Sex & Drugs & Dungeons & Dragons

C5. A Black Stallion

They arrived at Griffin's house ten minutes later. "Stay here," Griffin warned at the edge of the curb. Then he headed carefully up the driveway.

Griffin kicked off his shoes when he reached the glassed-in porch. Even at this late hour the front door was unlocked, so Griffin didn't need his key. The door swung open, silent on well-oiled hinges.

Griffin knew which boards on the porch floor squeaked, so he avoided them as he crossed to the inner door and swung it open, too.

In the entry hall Griffin didn't dare turn on the light. Instead he patted the wall blindly, hunting by feel until he found the hook where his father forced everyone to hang their car keys. He fumbled with the assorted rings, trying to prevent them from jingling. Finally, he pocketed his brother's key and returned outside, slipping his shoes back on.

As he strolled to the sidewalk he was dismayed to discover two neighborhood watch security officers hassling Hope. They'd parked their squad car right in front of Griffin's driveway so no one could drive in or out.

Griffin walked toward them, growing more disturbed as he saw the officers grabbing at Hope's motorcycle jacket. She jumped away, trying to avoid their grasp. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to interrupt the confrontation.

"Stay right there, son," one of the officers warned, holding out his hand and placing the other on the butt of his gun.

"No, you hold on," Griffin challenged. "Why are you hassling my friend?

"She looks more like your drug dealer than your friend," the officer challenged right back, referring to Hope's punk clothing, heavy make-up and died hair.

"These rent-a-cop perverts are trying to strip search me," Hope accused.

"That's not true," countered the second officer, "we simply want to search your pockets."

"Fuck off," Hope said, giving him the finger.

"Son, we have reason to believe this young woman is hiding drugs. I suggest you turn around and go back to whichever house you came from."

"She's not hiding drugs," Griffin assured him.

"If you don't mind, we'll decide that for ourselves," the second officer insisted.

"No you won't. You're not the police, you don't have the right to search anyone," Hope noted in defiance.

"Come on, let's go inside." Griffin took Hope's hand and led her across the lawn in the direction of his neighbor's house.

"Then we'll come with you and have a talk with your parents," threatened the officer.

"That's my brother's car," Griffin whispered to Hope, indicating the black Volkswagen Scirocco parked in the driveway and glistening in the moonlight. It looked like a sedan stretched and flattened into a more streamlined shape, built more for speed than comfort. "On the count of three, make a break for it."

Hope squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.

"One," Griffin whispered. "Two," he continued. And then, out loud, he yelled "Three!"

They both bolted for Conrad's car. Hope slid into the passenger seat and Griffin jumped behind the wheel. He started the ignition just as the rent-a-cops, running after them, also reached the car.

Hope punched down the door locks, preventing the officers from getting in, while Griffin slammed the car in reverse and stomped on the pedal.

The Scirocco didn't peel out, but it did rocket backwards, away from the rent-a-cops. It almost slammed into their patrol car blocking the driveway. But Griffin spun the wheel at the last moment, avoiding a collision by spinning out on to his neighbor's lawn.

Suddenly the tape deck came to life. Griffin straightened out the car as Duran Duran's "Rio" began to blare through the speakers.

Hope covered her ears. "Jesus Christ your brother's music sucks." She punched "eject" just as Griffin piloted the car off the curb. The Duran Duran tape went flying as the sports car bounced onto the street. "You like X?" Hope asked as she pulled her own tape out of one of her jacket's zippered pockets.

"No thanks," Griffin replied, "I don't really do drugs."

Hope laughed. "The band."

"Well then sure, I guess," Griffin said, embarrassed. He glanced in the rearview mirror. The rent-a-cops had gotten in their cruiser and pulled out after them. "Shit," Griffin reported, "they're following us."

"So ditch them," Hope advised. "They're just fucking rent-a-cops." She fished under the seat from the ejected Duran Duran tape. She popped the glove compartment and tossed it inside.

"I think maybe we should pull over," Griffin worried, second guessing his impulsive decision to run.

Hope stared at the open the glove compartment. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said, "since your brother stashed his coke in here."

Griffin went into full-on panic mode. "Oh fuck me! What're we gonna do?!"

"Just chill out, dude. I told you, they're rent-a-cops. If you ditch them they can't follow you out of the neighborhood." Hope snapped shut the glove compartment and popped her X cassette into the tape player. The opening punk-guitar riff of "The Hungry Wolf" blasted through Griffin like a shot of adrenaline.

For the second time that night, Griffin stomped on the gas pedal. This time the car did peel out. Griffin swung the wheel to the left and the Scirocco fish-tailed, spinning one-hundred and eighty degrees so it was facing in the opposite direction, right at the oncoming security patrol car. Then its tires finally gripped the pavement and it roared right past the rent-a-cops. Griffin and Hope could see the whites of the surprised officers' eyes as they passed.

"That was awesome!!!" Hope screamed, laughing.

"Yeah, I totally meant to do that," Griffin replied sarcastically. He watched in the rear view mirror as the rent-a-cops fell further behind.

But the security patrolmen weren't giving up. They finished a three-point turn and began accelerating in pursuit.

Griffin spun the wheel to the right, down a side street, and continued to accelerate, but he could hear the rent-a-cops' siren behind him closing the distance.

Hope began to crank open the Scirocco's sunroof, bobbing her head to the loud music.

Griffin made another hard right turn, this time onto the wide lanes of Sheridan Road. He redlined the Scirocco, which growled as it accelerated to fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an hour. The streetlights flashed past like strobes.

Hope lifted her head to the open sunroof and sang along to X: "I am the hungry wolf," she sang-yelled, "and run endlessly with my mate!"

The rent-a-cop cruiser pulled onto Sheridan behind them, refusing to give up the chase.

Hope stood up on her seat and pushed her torso up out of the sunroof, holding both hands up in the split-fingered sign of rock. "She loves her mate as he loves her," she continued to sing, "and they live together for life life life!"

They were approaching Northwestern University, now. A huge crowd of drunk frat boys were on the sidewalk, pushing some glowing object. As Griffin and Hope raced past them, music blaring, the frat boys cheered and then pushed their burning object out into the road behind them.

Hope looked over her shoulder to see what it was and flames reflected in her eyes as they widened in shock.

It was a grand piano. And it was on fire.

The rent-a-cops had to slam on their brakes and spin out to avoid smashing into the huge burning instrument. Once again the frat boys cheered.

"Holy shit did you see that?!" Hope yelled.

"No, what the hell was it?" asked Griffin.

"It was a piano! They torched a piano!"

"Why would they want to set a piano on fire?!"

"More like why wouldn't you want to set a piano on fire?!" replied Hope with admiration. "God-damn now I want to go to Northwestern!" She howled like a wolf as they crossed over the city line from Evanston to Chicago.