Car Radio

The silence is deafening. Finley stares at the empty slot where the radio should be. The hole in the center console mocks him. The engine roars and jumps to life. Finley laughs at the power and presses the gas pedal. The engine responds and races down the street. He sighs and shrugs off the silence. At least it’s a nice car, he thinks to himself. Finley grips the steering wheel tighter and continues to drive. He’s never driven a convertible before. 

The large amount of snacks sits in the passenger seat. Three bags of chips, several candy bars, a meat stick, a couple of grape sodas, redbull and an orange gatorade are piled into a small mountain next to Finley. There is also four hundred and thirty seven dollars in his pocket. Finley glances at the convenience store in the rear view mirror as he drives away. The gun wasn't loaded, but the clerk behind the desk didn’t need to know that. She graciously gives up her drawer in exchange for her life. Finley smiles as the memory of the robbery passes through his head again. 

“Everything in the drawer. Now!” he shouts.

The clerk cries, but nods in understanding and opens the register. Ding. This is much easier with a gun, thinks Finley. He grins under his mask. He holds the basket of snacks in his free hand and points the gun at the clerk. Ida is the name on her shirt. She’s short with straight black hair and small eyes. Tears run down her cheeks as she collects the bills. With a shaky hand, she gives the money to Finley.

“Thank you,” Finley decides to say. He runs out the store and watches as a Chevrolet Corvette pulls up to the store. An older gentleman shuts off the engine and opens the door to get out. He sees the gun before he sees Finley. 

“Give me the keys,” Finley says loudly to the man. The elderly man jumps in surprise and quickly hands the keys to Finley. Finley dumps the basket of snacks into the passenger seat, puts the car in reverse and drives down the road. When he is clear of the scene, he pulls off his mask and tosses it on the floor. He goes to adjust the radio, but the dial isn’t there. The whole compartment is empty. 

Finley is an average man with an average build. His curly locks meet his eyebrows and licks his earlobes. His eyes are wide and too big for his narrow face, close together with long lashes. Stubble on his chin creeps its way up to his sideburns. The long bridge of his nose flares into broad nostrils and his big pink lips pushes out from his face. He has a birthmark in the shape of a small diamond under his left eye. His cheeks are freckled and covered with a thin layer of dirt. 

Finley prefers XBOX over Playstation and drinks apple juice more than a grown man should. He hates roller coasters because he has to sit next to strangers. He loves school, but dropped out his senior year. Finley is passionate, creative and extremely intelligent. Finley wasn’t always a thief, but the worst in his life brings out the best in him.

Did I forget to feed Edison? Finley thinks to himself. Edison is his pet goldfish who spends his days in a sphere on Finley’s nightstand. Finley’s hamster died in a freak vacuum accident when he was in kindergarten and since then, he was against pets. Edison was a prize Finley had reluctantly won at a carnival.  So far, he’s lasted over a year and tripled in size.

Finley tugs nervously at his Iron Maiden shirt as he passes a cop. He checks his speed and cautiously pulls the seat belt over his chest and clicks it into place. He thinks, Don’t pull me over, please. He isn’t ready to deal with the police. He hasn’t thought this far ahead. The officer turns left and into a gas station. 

Finley sighs relief and looks back at where the radio should be. It’s too quiet for him. His thoughts float carelessly through his head. He pictures himself as a police officer for a moment and laughs at the thought. If his dad was around, or if his mother stopped drinking...if his brother never beat him and if he stayed in school…He wondered where his life would have been then. What kind of person he would be now. 

An outstanding citizen, he imagines, With a wife and kids. He creates the vision of his family in his head. A woman with large breasts and red hair. Two kids, one boy and one girl, with toothless smiles on their dirty faces. They would be soccer players like Finley was and always outside. He shakes off the thought. Sucks not having a radio, he thinks. He sits up taller in the driver seat and lets out a little scream. 

“Ahhh!” He relaxes and slumps back into his seat. He tries to whistle and fails, only allowing air to escape his pursed lips. He blows a tune through his teeth and grunts in frustration. I wish I knew how to whistle. Both my parents could. Even Franklin can, he says in his head. He tries again and a small tweet of a sound flies from in between his lips. He grins at his small accomplishment. 

I hate tuna fish, he thinks. Finley starts to space out behind the wheel. The lack of sound tricks his brain. He visualizes a concert he went to last year. He remembers all the pockets he picked and wallets he stole. He made five times the amount of the cost of the tickets he paid for, but wasn’t able to enjoy the concert properly. The songs of the band echoes throughout his mind. He taps the steering wheel to the beat of the song stuck in his head. He hums the melody. He looked back at the center console and sighed loudly. There wasn’t even a clock. What time is it? he wondered. I should have stolen a watch. Or a car with a radio.

The car was quiet. Even the purr of the engine was hushed. Everything is still except the thoughts in Finley’s head. He thinks about the graduation he never attended. The smell of his last girlfriend right before she walked out the door. The taste of sea salt ice cream and how it was superior to any other flavor. He pictures the last family photo they had together when times were good. How Franklin had his arm around him in a rare loving embrace. 

It is loud in Finley’s head and there is no sound to hide behind. He groans and tries to shake off all his thoughts; clear his head. It’s no use. The thoughts always come back, stronger and louder than before. He is going mad from the silence. 

I can pull the steering wheel. It would be easy to wreck such a nice car. The guardrail teases Finley. He envisions the crash in his head and plays out the scene slowly. The metal twisted around the body of the convertible. The popped wheel and broken windshield. He shakes off the thought and continues driving, now upset by the concept he created in his mind. He can’t distract himself from himself. There was nothing to drown out his perception of his own ideations. He can’t clear his head. He’s trapped within himself.  

Finley screams and pulls the car over. The wheels spin angrily against the dirt on the shoulder. He bangs the steering wheel with a fist and groans. He hears the sound of sirens and looks in the mirror. He didn’t notice the police officer that pulled a U-turn at the last intersection. He didn’t see the car behind him getting closer and closer. He watches as a police officer steps out of his squad car and aims a gun at his corvette. 

Now what? This isn’t part of his plan. He licks his lips and glares at his new challenge. He throws the car into drive and slams on the gas pedal. The car lurches forward and spins wildly back on the road. The cop calls it in and drives after Finley. 

The two lane road was barren. The twists and turns makes Finley feel he was back on a rollercoaster without the strangers. The contents of his stomach sloshes around. Well, this is great. He wonders ahead, trying to come up with a plan. He didn’t know these streets that well and another police car pulls up alongside Finley. He kicks up the speed and lets out a yelp as the car responds. They race down the street. The sirens blare loudly. Finley watches as the police cars serve and drive around each other like synchronized swimmers after him. These guys are good. But not as good as me.

I need to lose them. He thinks about car chase videos he’s watched online and in movies. The bad guy always gets caught somehow with some small mistake he plans to avoid. He turns down a dirt road quickly, but the cars behind don’t falter and follow him. The dirt is slick on the wheels and with the sharp turn, he flips the car. He curses himself as the car rolls into the ditch upside down. The sound of scrapping metal pierces his ears. It’s quiet for a moment as the dust settles. He wasn’t going to get caught. Especially now, they will find out exactly how many people he’s robbed. He isn’t planning on going to jail. Edison would miss him. 

“Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air!” The officer shouts, spit flying out of his mouth. They were behind open car doors, ready for Finley to react.

Finley’s heart races as his hands went for the unloaded gun. You’ll never take me alive coppers! he shouts in his mind. He smiles. He was on the track and field team in high school, surely he could outrun the police. He’s done it before with success. He pushes the car door open and without thinking, Finley hops out the car and runs, pointing the gun behind him. His feet slip on the loose gravel but he collects himself and moves his feet fast underneath him. He takes three more steps away from the police, gun heavy in his hands. Bang. The silence is deafening.