“What’s wrong?” Roger demanded.
“It’s Salvatore.” Mickey jumped in the front seat and cranked the car up. “He’s fucking dead! I’m not letting him get away this time—!”
Like clockwork, the radio came on blaring at full volume, and it was Toni Basil’s “Mickey”.
“Oh, for the love of almightyfuck! No!” Mickey frantically smacked at the radio, trying to turn it off. He heard tires squealing and saw Salvatore and the other man fleeing in the stolen car. “No! Fuck! Hang on!”
Roger yelped as Mickey tore out of the alley, switching gears and launching the car forward with a roar of the engine, all while Toni sang that catchy foot-stomping refrain.
“Why won’t it fucking turn off?” Roger tried messing with the dials and only managed to turn it up louder.
“It’s a fucking loose goddamn wire!” Mickey groaned. “Quit! Leave it alone!”
“I’m just trying to help!”
“Stop helping! Stop touching!”
“Fuckin’ asshole!”
“Just fuckin’ forget it!” Mickey caught up to the stolen car in seconds, and he drew his gun. All he could think about now was putting a bullet in Salvatore’s head. Nothing else mattered. He took a deep breath to center himself. “Roger, take the wheel.”
“What?” Roger shouted over the blaring music.
“You wanted to help!”
“But, ah, you said no touching!”
“Take the fuckin’ goddamn wheel!”
“Jesus Christ!” Roger grabbed it. “Go, go!”
Mickey rolled the window down and pushed himself out far enough to extend his arm to fire at the car.
It immediately swerved and took a sharp right turn, trying to evade Mickey’s attacks.
“Let’s go!” Mickey dropped back in to take the turn to stay with them, spinning the wheel hard. He hit the gas and wove through the crowded streets as his ears were assaulted by whining electric organs while Toni continued to lament her affections.
It was madness.
And Roger was singing along now.
Great.
Judging by the streets Salvatore was taking, he was trying to get out of town. That was fine by Mickey. There was no way they could outrun him, not in this beast of a car. He stayed right on Salvatore’s ass, waiting for his chance. As soon as they hit an open stretch of road that led to the highway, Salvatore accelerated and Mickey hit the gas to stay with him.
There was nothing around them except a small gas station, and Mickey knew this was his chance. There would be too much traffic on the highway, and the chances of getting into a wreck were increased vastly. This was it.
“Roger!” he shouted. “Wheel!”
“Got it!” Roger held on tight. “Go! Blow those motherfuckers away!”
Mickey popped back through the window, the pounding of that cheerleader-esque hook singing his name as he took aim. The clapping was thundering in his ears, and there, in between those infectious poppy beats, he fired.
The driver collapsed, and the car jerked violently, swinging around and going up onto the sidewalk. It promptly smashed into the front of the gas station, glass shattering and the horn blowing as the driver’s body fell forward over the wheel.
Mickey slid back in his seat and took over, quickly turning the car around and speeding back over to the scene of the crash. Traffic was thin, but it had now stopped in both directions. A few onlookers were frozen in place, watching from the gas pumps and inside the store.
With one final slap, Mickey silenced the damn radio and parked in the middle of the street. He got out, leaving the engine running as he stalked toward the car. The driver was certainly dead, but Salvatore was fighting to get out.
