those shows is that the bad guy is always the smart, fat old white
dude. The one you wouldn’t expect. Hmm. Waitaminute. Dennis
Franz was a smart, fat old white dude. Okay, it’s settled.
He stood
there for a moment.
Shit. What do I do now?
Emulating those selfsame cop shows, Milo ran down the aisle to
the front door and executed a somersault, intending to come back up
gracefully on his feet but accidentally knocking over a large plant and
an assortment of high-chairs in the process. Pulling himself back up
and leaving the mess behind, he ran out the front door and after
finding a suitable bush, dove behind it. He watched as a large
assortment of ordinary-looking folks poured out of the restaurant’s
back door and jumped into their cars. When Harvey and he had
arrived, theirs had been the only vehicle in the parking lot, but now
there were many, and because of this it was difficult to see which car
Harvey had been piled into.
Milo began to worry, until he realized that this would merely be
a simple matter of getting in his own car and following the group to
wherever they were going. Gingerly, he stood up and walked over to
the Monza, careful not to attract too much attention. With any luck,
he would merely be mistaken for a member of the group, despite the
fact that he didn’t look a thing like any of the aging ex-hippies and
run-of-the-mill liberal new-agers that made up the Order of the Fern,
with his plaid flannel shirt buttoned only at the top button, trousers
four sizes too big, and a huge black pompadour held in place by a
hairnet. But he managed to remain unnoticed. Of course, the Order
of the Fern were not noted for their discriminating powers of
perception.
Standing at the driver’s side door of the Monza, he fished in his
cavernous pockets.
Oh shit,
he realized,
the big dope’s got the
motherfucking keys.
Dumbly, he stood trying to plot his next move,
when all of a sudden, the tinted window rolled down and blaring
music and lights startled him. Someone was inside his car already,
and had a gun leveled at him. It was his own gun, the one he
purloined from the cop, and it was shaking wildly. The carjacker had
hit the vibrating seat button by mistake.
“Ggett iinn aanddd Tturnn tthiiss shhhhhiiit offf,” said the blur
holding the gun.
Milo noticed Harvey’s motionless form next to the blur, slumped
down low in the passenger seat.
Shit. What would Starsky and Hutch do now?
thought Milo,
H O L Y S H I T !
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