The Naked Car Thief

Crime Fiction by Roy Dorman

He could have swerved around her rather than stopping, but he didn’t. 

And that started a weird chain of events.

Artie Miller had been driving on State Street in Downtown Chicago.  It was a beautiful summer night and a few people were still out walking at two in the morning.

Artie’d had a few beers at a little bar on Rush Street that had once been a dive bar, but was now an upscale sports bar.  He liked it better when it had been a dive bar.

He’d be heading back to his condo, after first stopping at an eastside landfill, hoping to get a few hours’ sleep.  He could then check in at his home office and put in for his $20,000 payment.

She’d run out between two parked cars, naked as a jaybird.  Artie’d hit the brakes and stopped three feet from her.  He hit the trunk release and jumped out.  He pulled his .38 Special and ran around to the back of the car.

“Get on the floor in the back,” he yelled, figuring someone was chasing her.  “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk.”

Artie did have a blanket in the trunk, and also a dead body securely rolled up in an old rug.

Shouldna stopped for those beers,” Artie mumbled to himself, opening the trunk.  “Shoulda just dropped the stiff off and gone home to bed….”

He opened the trunk…, and his car took off!

A naked woman in distress had stolen his car!  Had driven off with the trunk open and a dead body in it!

***

Artie worked for a New York City crime syndicate that almost everybody in the world knew the name of by the time they were eight years old.

Fortunately for Artie, his immediate supervisor, Lonnie Gibson, here in Chicago had a sense of humor.

After Lonnie stopped laughing at Artie’s story, he said, “So, you’ve been with us, what, six years, right?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty close,” Artie said.  “Six years this comin’ November.”

“And this is the first car with yer mark in the trunk that you’ve lost, right?”  he said, laughing again, wiping tears from his eyes.

“My first,” Artie groused.  He didn’t think this was funny.  He was pissed.

“Well, probably not too many prints left behind if you’ve been careful, so I guess we should be okay.”

“I’m not okay,” said Artie.

“Well, don’t do anything dumb to make a good story have an unhappy ending,” said Lonnie, now sounding a little more serious.

“I’m good,” Artie said as he got up to leave.

“Your money will be wired to your account at $4000 per month for five months.”

“Thanks, Lonnie.  Be cool.”

“You too, Ace.”

***

Artie’s status at Windy City Enterprises was an employee.  On the books he was a delivery truck driver.  He got his hit money paid out as wages.  He even had Social Security taxes withheld.  When he’d made his first hit and was told of the set-up, he asked about a 401(k) plan, health insurance, and paid vacation.

“The guys in New York are gonna laugh till they cry when I tell ‘em about you,” Lonnie had said.  “The Social Security withholding is just to have a good paper trail for you and for us.  Hitmen and women usually don’t live long enough to actually collect Social Security benefits, ya know.”

Artie usually had four or five “assignments” a year.  He lived well and generally enjoyed his work.  Right up until his car had been unceremoniously taken from him.

He was not going to let that go.

***

He now had some down time before his next hit was ordered.  He decided he would spend some of that time in the neighborhood where the woman had come running into the street.  She probably lived or worked in that area.  He would hang out in the neighborhood bars and restaurants hoping to run into her.  What he would do then he didn’t know.

After about ten days of different places to eat each day, Artie lucked out.  He was at Georgina’s Café a few blocks off Rush for breakfast.

“Hi, I’m Julie.  What can I get for ya this mornin’?”

Artie looked his waitress over before saying, “How about my car and my Glock?”

Julie’s eyes widened.

“The Glock was in the glove compartment,” said Artie.

Julie now took a step back and looked around to see who was close enough to listen in.

“And you look pretty good with clothes on too,” Artie said.

“I’m sorry,” Julie stammered.  “It was all crazy and happened so fast.”

“Where’s my car and my gun?”

“Could I meet you someplace after I get done work?  I get done at 2:00.”

“What, ya mean like a date?” said Artie.  “Go to dinner and then maybe take in some jazz at a club on the South Side?”

“Yer messin’ with me, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I could meet ya on the steps of the library on Michigan Avenue.  The one by Millennium Park.  I’ll bring yer gun.”

“Cautious, ain’t ya,” said Artie with a smirk.

Julie leaned in a bit and whispered, “There was a big gun in yer glove compartment and a dead body in yer trunk.  And ya found me in a little over a week in a city as big as Chicago.  ‘Course I’m gonna be careful.”

“What about my car?”

“We gotta talk about that,” Julie said, looking over her shoulder again.  “Some place where nobody can overhear us.”

***

“Yer gun’s in this tote bag,” said Julie, handing Artie the bag.  “I took the clip out.  There wasn’t much ammo in it anymore and I –”

“And ya didn’t want me to shoot ya here on the library steps.”

“It did cross my mind.”

“And my car?”

“It’s a long story,” said Julie with a sigh.

“I love stories and I got plenty of time.”

“Okay.  That night I was runnin’ from my former boyfriend.  I say former cuz he’s dead now.  After I …, borrowed yer car, I went back to his place where he’d been threatenin’ to kill me with this big machete and I shot him dead with yer gun.”

“Wow,” said Artie.  “Tough cookie, huh?”

“Anybody can be tough if they have a Glock and the other guy has a knife.”

“Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, right?”

“Yeah,” said Julie. “Actually, that line popped into my head when I pointed yer gun at him as he was threatenin’ me again with his machete.  Anyhow, after he was dead, I called Tommy, my brother, cuz I didn’t know what to do next.  I’d stolen a car and then killed somebody, right.  All in about a half hour. 

“Before I’d shot my ex-boyfriend, Eddie was his name, I’d stopped at my apartment to get some clothes and shoes.  Walked naked in and out right past Nichole, my roommate, and she didn’t even comment.  She knew Eddie and hated him.  Figured he was involved. 

Tommy, came over and met me at the scene of the crime.  He’d already come up with a plan.  He’s the smart one in the family –”

“And yer the good lookin’ one,” said Artie with a grin.

“Messin’ with me again?”

“No, I mean it.  You’re cute.”

“Thanks.  Well, anyhow, Tommy has this friend whose brother works in one of those car crusher places.  Ya know where this big machine crushes the car into a big square?”

“A rectangle is more like it.”

“Whatever. Tommy and me wrapped Eddie in one of his nasty bedspreads and carried him to the car.  It was dark and there weren’t many people around.  In that neighborhood, nobody would’ve taken any interest in what we were doin’ anyhow. 

“Now, I’d already seen the body in the trunk when I’d stopped to close it a few blocks from where I’d taken yer car.  But when I opened the trunk and Tommy saw there was already a body in it, he almost lost it.”

“What’s this?” he yelled.  “You kill two guys tonight?”

“I told him, no, this body was already in the trunk when I took the car.  He’d asked his friend to have the friend’s brother meet us at the scrap yard and crush the car for us.  We said we’d give him a hundred dollars. So away we went.”

“That was a 2022 Audi,” said Artie.  “Worth way more than a hundred dollars.”

“Not crushed into a rectangle with two bodies in it.  I’m really sorry for stealin’ yer car and gettin’ it crushed.  Really, I am.”

“It was a company car anyway,” said Artie.  “My boss thought the whole thing was hilarious, so I’m good with him.  I was pretty pissed at you, though.”

“So that’s it,” said Julie.  “I’m guessing you kill people for a livin.’  Ya gonna kill me?”

“No, I was thinkin’ we’d go out to dinner and then maybe take in some jazz at a club on the South Side.”

“Really?  That would be swell, cuz I’m not in a relationship anymore, right?”

---

Bio: Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for over 70 years.  At the prompting of an old high school friend, himself a retired English teacher, Roy is now a voracious writer.  He has had flash fiction and poetry published in Punk Noir, Black Petals, Bewildering Stories, One Sentence Poems, Yellow Mama, Drunk Monkeys, Literally Stories, Dark Dossier, The Rye Whiskey Review, Near To The Knuckle, Theme of Absence, Shotgun Honey, and a number of other online and print journals.  Unweaving a Tangled Web, published by Hekate Publishing, is his first novel.

Photo by Pexels/lalesh aldarwish

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