It’s from that police car behind us, Mr. Sylvester,” said Emma.  “You ran a red light!”