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
