Page 53 of Massimo

The sound of the crash –

The stillness afterwards –

The roar of the motorcycle pulling up next to us –

“Yes,” I said abruptly as I pushed the memory out of my head. “But… aren’t cars all electronic now? With alarm systems and computers and shit?”

“Some are,” he admitted.

“So, what – are you some kind of computer hacker/car thief?”

“I’ll be looking for something older. Something without any computers.”

That probably wouldn’t be too hard. Treporti was a small town and not rich. Most of the cars would be pretty old.

We walked past the shop selling tickets for the ferry to Venice, a convenience store, and a tourist trap with a display of polished sea shells. We got some weird looks from the locals, which I guess was to be expected. It wasn’t every day they saw a giant in a designer suit and a rich chick with a Birkin bag just out for a stroll.

We left the tiny town and kept going until we reached a long row of cars parked on the side of the road. I guess it was for people who wanted to stroll the pedestrian we were walking along, because there wasn’t a beach. Access to the water was blocked by a chain-link fence.

Massimo passed by car after car, studying each one.

I guess he found one he liked because he crossed the road and went over to an ugly blue car. The paint was faded off in patches and the doors were all dinged up. The thing must have been 40 year old – and not in a classic sports car good kind of way.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I complained as I followed along behind him.

“Why?” he asked as he tried both the driver’s side doors. They were both locked.

“Can’t you get something nicer?”

“‘Nicer’ means ‘newer,’ and newer is harder to hotwire. Stand in front of me.”

“Why?”

“To cover me while I break the window.”

“There’s nobody around – ”

“Just do it.”

I sighed and got into place. Then I looked out at the water, which was only 40 feet away –

Until I heard a crunch and the tinkle of glass.

I flinched –

(I’m 6 years old and sitting in the back seat – broken glass is everywhere and pieces are all over me – )

(STOP STOP STOP)

– and whirled around nervously.

Massimo had a key chain in his hand, but there was a tiny pointed spike on the metal ring.

Next to him, the car window was completely devoid of glass.

“What’s that?!” I asked, shocked.

“Tools of the trade,” he said as he unlocked the car from the inside. “A single point can break car glass with almost no effort at all. Go around.”

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