JEEP the ripper part 3

Copyright (c) 2019 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED This is a work of fiction. All persons, locations and actions are from the author's imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner.

By R. Peterson

We flung ourselves inside the Dodge Matador, Just as molten-steel from the massive cauldron poured into the mold we’d been standing in. The car was surrounded by steel body molds from a time when most American cars were not made of plastic. “Quick! Light another cigarette!” I yelled. Wesley took a cigarette from the battered package he’d been hording and sighed as he stared at it. “Light it!” I thundered.

            “I should have never started smoking again,” he said. “Now I’ll have to quit all over again!”

            I slapped the back of his head. “Now is not the time to quit!” I screamed. “Jeep the Ripper is somewhere above us and there’s no telling what he’ll do! We need you smoking so we can hop out of here!”

I could hear something mechanical start up and looked upward out my side window. Jeep the Ripper was parked on a platform high above us next to a large crane. A rusty chain with a large magnet attached to the end began to descend rapidly.

Wesley pushed in the lighter embedded in the dash and I felt the hydraulic lifts begin to fill. The car began to bounce and play music the same time the lighter popped out. “Louder!” I screamed.  Wesley carefully adjusted the volume on La Cucaracha just until the car began to bounce sideways. The magnet scraped the bumper but missed us. The crane was turning, trying to snag us. “Louder!” I bellowed. I knocked Wesley’s hand away from the knob and cranked the volume all the way up.

The Dodge Matador leaped into the air just as the magnet brushed the back bumper and we somehow became free. The car bounced out of the mold and I hit the gas. We careened sideways and smashed through a stack of rusty barrels leaking some galvanizing chemical that smelled like it was mostly gasoline. Fumes from petroleum products are one of the most dangerous things in the world. I told Wesley to put out his cigarette … and he tossed it out the window.

I heard Jeep the Ripper roar to life or was that flames? I saw him hurtling down a ramp. This time the furious four wheel drive was going to make sure we didn’t escape.

-------2-------

We thundered down endless corridors with rows of wrecked cars and salvage metal stacked on both sides. Jeep the Ripper had been towing the cars he’d wrecked here for years and melting them down. It was the perfect way to hide his devilishly dirty-work. Twin doors were open the way we’d come in and I headed toward them. Just when I thought we were going to escape, the doors rolled closed. The Ripper was obviously using a remote control. He beeped his horn twice though to confirm my suspicions. The Jeep seemed to be laughing. Wesley lit another cigarette.

I raced and banged through a massive warehouse littered with giant spools of frayed and rusty cable tangled like fishing-line. The CEO of this factory had obviously run this operation into the ground. He’d probably spent money like a wealthy immigrant fresh off the Queen Mary. One of the spools of cable had Brooklyn Bridge stenciled on one side with the words FOR SALE painted over it. “There’s a sucker born every minute!” I horse-laughed like B.T. Barnum. Wesley nodded. He was just finishing his cigarette.

            “He’ll never catch us!” I tried to project a confidence I didn’t feel as I swerved to avoid a stack of broken and leaking freezers. The Dodge Matador slid on the ice, wheel-hopped over a small mountain of exhaust pipes and crashed into a solid wall made of cases of unsold tuna fish cans. The Matador’s engine backfired twice … and then stalled. Decades of old dust filled the air. I could hear the roar of an engine moving up fast behind us … then turning … backing up. Even with my expert police skills, I knew we were in trouble. We were in Jeep the Ripper’s lair and he had all the advantages!

Wesley was slow lighting his next cigarette and the car shuddered as Jeep the Ripper’s tow cable fastened securely onto our back bumper. The Jeep began beeping out Morse code as we were being towed in reverse and Wesley translated it onto his pad. When the honking finally stopped Wesley showed me the message.

Dear Boss,

I was really going to let you slide … but you found out where I sleep. So now I’m going to melt your ride … next time buy a Jeep!

You are going to die!

Jeep the Ripper

-------3-------

Thank God my police radio was still working. I called dispatcher Molly Hubbard. For once, she picked up on the first ring … she seemed to be in an unusually good mood. “Oh! Hi John.”  She was like sunshine to a coal miner. “Just a minute I have my friend Edith on the other line.”

I heard her lay the phone on a table next to a bag of potato chips and her chatter was nonstop between mouthfuls of crunching.

            “This is an eleven ninety-nine!” I boomed. “Officers need assistance!”

            “I’m sorry Edith.” I heard her say. “I need to respond to a call.”

The sounds inside the precinct suddenly became muffled and when I heard a long slow escape of air I realized she was sitting on the phone and releasing melodic amounts of methane gas. She’ll pay for this I vowed. All these calls are recorded. “We’re on our own,” I told Wesley. “We won’t get any help from the station.”

            “That stinks!” he said.

Jeep the Ripper was pulling us up a ramp now, one that led to a platform high above the huge cauldron filled with molten metal. A long line of junk cars dangled from hooks moving along an overhead conveyer and kept the huge stone container filled with scrap metal. Wesley jerked as a 1952 Rambler Station Wagon passed above us. “My first car was a Nash wagon,” he gasped. “Only mine had a huge dent in the passenger side after my date with Cindy Clawson.”

            “I remember her,” I said. “What a dream boat! Wasn’t she the one Butch McPound was sweet on?”

            “That’s the one.” Wesley was still staring at the battered car.

            “So Butch caught up with you two and decided to do a little custom work on his rival’s car?” I shook my head. It wasn’t hard to figure out.

            “No! Cindy kicked in the door right after I stopped at her house,” Wesley confessed. “I’d told her that I drove a Corvette.”

I ordered Wesley to light another cigarette just as his old Nash began to spin. He bent his head and just missed seeing the caved-in door on the passenger side. I was proud of myself. Some memories, like gift-wrapped bombs, are better left unopened.

The Dodge Matador tried to wheel-hop but Jeep the Ripper had us on such a short tow-chain that he bounced instead. The south-of-the border music was louder than ever and the Ripper seemed to be enjoying himself. Little puffs of smoke came from both exhaust pipes timed with the music. Wesley and I both felt like two tamales about to be dipped in hot sauce.

            We were about three floors above the factory floor but there was so much smoke it was hard to see. I suddenly realized the factory was on fire!

-------4-------

            Jeep the Ripper unhooked the tow cable and at first I thought he was going to let us go then I felt the crane with the huge magnet attached bang down on the roof and lift our car into the air. It swung us out over the cauldron filled with molten metal. We tried everything, the music was cranked all the way up and Wesley smoked cigarettes three at a time but still we were like a fresh-caught catfish flopping on the end of someone’s fishing line. It became a contest to see who could scream the loudest. Wesley finally collapsed out of breath and in a sea of tears. “That’s what you get for smoking!” I realized we were close to the end … so I tried to rub my victory in.

            The Ripper was obviously enjoying himself. The four-wheel drive did a little dance of his own … and to our music. I was furious. I unrolled my window, coughed, and then yelled “Why don’t you take a picture … it will last longer!”

            The Jeep paused for a moment and then we saw the red light on the dash-camera mounted to the rear-view mirror turn on. He was taking a video of our agony. In a few years, he was probably going to spread it all over Facebook and U-Tube!

            There seemed to be a problem. I watched the Jeep’s back up lights go on and I realized he was trying to get a wider angle shot. I usually don’t get many brilliant ideas, but my mind was suddenly as dangerous as a water cannon in a fizzy factory. I told Wesley to climb out his window onto the roof and after he lit three more cigarettes he joined me on top of the Matador. We began to dance like Indians calling down rain clouds. The Jeep backed up again. He was determined to get a full screen shot of this! I spun Wesley round and tossed him in the air like a circus act I’d seen as a kid. The Jeep backed up even more. I heard his front wheels spinning frantically as he tried to get traction and finally his helpless horn honking out Morse code as he slipped over the edge and plummeted into the fiery depths below.

            I wanted to toss Wesley a few more times but he insisted on writing down Jeep the Ripper’s last words.

Dear Boss,

Don’t be smug … and think you’ve won. My smashing cars … has just begun!

Until the time … that next we meet! I hope that you … enjoy the heat!

Jeep the Ripper

We watched in horror as a series of warning lights began to flash on the crane controls. The giant magnet would release its cargo in ten seconds. The cauldron filled with molten metal bubbled right below us. I was amazed when Wesley threw the rest of his cigarettes away. “Those things will kill you,” he said.

Five seconds!

I tried my police radio twice … but it was answered and clicked off both times.

Three seconds!

“Take my hand,” I told Wesley. He gave me a brotherly smile and when he reached out I climbed on his shoulders and tried to climb up the crane chain. The chain was slick with old grease … and I’d eaten too many donuts.

One second!

We closed our eyes and waited for the inevitable. Two of Clabber City’s finest were about to meet their end. Our most memorable police cases passed before our eyes. Lost dogs, jaywalkers and that never-to-be-forgotten speeding ticket! We were both surprised when we heard the crane’s motor shut down and a booming Captain Wolfe’s voice. “Dancing on top of a police vehicle!” He thundered. “If there’s so much as a scratch … you’ll pay for it!”

-------5-------

            Two days later we both stood in the captain’s office. “You two are the most miserable excuses for cops that I’ve ever seen,” he bellowed. “If it wasn’t for the quick thinking of Dispatcher Molly Hubbard, after she discovered an erased portion on your call in report, you two would be just a couple of wrinkles in some remanufactured American Motors/ Jeep fenders.

            “The foundry we were in used to make   parts for Jeeps?” I was beginning to put the story together.

            “What did I just say?” the captain growled.

We were placed on three months suspension without pay and the Captain ordered us to work as security at the half-burned foundry to pay for the damage to the Matador. It was December and we were both huddled around a pot-belly stove inside the guard shack trying to stay warm. Wesley and I had been in a vicious fight with Starlings all day that refused to fly south for the winter. We were almost out of bandages and both in need of a bath.

The distant honking we both heard was a series of long and short beeps. It sounded as if it came from somewhere deep inside the still smoking structure. Wesley automatically took out his pad and began to translate the Morse code. I snatched the note from him, opened the door to the stove and threw the paper inside. We were not officially on duty and …white bird poo landed on my shoulder …

We already had a job.

THE END?