Is This A Remake of The Blues Brothers?

Farlo tooled the BMW down West River Road at an easy 70 miles per hour in a 35 zone. He hit the brakes, turned the wheels quickly to the right, went up over the curb, knocked a headlight off against a hydrant and came to a stop behind a car in a MacDonald’s drive through lane. He lowered his window.

“Welcome, can I take your order,” said a voice coming out of a black square with holes in it.

“Three Big Mac’s, hold the lettuce, hold the mayo, hold the tomato, hold the bun.”

“That’s highly unusual, sir. You’re missing most of the calories and don’t forget the best part, the saturated fat.”

“I like my Big Macs just the way they’re made,” said Joey.

“They’re not for you. They’re for Tina.”

“You treat me worse than a dog,” whined Joey.

“Tina’s more faithful. Tina’s always got my back. Tina’s smarter than you.” He turned back to the black box, “I’m not moving unless I get it my way.”

“Would you like to supersize your order, sir?”

“What the hell does that mean, I don’t have all day,” snapped Farlo.

“You can get a large fry, and a fried apple pie with your order, along with an added sugar 48-ounce drink, Sir.”

“Yes, hollered,” Joey.

“No,” hollered Farlo, louder than Joey.

“Please pull up to our pickup window, sir.”

“Give me those credit cards you pulled out of the glove compartment.”

“You’re committing a felony,” said Joey.

“I already committed a felony, I’m compounding it. Think of it this way, we’re doing a job that’s got to be done and on the side, we’re teaching Dr Big Bucks a big lesson. He’s done messing with the little guy.”

“I consider myself a little guy,” said Joey.

“You don’t count. Suck it up. We’re on a mission,” said Farlo.

“Is this a remake of the Blues Brothers?” asked Joey.

Farlo ignored Joey, slipped an American Express credit card to cashier, and said, “Add a five-hundred-dollar tip for yourself.”

“Thank you, sir. You are a saint. This will help me with my tuition,” said the cashier.

“Oh hell, make it a thousand. Stop crying. Give me my order, we’re on a mission,” said Farlo.

“Thank you, Mr. Belushi.”

Farlo left rubber as he peeled out of the fast food parking lot. He took a left on Sanger.

“Why are you going down Sanger, it’s out of the way?” asked Joey, who every other ten seconds turned his head toward the back seat and tried to steal a whiff of Tina’s meal, which was already consumed, digested and moving its’ way through the intestinal tract.

“You got to learn to think strategically if you’re going to work with me long term,” said Farlo. His words sounded like freight car a truck rolling over a gravel road.

“I don’t want to work with you, short or long term,” said Joey.

“Too bad, it was your one shot at advancement in life. When we rescue Harry J I’m going to drop you off, clean out my gear and leave you to rot. You’ll be jobless, kicked out of your home, living on a cardboard box under a bridge, and within two weeks standing on a corner with a sign reading, I don’t work, but I need food.

Joey sat silently staring straight ahead. “You ran a red light.”

“Purposely, fool. It was a red-light photo radar light. Sanger has ten red light photo radar lights and I plan to run red on every one of them.”

“Don’t you think you’re carrying this karma thing a little too far?”

“No. My only moral dilemma is that Harry’s life is in danger. If he was a safe hostage, I could really do some karma payback.”

“Did Karma ever pay you back?” asked Joey.

“I got stuck with you,” growled Farlo.

Nine more traffic lights, nine more red light photo radar lights. Farlo hung a left onto Maple. “You’re going the wrong way down a one-way street.”

“I know. I’m making up time we lost going down Sanger.”

“There’s a FedEx truck, watch it,” screamed Joey.

Farlo swerved onto the sidewalk, knocking over a trash can, clipping a no parking sign, and plowing through eight large black plastic bags of trash, one of which stuck to the BMW’s muffler.

Joey turned and looked out the back window, “There’s a cop car with lights flashing about one-hundred yards behind. We’re going to the slammer. I don’t want to go to prison.”

Farlo glanced in the rearview mirror. Quickly glanced over to Joey, “Hang on tight kid, don’t scream, when we come to a stop, hit the street running and follow Tina and me, it’s your only chance.”

Before Joey could say a word, Farlo, accelerated to 80 mph, ran two stop signs, then cut the wheels to the right, hit the brakes forcing the BMW to go into a controlled skid. The BMW turned sideways, teetered on two wheels, before settling down on four wheels blocking all traffic on Maple. Farlo unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and jumped out. Tina followed. Joey, a bit more than a tad slower, followed fifteen yards behind, “Wait for me, or I’ll tell Filo,” he hollered.

Will they rescue Harry J? Will Joey quit working with Farlo? Who’s Filo?

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