Monday, March 11, 2013

George (Part Three)

George (Part Three)
by BJ Neblett
© 2009

            George thought and planned all week long, while resting on the torn leather of his abandoned Chrysler home, running over in his mind each step, each detail. The young people who populated the old blue house weren’t bad kids. Most were just misguided and misunderstood, distrustful of the world around them; giving into peer pressure, wanting to fit in, be accepted. It was up to George to help them anyway he could. He owed it to the lonely girl on the second floor.
            His mind made up, George exited the Chrysler, making his way through the maze of cars. The Mercedes sat alone, unattended. The evening was cool and dark and quiet, save for the din of the party. Slipping stealthily beneath the big sedan, George wedged his way forward. His target came in sight. He took a deep breath. The night disappeared around him. George smiled to himself. He reached out with the only tool available to him.
            George lashed out with all his strength.
            The neoprene brake hose stretched but didn’t give.
            He tried again…
            Again nothing…
            Holding as best he could, George wiggled the stubborn part: back and forth, back and forth. He batted at it fiercely: back and forth.
            An eternity later a small drop of fluid surfaced. George’s smile grew.
            He continued to wiggle and bat at the hose. A minute slit appeared. As he worked, the tear widened. Fluid now seeped slowly but steadily.
            Satisfied, George made his way back to the Chrysler. There was one more thing left to do.
            Next door to the old blue house was an auto body repair shop. George had discovered an opening in the back of the building. Sometimes on cold, windy nights he’d sleep on the hard cement floor, wrapped in a discarded pair of work overalls.
            Now George squeezed through the breach. His eyes quickly adjusted themselves to the dark. Ignoring his usual careful path when he visited the closed shop, George strode boldly through the building. There were small plastic devices tucked into two corners of the ceiling. A steel box on the wall ahead sported a round glowing green light. As George walked around, the green light blinked off. A bright red light next to it began to flash, screaming its urgent, silent warning. By the time George returned to the Chrysler, wailing sirens could be heard just blocks away.
            The party disbanded in a wild mass of scrambling bodies and screeching tires. As a police cruiser rounded the corner, the silver-grey Mercedes sedan shot out, nearly clipping the squad car. Seconds later, the pair sped up the deserted avenue.

            George lay curled up in the lap of the girl from the second floor, purring softly. She stroked his thick orange fur, as they sat on the comfortable sofa in the cozy rear apartment. It felt good to be clean, and full, and safe, and warm…
            …and loved...
            George looked up at the pretty, plain blonde, with soft, loving green eyes.
            From the TV, a mellow voiced announcer spoke of a high speed police chase which had ended with a violent crash, killing the three occupants of an expensive Mercedes sedan. One of the victims was a well known, high profile drug dealer.

                                                                                                Seattle, Washington
                                                                                                July, 2009

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