Eleven minutes to reach Mad Hatters.
‘YOU BOYS READY?’ I shouted over my shoulder.
Masters of paraphernalia, Marty and Monty had everything under control.
‘WE’RE RUNNING SHORT ON PAPERS.’ Monty announced. Tito the Mannequin looked on, dressed in a Golden State Warrior jumpsuit. He had seen all this before.
‘IMPROVISE,’ I said.
‘WITH WHAT?’
‘I DON’T KNOW. USE YOUR IMAGINATION.’
‘I BET WE COULD USE TITO’S ARM AS A BONG,’ Marty said.
I eyed the rearview mirror. No sign of the patroller. Straining against the sun I peered at the clouds above. The CHP spy plane had to be around somewhere. I goosed the throttle. The engine opened with a banshee scream as we tore by the sign.
Rabble Rouser 