The Newton Prophecies

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

MacDougle's brand new, jet-black Mustang convertible razzed DiBianco from the Dean's driveway, almost directly across the street from where the police were setting up base.
         DiBianco looked for a place to duck out of sight.
         A brown truck. UPS.
         He looked inside.
         No driver. Must be delivering a package.
         He stepped inside, watching the police run lines of yellow tape around the entire complex.
         I've gotta get out of here.
         DiBianco sat in the drivers seat and reached for the keys. They weren't there.
         "SHIT!"
         What the hell am I going to do? The driver would certainly return soon. He must move, and fast.
         Mind throbbing bass thumped out a heavy drone rap beat, causing everything in the UPS truck to buzz and hum. DiBianco's eyes squinted as the throbbing pain hit his temples. A bright red Mustang, host of the nauseating sound, crept by at a snail's pace. The police glanced at the vibrating muscle car but paid no further attention.
         Then it struck him.
         The Dean's new convertible.
         DiBianco knew from experience that auto dealers often hide a key under the vehicle, usually around the back bumper--somewhere on the chassis. That way in the event they need to send the dreaded RepoMan, they needn't pry the keys from a distraught delinquent's hands.
         DiBianco peered out the window at the police, glanced around for the UPS driver, then gazed at the Dean's residence, two houses away.
         How the hell am I going to do this?
         When it finally occurred to him, he had to think hard about it. It almost seemed too easy.
         On the floor by the steps leading to the sidewalk was a brown ball-cap with the letters UPS on the front, and draped over the back of the driver's seat was a brown jacket.
         I know what Brown's gonna do for me, he thought. He's getting me the hell out of here!
         Slipping the jacket over his shoulders and capping his sweat sodden head with the UPS cap, DiBianco glanced around, grabbed a package from behind the seat, and walked from the truck.
         Jogging across the street, making strides toward the Dean's residence, he felt his pulse rise. Sweat dripped off his brow, stinging his eyes. He wiped it away with the sleeve of the UPS jacket.
         Be calm! Walk normal, damn it! Don't look at them!
         A row of bushes lined the walkway in front of the Dean's residence. Half concealing the driveway and the Mustang which sat begging for someone, anyone, to feed it attention.
         DiBianco disappeared behind the bushes, dropped the package and swiftly patted the underside of the car for a key.

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