Clear of the city streets, she buzzed the electric window down to feel the wind stirring her hair, and shifted to sixth gear. The last few dregs of the suburbs reeled past in a smear of street lights and rain; soon the bungalows would be replaced by hedges, fields and trees. She shouldn’t be this far out, of course. Fred’s place was back in the suburbs, tucked into a courtyard where hardly anyone went. This was a twenty mile detour; this was wasting fuel. But she could never resist the urge to put her foot down, to try the car for size. There wasn’t much point nicking cars if you didn’t get the chance to drive them for yourself.
And this one was a gem, if she did say so herself. Sleek, fast, built like a tank. The sort of car that young men dreamed of owning, and old men drove, too fast for their waning reflexes, once they’d made their pile.
Somewhere out beyond the airport she sighed, slowed down, and used a handy roundabout to turn for home. This was a good car, but there’d be others, better, more expensive, faster even than this. She’d hand this one over, get her cut, and do the whole thing again another night. At least Fred would like this one. He’d been weird about her cars lately, but one look at this and not even he could say no.
“What the fuck d’you mean, you can’t take it? It’s a great car.”