Freddy... Get Ready
A beatdown, raggedy Delorean pulls up to the side of a busy intersection. The driver side window rolls down jerkily and a young unassuming head sticks itself out of the newly created opening.
“You Arthur?” It asks a stranger standing on the curb.
“I am. How’d you know?” The man replies, stepping closer to the car.
“Not many people can pull off a Bowler, kinda weird. I took a guess. The Boss doesn’t really connect with normies so I’m used to looking for ‘different’ but we can talk more in the Delo, get in. We’re on a schedule.”
Arthur circles around the front of the car, opens the door and slides into the passenger seat easily. ‘Hm,’ He thinks to himself, ‘It’s actually a lot nicer on the inside.’ Something in his facial expression registers with the driver who smiles slyly.
“I’d think a man in your line of work wouldn’t put too much stock in appearances but yeah, my baby’s a beaut on the inside isn’t she?” He asks, tapping the dashboard proudly.
Arthur thinks he’s understating the facts a bit. The inside of this car is covered in purple leather, with a nitrous oxide tank installed between the passenger and driver’s seats. Upon further inspection, Arthur realizes the ceiling is actually a hardtop that looks as if it can easily shift into convertible mode. Yet it’s the dashboard that really grabs his attention.
“What are all the knobs and switches for…” He hesitates, suddenly realizing he’s forgotten to ask an important question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Yikes!” The driver replies jokingly. “I’m Federico but everyone who’s anyone calls me Freddy.”
“Ah, Fred. Nice to me—“ Arthur starts but Freddy cuts him off abruptly.
“Don’t ever call me Fred.” Freddy says, a flash of menace in his eyes. “Everybody who isn’t anybody calls me ‘Fred.’”
An awkward hush fills the space between the two men now. Freddy takes this quiet time to pull away from the curb sharply and quickly picks up speed. Arthur’s eyes dart to the speedometer warily before he speaks again.
“Hey,” Arthur begins after the silence begins to bother him. “Sorry about calling you ‘Fred.’ I have to say though, I didn’t take you as the touchy type.”
“I’m not.” Freddy states matter of factly. He jerks the steering wheel to the right quickly catching Arthur off guard, causing him to bang his head into the passenger window. Freddy continues, ignoring how Arthur is now rubbing the area he’s just hit vigorously.
“But my name is my name and it’s the only one I’ve got. If I’d rolled down the window and screamed ‘Hey Artie!’ you’d probably take a similar offense I’d imagine. Or no?”
“You’re right.” Arthur replies after a moment’s pause. “Again, I apologize.”
“It’s cool, man. Really. No use crying over spilled milk. You didn’t know, now you do. We can drop it. You mind if I jump on the Freeway? Local traffic drives me insane.”
“Your car. As long as I make this meeting.” Arthur replies.
Shortly, they arrive at the onramp to the Freeway. Freddy turns to Arthur, smiling slightly.
“I’d suggest you buckle up.” He says, chuckling to himself.
There’s a hint of mischief in his voice that makes Arthur uneasy. He reaches up quickly, grabs his seatbelt and straps himself in. The speedometer is now at 40 miles per hour and still rising.
To take his mind off of the rapid acceleration of the Delorean, Arthur decides to give small talk another shot.
“So, how long have you been working for Jack?”
“Jack? Please. I’d never work for that guy… Wait… did he tell you I worked for him?”
“He may have mentioned something along those lines, yes.”
“Jack doesn’t even ‘work for Jack.’ I work with Jack. He may have seniority but that isn’t the same as control. In fact, I think it’s safe to say he’s the furthest person from ‘in control’ I’ve ever met. We work for ‘The Boss.’ You will too if you land this gig.”
“Noted. So how long have you been driving for this Boss?”
“Not long, I drove for a year but after he saw what I could do with a paintbrush, I got a promotion. This is actually just a favor.”
“Ah, so you paint?”
“That I do.”
“You any good?”
“I don’t think it’s my place to say. I haven’t lost my job yet, so it’s safe to assume I’m doing something right in his eyes.”
“Good point.”
“You kind of have to make them in our circle to have your ideas taken seriously. Keep that in mind.”
The Delorean is now barreling down the Freeway at 80 miles per hour. Freddy weaves in and out of the cars in front of him with a Surgeon’s precision. At first, Arthur marvels at Freddy’s skill. He seems to know exactly what the Delorean can and can’t handle but after a particularly close brush with a Black Sedan (Arthur is sure Freddy’s scraped the side of the car), Arthur finally decides to speak up.
“I think you need to slow down.” He says, voice shaking.
“Can’t. Like I said, we’re on a schedule. 5 more mph and you get to see what all the bells and whistles are for.” Freddy replies motioning with his right hand to the dials and knobs that cover the dashboard.
“Yeah? I’m trying to avoid finding out what the airbags are for, if that’s okay with you.” Arthur squeaks, while reaching up to grab the overhead slingshot handle.
“It’s not.” Freddy replies curtly.
The speedometer creeps slowly upwards.
81…
82…
83…
84…
84…
84…
After a minute, Freddy reaches down and opens up the nozzle of the nitrous oxide between himself and Arthur.
“Sorry,” he begins apologetically, “This old girl needs a little kick sometimes.”
Arthur’s eyes dart down towards the tank then up to the steering wheel Freddy is now gripping firmly with his left hand. He lets out an audible gasp, losing with it, the last bit of composure he has. There is a deep gash in Freddy’s hand he hadn’t noticed before. The skin around it is jet black in stark contrast even to the chocolate Brown of Freddy’s complexion.
“What happened to your hand?” Arthur asks trying to beat back the panic in his voice.
“Jack.” Freddy shoots back shortly.
“Your co-worker did that to you?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call him a ‘co-worker’ per se. And don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it seems. It actually only hurts when I paint.”
“But you’re a painter!”
“Yeah, and Jack’s an asshole. We all have parts to play. If you don’t mind, this next part requires concentration. Quiet please.”
‘What the hell have I gotten myself into?’ Arthur thinks. A moment after that thought flits through his mind he wants out of the car. The cryptic way Freddy speaks about ‘The Boss,’ the liar and psycho Jack seems to be, and now the dangerous game of chicken Freddy’s playing with him as an unwitting passenger have all changed his mind. ‘Nobody needs a job this bad.’ He says to himself.
He’s about to convey this thought to his insane driver, racking his mind to come up with a decent excuse when Freddy lets out a whoop of excitement. Glancing down at the speedometer Arthur sees why. The needle is now jerking rapidly on ‘85’ as if it shares Freddy’s excitement.
Freddy’s right hand is now a blur. He’s twisting dials, flipping switches and turning knobs so fast, Arthur’s getting motion sickness just watching. He stares down at his lap, nausea threatening to overtake him.
A second later he is jerked back, his skull slamming into the headrest as the Delorean takes an unnatural lurch forward. He chances a glance out of his window but there are only streams of light; blurs of color. He notices His seat rumbling uneasily beneath him and can just make out Freddy’s laughter through the jet engine like roar of the muffler before the world goes black.
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“Jack, it’s me. We’re here.... Don’t call me a pissant… Don’t call me Fred either… Look just come downstairs and get the guy alright, I’ve got things to do… That’s not what the Boss said.... Don’t tell me what to do… Alright… I said alright… Yeah, fuck you too Jack, bye.”
After hanging up the phone, Freddy reaches over and shakes Arthur awake.
“Dude, we’re here.”
“Where’s here?” Arthur asks stupidly.
“Home, Hell, Heaven. Wherever. Either way, it’s your stop. I’ll let the Boss know you didn’t scream like the last three interviewees. Says something about your character. Now please, return your seat back to the upright position and get out of my car.”
Barely waiting for Arthur to undo his seatbelt, Freddy reaches over, opens the door and shoves Arthur out onto the curb. “Dude, remember what I said. Make good points.”
Arthur, now sprawled out on the curb lifts his head just in time to see the Delorean peel off. The tires screech, leaving behind black strips as it turns the corner, vanishing out of sight.
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