What Makes a Snowbaroo

Chapter Thirteen - The Lookalike

A lot of times, you'd need to go out to Vegas or maybe some seedy part of New York City or Chicago to get some intrigue, yet for our crew, it was a rest stop just a half an hour outside of Arlington, Virginia. The mircochips Snowbaroo was using was ineffective, according to Isaac, and we all needed to drive to this chick's place outside Washington to get us some modded Intel processors. Despite the many, many flagrant absurdities and risks of this venture, George decided we should all make it a field trip of sorts.

"My folks are really going to be thinking I'm up to no good this late at night, or doing something stupid with a chick or something." I was standing beside the showroom welcome credenza when Wil, Orv, and Isaac came in from the service bays. They'd probably been giving Wil's 2019 Jealousy and Isaac's Impasta a once-over before the nearly 400-mile trip South.

Wil's brow came down a whole inch. "No one would think that, Grisly."

No one would, until they saw what happened approximately seven hours later.

"I have concluded my trip to retrieve a bite to eat and a splash more coffee for you all!" George told us as he burst through the doors, hands overflowing with Triple A road atlases and a supplies bag that looked like an old rucksack. "The journey ahead is at hand!"

Seemed like George on a few milligrams more caffeine than he should have been, coupled with the deficiency of his normal sleeping regimen of 9 PM to 5AM, had given rise to his more Thespian bent of language.

"Good eve, fellows." He had bidden to the brothers and Isaac, following in the latter's footsteps and evidently going to engulf yet another cup of coffee before climbing aboard his trusty newer 2023 Outrun. Even the owner of the dealership didn't stay current with the models; the only one who got a new Snowbaroo every year was Ben, although given his knack for long-range driving, I assumed his Foragers got to around forty thousand miles per year clocked on them.

Meanwhile, I uttered a hopeful, "Whaddup?" to Alex as she passed through the double automatic doors, the parking lot appearing for a brief second before it was plunged once more into glassy refractions of the showroom's lighting. She'd strode in with this absolute look of command, wheeling a fancy piece of aluminum-clad hardshell luggage behind her. Probably surplus from our brief stint as Darebus pilots-in-training, I assumed, as she drew the carry-on up to a sharp halt on the squeaky quartzlike showroom tile. Frederick had also slipped in a moment or two later, with his own matching leather briefcase and messenger bag presumably carrying his gear. He headed straight towards where Isaac was staking out, which happened to be the coffee center.

As a note, Isaac's big thing was demonstrating that while the Impasta may have been a compact sedan fit for pizza outlets and cheap folks, it could also be a heck of a pack mule. Plus, it honestly did have TRX elements to it. In times like these, he just loved to show how much you could shove in the trunk, all while maintaining cabin space for five. Basically, it was something he lived to demonstrate, especially ever since Snowbaroo had discontinued the sedan version of the Impasta in 2023. Seating the tallest of us, George, in the passenger seat, Isaac would proceed to lecture on how we had even Alex and her Decent – or her IS 350 – beat. To watch him stuff those bags and luggage cases in there like he was performing CPR was something. He crammed every last thing in there, and he let us know it, too.

"Everything fits in the trunk of my Impasta!" He'd crow.

Proud as punch was Isaac, until he looked in the showroom and saw that Alex, the brothers, and I still had bags beside our desks in the showroom. Given that Alex had that quirk about needing to be near my desk, my cheap black duffel and matching backpack were busy French kissing Alex's hardshell deluxe luggage.