Getaway Car
Short Story, 4300 words, contains gangsters, some smarter than others.
Who picks a goddamned Volkswagen for a getaway car? Kurt blinked rain from his eyes as he exited the Dornstadt train station and peered at Jürgen, their driver for this job. He stood behind the open driver’s door, waving from the station parking lot, his fancy feathered haircut plastered to his forehead and water dripping from his long sideburns. With the thaw in the weather came the rain. At least the snow was gone. After 1974, everybody seemed to grow long sideburns and wear bell bottom slacks. Not Kurt, he preferred the nondescript look, nothing that potential witnesses would remember.
For the last job, robbing an armored car, Jürgen got them a new 1976 Opel Diplomat: nice, roomy four-door, but what mattered most was the Chevrolet 327 V8 under the hood. Once they got on the Autobahn, Jürgen buried the speedometer, over 220 km/hr. That’s a getaway car.
Kurt eyed the murky overcast as he walked around puddles to Jürgen. The rain was picking up, darkening the afternoon sky to an evening shade. The driver had chosen a pale green beetle, and the vehicle looked like a toy as Kurt stepped to the passenger door and looked across the roof at Jürgen. “Willi’s not going to like this car.”
“All I could find with the short notice.” Jürgen shrugged. “Where is he?” He gazed at the train station.
“Taking a shit last I saw.” Kurt dug a Reyno from the pack in his jacket pocket and lit up. The mentholated smoke cooling the irritation he had over Jürgen’s choice.
A wiry man emerged from the station and stared at them. “There’s Arno.” Kurt took another puff. “I don’t think he’s impressed.”
“It’s all I found find in an hour.” Jürgen’s smile vanished. He ran a hand over his head and flicked rainwater from his hair.
Arno strode over to them and glared at the car. “What the fuck?” He shrugged his jacket higher over his shoulders. “A VW?”
Kurt raised an eyebrow at Jürgen.
“It’s all I could find in an hour.” The driver said to Arno.
“You couldn’t find another Opel?” Arno kicked at a tire.
Jürgen closed the driver’s door. “A Kadett L.”
“Oh, Christ.” Kurt rolled his eyes. Those were even smaller and had less engine power.
“Finding that Opel Diplomat last time was pure good luck.” Jürgen nodded. “The doctors and lawyers who buy those usually keep them locked in garages.”
Arno pointed at a new Mercedes C300 sedan across the parking lot. “Why don’t we take that?”
Jürgen looked at the car and shook his head. “Steering column lock. I can hotwire the engine. Can’t steer.”
Arno stared at Jürgen. “Goddamn.”
“Got to work with what you have.” Kurt pinched the coal off the end of his cigarette and pocketed the dead butt.
“Good thing Willi stopped to take a dump.” Arno ran his eyes across the VW. “He would shit his britches when he sees this.”
“Tell me this is a joke.” Willi’s voice boomed as he stomped across the parking lot, finger pointing at Jürgen.
The job that brought them here amounted to little more than a stick-up. Oskar Heinemann had cheated Willi out of a load of untaxed American bourbon, loading it on his truck parked dockside at the port in Hamburg before Willi’s boys arrived to take delivery. Willi didn’t want revenge. He just wanted the money, all of it. The four were to roll up at Spedition Heinemann, Oskar’s trucking business on the outskirts of Dornstadt, subdue any resistance, and take the cash. From there, the plan was to drive to nearby Ulm, ditch the car and take the train back home to Stuttgart.
Willi had said that Heinemann’s crew wouldn’t put up much of a fight, but Kurt knew better. You don’t send four guys with guns if the jerk is just going to hand over the cash. He carried a sawed-off double barrel under his jacket, hanging under his right arm by a string around his neck. Willi and Arno packed Walthers in shoulder holsters, and Jürgen had something. Kurt wasn’t sure.
“It’s no joke.” Arno blotted water off his face with a handkerchief. “It’s a Volkswagen.”
Willi glared at Jürgen.
“It’s all I could find in an hour.” Jürgen repeated himself, too many times now.
Willi balled up his fist. “I pay you to do better than this.”
Kurt pulled the passenger door open. “Let’s get out of the rain and get this job over with.”
“I’ll get in the back.” Arno was the smallest in the group, next to Jürgen. He flipped the seat forward and clambered in.
“Guess I’m next. The boss rides shotgun.” Kurt ducked his head and wormed his way into the back next to Arno. The car rocked on its springs.
Jürgen opened the driver’s door and slid under the steering wheel.
Willi flipped the passenger seat back, and it struck Kurt’s knees, not going all the way back. As he settled into the seat, it rocked against Kurt’s knees. Dull pain radiated from Kurt’s kneecaps as Willi tried to retreat deeper into the back seat.
“Ow, this isn’t working.” Kurt braced a hand against the seat back.
Willi planted a foot on the ground outside the car and leaned forward. “Your goddamned knees are in my kidneys.” He stood and snapped his fingers. You’re the biggest guy in the crew. Get in the front.”
Kurt emerged from the backseat, straightening his back like a jackknife unfolding. He stood more than a head taller than Willi.
The left side of Willi’s mouth curled upward in a crooked grin. “You’re carrying the shotgun, so take the shotgun seat.”
“Jawohl, Herr Chef.” Kurt snapped a salute and stepped aside to let Willi crawl into the back seat.
“Good thing I like you.” Arno squinted at Willi as he wiggled his way into the back seat.
Kurt eased the passenger seat back to its resting position and climbed in. “Got enough room, boss?” He pulled the door shut.
“Just enough.” Willi leaned back, his head touching the ceiling. “We got to get our asses on the road. Heinemann sold that load of whiskey last night. We’re taking the cash before he has a chance to do anything with it.” He glanced up. “I’d say close to 50,000 Deutschmarks.”
Jürgen reached down to the dangling wires behind the dashboard and pressed two of them together. The starter motor chugged, but the engine did not start. He pulled his hand back to wipe his chin.
“Now what?” Willi’s irritation sharpened his voice.
“Nothing.” Jürgen fiddled with the wires and pumped the gas pedal. The rain pattered on the car’s roof.
“Get us on the road, Jürgen. It’s your fucking job.” Willi leaned forward.
Jürgen nodded and fiddled with the hotwires again. This time the engine cranked and fired. He revved it twice.
Kurt looked up to see that the windshield and all the window glass had fogged over. He reached out to wipe the condensation off the glass, his bare hand leaving streaks on the glass. “Christ, It’s fogged over.” He just wanted to get to Heinemann’s trucking company, grab the cash, and get gone. That would make Willi happy, and then they could focus on real work. When Willi got the shit end of the stick like the stolen whiskey, he was a regular pain in the ass.
Jürgen nodded thanks at Kurt and released the parking brake. He backed out of the parking slot and drove to the street.
The car’s acceleration came sluggish at best as Jürgen worked the gearshift. Willi looked like he was stewing in dark thoughts. Kurt wiped down the windshield with his bare hand and shook the moisture off it.
Jürgen hunched over the steering wheel and finally shifted into fourth gear. “Thirty-six horsepower.” He grinned at Kurt. “Just 1200 CC’s size. BMW makes motorcycles with engines bigger than that.”
Kurt wiped the inside of the windshield again. “Just get us there and away after the job.” He slung moisture off of his hand to the car’s floor.
“You remember the way to get there?” Willi leaned forward between the two front bucket seats.
“Sure.” Jürgen nodded. “Take the Ulmer Strasse two kilometers, then right at the Schillerstrasse. Three hundred meters away is Spedition Heinemann.” He glanced back at Willi. “You get the money, then I drive us back to the main rail station in Ulm.”
“Amazing that you can remember that.” Willi nodded. “But the best getaway car you could find is a goddamn Volkswagen.”
“Don’t say it.” Kurt held up a finger in Jürgen’s face. “We already know.” He wiped condensation from the windshield. “Just drive.”
Arno wiped condensation from the rear window with his sleeve. “Goddamn. It’s wet.”
Rain drummed on the car body.
Willi looked at Arno. “Rain’s getting in?” He turned to Jürgen, ready to criticize his choice of cars.
“No leaks.” Arno wiped again at the window. “The glass is sweating like shit.”
“Roll a window down.” Willi looked at Arno.
“It’s raining cats and dogs out there.” Arno’s eyebrows rose. “We’ll get soaked.”
“So instead you soak your sleeve, wiping water from the inside of the windows.” Willi shrugged.
“Hell of a choice.” Arno smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Shoot me or stab me.”
The wipers moved at an uneven speed, one quicker than the other, then the two tangling for a moment, then releasing each other to wipe rain off the windshield. Kurt and Jürgen opened the vent windows to let some air circulate. The inside of the car had grown stuffy and windows continued fogging up.
Jürgen hunched over the wheel, his eyes darting from side to side. “Can’t see shit.”
Kurt wiped condensation from the inside of the windshield with his bare hand. “We’re still on the Ulmerstrasse. Can’t be far to Schillerstrasse.” He gazed out the windshield as other cars passed them.
Jürgen whipped the wheel to the left. “There it is.” The car hit a heavy puddle, throwing up a wall of dirty rainwater. The rear tires lost traction and the rear of the car slid to the right.
Reversing arm movement, Jürgen spun the wheel to the right and steered into the skid as he pressed the accelerator to the floor. The car regained traction and fishtailed as Jürgen skinned by a parked car close enough that Kurt thought he heard the hubcaps click against it.
Jürgen raised his head to look at Willi in the rearview mirror. He wiped his thumb across the surface to clear the layer of fog and look at the boss’s eyes. “Three hundred meters and we’re there.”
Willi wiped condensation from his window and nodded approval as he looked out. “Let’s take them by surprise.”
“They’d never expect us to show up in a Volkswagen.” Kurt wiped more condensation from the windshield.
A sign on the right emerged from the fog and rain, Spedition Heinemann. Under the name stood a silhouette image of a tractor trailer truck. “Here we are.” Jürgen gunned the engine as he turned to pass through the gate.
The car hit a large puddle and a wall of gray water flew up. The Volkswagen shuddered and moved laterally. The wipers struggled to clear the windshield. Jürgen downshifted and worked the throttle to keep the engine running.
“Christ.” Willi sat up straight. “What did we hit?”
“A big-ass puddle.” Kurt turned his head to look at Willi.
“No problem.” Jürgen downshifted and let out the clutch. The rear wheels grabbed the pavement and pushed the car forward. “I heard that Volkswagens float, so water’s no problem.”
“My problem is that Heinemann has my money.” Willi leaned forward. “And we’re here to take it back.” He stared at Jürgen in the rearview mirror. “You get us here, and you get us gone when we have the money.”
“Right.” Jürgen rolled the car to the front of the sheet metal building. It had a small portico at the main entrance. A driveway to the right led to the back, where a large yard and detached garage stood sheltering two large Volvo tractor-trailer trucks.
A man stood under the roof, leaning against one of the metal columns that supported the portico roof. He seemed half asleep, a cigarette drooping from his lip, threatening to drop an ash on his clothes.
“Let’s go.” Willi thumped the back of Kurt’s seat. Kurt popped open the door and hopped out before the car stopped rolling, pulling the seatback forward to let Willi climb out.
Jürgen opened the driver’s door, then found himself pinned against the wheel as Arno tried to climb out from the back seat.
“Get your ass out of the way.” Arno pulled his Walther PP from his shoulder holster.
“I can’t move,” Jürgen replied through clenched teeth. “You got me clamped in place.”
Arno wiggled himself further from the back seat and succeeded in planting one foot on the ground. He tapped Jürgen on the head with his pistol. “Breathe in and squeeze your ass. I got to get out.”
Jürgen hooked his chin over the steering wheel as Arno freed himself from the back seat.
Kurt grabbed the man on the portico by the scruff of the neck and waited for Willi.
“Where’s Heinemann?” Willi stared two holes in the man’s face.
“Inside.” His eyes widened, and the cigarette fell from his lips.
“No shit.” Kurt pushed him toward the front door. “Show us where.”
Arno caught up with them as they pressed past the reception desk, through the “employees only” door and into the shop.
A man stepped forward from a table covered with tools and truck parts. Arno leveled his Walther at him. “Take us to Heinemann.”
The man raised his hands and nodded toward the back of the building.
“Walk with us,” Willi said.
The man nodded and stepped to a door and opened it.
Willi followed and reached inside his jacket to draw a Walther P38. He looked around.
Kurt pushed both men ahead of them through the door. The room must have been Heinemann’s office. Three filing cabinets stood against the wall, and a desk lay pushed into a corner. Heinemann turned to look up at them as they entered, telephone receiver pressed to his ear. The man looked like a darker version of Willi, his hair plastered to his skull with a sweet-smelling pomade.
Arno tugged the receiver from Heinemann’s hand and hung up the phone.
“You have something that belongs to me.” Willi leveled his P38 at Heinemann.
Heinemann held his hands up, eyes darting between Willi, Arno, Kurt, and his own man.
“Fifty thousand Deutschmarks.” Willi spoke slow, enunciating his words as if Heinemann were dim witted. “You stole my shipment.”
“Where is it?” Arno asked. He glanced at Kurt, then returned his eyes to Heinemann.
Kurt reached under his jacket to bring out the sawed-off shotgun.
Heinemann pointed to a squat black iron box in the opposite corner. “The safe.”
“Open it.” Willi waved his pistol at the safe. “Now.”
Heinemann’s man from the shop twisted and bolted for the door. Willi swung his arm to level his pistol at his chest and squeezed the trigger.
The double-action Walter raised, then dropped the hammer: Click.
Willi pulled the trigger again. Click.
Kurt struck the man across the back of his head with the shotgun, knocking him to the floor.
Arno reached over to pull the slide back on Willi’s P38 and release it. “Rack one in the chamber, and it’ll work every time.”
Willi’s face reddened and he turned to Heinemann. “Open the goddamn safe.”
Kurt planted his foot on Heinemann’s man, pinning him by the back of his neck. “This one won’t be any trouble any more.” He looked at the sleepy man they had brought in from the portico. “You get on the floor next to your buddy.”
The second man lowered himself to the floor.
“Keep your ears open.” Arno’s eye scanned the room. “I don’t know who else is around.”
Kurt nodded. “Get something to tie these guys up and see if there’s anybody else here.”
Arno nodded and ducked back to the shop.
Heinemann fumbled with the dial to the safe.
“Open it, goddammit.” Willi poked him with the pistol.
“I’m nervous.” Heinemann’s eye flashed.
“No shit.” Willi poked him again.
“Close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath.” Kurt shifted his stance to put more weight on Heinemann’s man. “We just want the money.”
Heinemann looked at Kurt.
“Try it.” Kurt nodded, then looked at Willi.
Heinemann’s eyes closed, and he breathed in deep through his nose. Two heartbeats later he let his breath out, then turned to the safe.
Arno returned. “Looks like there’s nobody else around.” He tossed a roll of electrician’s tape to Kurt. “I found this.”
Kurt caught the tape, then bent down to begin binding the man’s wrists behind his back. “This’ll work.” He stepped to the second man and bound his hands. Kurt dropped to a knee and began binding the two men’s legs together with electrician’s tape.
A metallic chunk announced the safe door opening. Willi pushed Heinemann to the side and began grabbing bundles of banknotes. “Get a bag, somebody.”
Arno poked around the desk and pulled a satchel from the kneehole. He dumped out the contents, sheaves of paper and old invoices, and he tossed the bag to Willi.
Willi began stuffing the cash into the bag one-handed, pistol still trained on Heinemann. “Thought you could steal from me, grabbing that load of American whiskey before I got to Hamburg. Nobody steals from me.”
Kurt swung the butt end of the shotgun against the back of Heinemann’s head, and the man collapsed to the floor. He began binding his wrists behind his back with electrician’s tape. “Enough with the speech, boss. We got your money back. Let’s go.”
Willi holstered his P38, grabbed the satchel and stood. He looked around the room as if he had forgotten something.
“Let’s get hell out of here.” Arno holstered his pistol.
Kurt held the door open as Willi darted out with the satchel full of cash, followed by Arno. Kurt gave the office and the shop a final scan with his eyes as they made their way to the front of the building.
The Volkswagen sat idling out front, Jürgen standing behind the open driver’s door.
Willi held up the satchel. “Open the trunk.”
Jürgen nodded and stepped to the front and tugged at the handle. Most of the trunk was occupied by the spare tire, covered by a set of tire chains and two canvas bags of junk.
Willi grabbed the tire chains and tossed them to the side. He crammed the bulky satchel inside and pushed the deck shut. “We got to go.”
The trunk lid did not latch. It stood a good three centimeters short of closing all the way. Willi opened the lid and began pushing on the satchel, as if he could squish it flatter. He slammed the lid down again. It did not latch.
The trunk deck swung open, exposing Willi’s failure to secure his booty. He clenched his fists.
Arno grabbed the satchel and pressed it into Willi’s arms. He closed the trunk. “It’s too goddamn big for the trunk. You carry it. It’s your money.”
Kurt looked around the parking lot and the building. “We got to go.”
Jürgen nodded and headed for the driver’s seat. Arno grabbed him by the collar. “I get in first, asshole.” He flipped the driver’s seat forward and clambered into the back.
Kurt flipped the passenger seat forward and gestured to Willi. “After you, boss.” His eyes scanned the building for any sign of movement.
Willi climbed into the backseat, satchel of cash clutched to his chest. Kurt settled into the front passenger seat and pulled the door shut.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Arno thumped the back of Jürgen’s seat.
Jürgen revved the engine and put the Volkswagen into motion. With four full-grown men inside and thirty-six horsepower under the hood, acceleration was less than Formula 1. Luckily, the ride out ran downhill. The car hit the big puddle where the driveway met the street. This time Jürgen was prepared. He shifted down and kept the engine revved as the VW slewed to the side. The same curtains of gray water rose as the car hit the puddle, and the wipers struggled to clear the windshield.
The car emerged on the Schillerstrasse, Jürgen grinning as he accelerated, working his way up to fourth gear, then taking the ramp onto highway B10.
Kurt wiped condensation from the windshield. “How far to the rail station?”
“Maybe five kilometers, downtown near Münsterplatz.” Jürgen hunched over the wheel.
“Get us there.” Willi hugged the satchel of cash closer to his chest.
“Jawohl, Herr Chef.” Jürgen clutched the steering wheel.
The rain came and went in sheets as the car proceeded south on the highway. A long bridge carried them over a group of railroad tracks north of the main railyard.
Kurt wiped condensation from the passenger window and looked out. “Good. We’re getting closer to the station.”
“Fuck, I missed the turn.” Jürgen pushed his wet hair off his forehead.
“You what?” Willi tried to lean forward, but the satchel in his lap kept him pinned to the back seat.
“I missed the turn to Kieniesbergstrasse. Takes us to the front of the train station.” Jürgen’s eyes scanned the road ahead, as if he could see between the raindrops to read the signs.
“You dipshit.” Willi bared his teeth. “Get us to the goddamn rail station.”
“We take the back way in.” Kurt ducked his head to look through the windshield and wipe for condensation off the glass. “Go by the Ehinger Tor bus station.”
Jürgen nodded agreement and offered a weak smile.
Arno wiped the window to his left and pressed his nose to the glass. “Where the hell are we?”
“Ulm.” Kurt wiped more condensation the windshield.
“Here we go.” Jürgen hit the turn signal and glanced at the sideview mirror. “Neue Strasse, than another left to the station.”
A large Mercedes sedan flashed its headlights and passed the VW, throwing a wave of dirty rainwater. Jürgen wrestled the steering wheel to keep the car in it lane. “Asshole cut me off.”
Kurt glanced through the fogged rear window to see more headlights approaching from the rear. “Somebody else is coming.”
“How close?” Jürgen cocked an eyebrow.
“Maybe twenty meters.”
Jürgen wrenched the wheel to the left as he pressed the accelerator. The engine whined and protested as headlights flashed and a horn sounded behind them. Jürgen eased into the left turn lane, then urged the car through a gap in the oncoming traffic.
Kurt looked out the back window again. “That was kind of close.”
Jürgen nodded. “I’m not getting cut off again. Willi needs to get to the rail station. He’s the boss.”
Willi chuckled and Kurt glanced back to see if the man was really happy. Along with Willi’s smile, he saw flashing blue lights. “Oh, shit.”
Jürgen ducked his head to check the sideview mirror. “I cut off a cop?”
“They get pissed when that happens.” Kurt kept his eyes trained on the window.
“Lose him.” Willi’s smile turned to a snarl.
The cop turned on the siren to go with the flashing blue light.
Jürgen nodded and scanned the road ahead. As the car entered the tunnel under the railroad tracks, he killed the headlights. As the car exited the tunnel, he ran a red light, then careened into a right turn over the curb and onto the sidewalk. Four pedestrians ran as the VW rolled across the sidewalk to reach the cobblestones of Promenadestrasse.
The maneuver had shaken and rattled the car. Willi shoved Arno to the left. “Get your ass off me.” He jerked his head up. “What the hell you doing?”
Jürgen glanced in the rearview and sideview mirrors. “Cop’s gone, just like you asked.” He continued driving south to the riverbank.
“Good.” Willi hugged he satchel to his chest. “Now the train station.”
“Cops between us and there.” Kurt looked out the back window. “How about we ditch the car and walk to the station. Cops are looking for a VW.”
“Isn’t this a pedestrian zone?” Arno asked, nose pressed to the window glass.
Another set of blue lights shined through the rear window and a siren began wailing.
“Tell that to the motorcycle cop.” Kurt clenched a fist. All their luck went to shit as soon as they entered Ulm.
“I know.” Jürgen jerked his head up and down. “I’m gonna lose him.” He pressed the accelerator.
The VW weaved between the larch and maple trees on the riverfront, cutting across grass swales, then back onto pavement. Rain continued falling like the skies had opened.
“What are you doing, asshole?” Willi’s forehead showed deep vertical lines.
“Trying to run that fucker into a tree.” Jürgen wrenched he wheel.
The car crossed from grass to pavement with a heavy thud, then the rear began to slide to the left. Jürgen steered into the skid, then reversed as the front of the car turned to run them into a tree. The skid swiveled the car around, and Jürgen snatched the stick shift to downshift. As the car continued it’s swivel, the rear dropped at an angle, then the front swung around to complete the arc.
Road bumps stopped coming through the car’s frame, replaced by gentle swaying and a gurgling sound. Kurt wiped condensation from the windshield to see that the car had begun bobbing down the Danube River, the current pulling them into the center of the flow.
“I told you Volkswagens float.” Jürgen took his hands from the wheel. “No problem.”