“Ever try to hot wire a new car?”
“Once.”
“Once?”
“There was beer. I learned my lesson. But you were saying?”
“Ah. Well. Don’t. New cars are too electronic. Too many safeties. You’ll never drive off in it.”
“But an older car—”
How easily she slipped the coat hanger wire between the window glass and the door body of the ‘63 Ford Galaxie. How quickly it opened after a brief moment of concentration on her part. A shimmy and a twist of her torso hid her head underneath the dash, though her legs still hung out of the car.
He jumped when it roared to life. It was the sound of an old muscle car remembering what it had been made for.
Begging to be put into drive.
“Let’s make like Steve McQueen and have ourselves a Great Escape,” she said for her own benefit as she righted herself in the driver’s seat.
He was pretty sure McQueen had escaped on a motorcycle in that movie, but a man on the run had no right to nitpick.
He crossed to the passenger’s side, and got in.