.spencerfgs:
Hot wiring cars was something Spencer had, eventually, grown accustomed to. Unlocking the aforementioned vehicles? Yeah, okay, not so much. And that was sort of where his problem lay, y'know, along with the fact that he spent his days hopping from building to building, squatting where he could, and not actually having any place to live. Not to mention the fact that when you had no place to live, it also meant you had very few personal belongings, and no personal belongings also meant no nifty little tools for breaking into cars that didn’t belong to you.
So, all in all, Spencer was in a bit of a fucking rut. With nothing but a half empty packet of cigs in his back pocket, an iPhone 4with the screen cracked in about 7 different places, and the jacket on his back, he had shit all to get unlock the piece of junk that was in front of him. Of course, it wasn’t actually a piece of junk, hence why he wanted to open the bastard up, but he wasn’t having any luck, and gone with his luck was his patience.
Cursing under his breath, Spencer kicked the tire angrily when he realised that old rich man McGee, or whoever the fuck owned the Lambo in front of him, wasn’t gonna make this easy on him. He wasn’t so bad at picking locks, in all honesty. He’d managed to weasel his way out of his cuffs a few times – earning him a look of dismay from his tiny blonde frenemy at the station, as well as finding himself on the receiving end of several tones of anguish from Officer Leicester and his posho partner – and he sure as shit knew how to jimmy open a lock or two to gain him a place to lay his head down for the night, but Lamborghini’s were not his area of experetise.
Knowing that he’d need something small, like a hairclip or a fuckin’ needle to at least make some headway, he let out a loud groan of annoyance before deciding he’d have no luck with the car, and that maybe he should just give up. When he’d just been about to walk away, however, his eyes landed on a motorcyle that was parked up nearby. While the bike itself looked like a hunk of crap, he did notice the sheet that was lazily slung over the seat of it, with what looked like a wrench, a crowbar, and a screwdriver abandoned at the wheel. Perking up, he scurried over and weighed out his options before eventually snatching up the crowbar and getting to work.
As he tried to get a good hold on the tool, hooking it in whereever he could find a gap in the door, he pulled down hard, grunting and groaning as he tried to make at least some sort of impact. He had no luck, however, and he swore to himself when the door didn’t budge. Still, there was no sense in quitting now, and he found himself huffing and puffing, putting all of his might into trying to prise the shitty door open, but to no avail.
Angrily, Spencer stared down at the ground, sweat dripping from his struggle, and kicked out a foot, booting a stray rock across the pavement in frustration. The rock bounced off of the body of the car, and Spencer winced as he spied the tiny scratch it left in its wake as it continued to rattle its way down the street.
Turning back to the car, he figured he might as well give it one last try now that he’d gone and left his mark, only to find a hand clamping down on the crowbar that he still had a grip on. He stared down at the hand, eyes wide as a shiver went down his spine. He daren’t look up, certain he’d either find a furious looking suit, or an exhausted French officer who’d had it up to her eyeballs with his hijinks.
As he pondered over whether or not he could just release his hold and straight up bolt, the crowbar was pulled from his hand before he could even make a move, and the voice of another man met his ears.
Staring up, an eyebrow arched as the other man’s words finally registered with him, a slow smirk begun to work its way onto Spencer’s lips.
“Yeah? That so?” he mused, staring up at the older guy with a look of bemusement on his face.
He didn’t know this dude for shit, and he had no idea why he’d waltz on over and attempt to help Spencer steal a car, but he figured he’d entertain the situation for now. It seemed like a better option than upsetting him and having him call the cops on his ass.
“Alright, my man. How about you show me how it’s done, huh?”
It was strangely gratifying to watch the boy all but shit himself when he turned around to see Greyson gripping onto the crowbar. Greyson figured this was how cops felt when they caught him and he felt less inclined to hate them now that he knew what that smug and self-satisfied feeling was like. His brief moment of empathising with the law was brought to an end when he remembered the two of them were out in the open and a street with rich digs like the car in front of them was sure to have police officers patrolling the length of it during the night.
“It’s so,” he answered. He had half a mind to toss the crowbar to the side, but thought about the loud clanging of metal hitting concrete and gave it a miss. Instead, he wandered over and set it down on a ledge, hearing the other guy’s question and fighting a smile.
“This your first time jackin’ a car?” he asked, solidifying his point by waving his finger in a vague circle. “’Cause it sure as shit seems like it, kid.”
In answer to the boy’s question, he simply folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. The leather of his jacket protested noisily and made Greyson realise just how long it had been since he’d actually worn it. He’d grown too used to the soft material of Rhodes’ gym shirt, but that only made him appreciate the tough leather even more.
“What’s in it for me?” he asked the boy, even though he knew the answer already. Greyson had missed the thrill of breaking the law and getting away with it. Hell, he even missed the near-misses and the actual getting caught, and a strange sense of nostalgia washed over him. Rolling his eyes and giving the boy a knowing look, he shouldered past him and peered into the window of the car, searching for the lock and realising it was a sneck one.
“You’re in luck,” he told the kid, stepping back and heaving a sigh. He hoped his year-and-a-half long break from stealing cars and driving off in them hadn’t made him rusty, but there was only one way to find out. Crouching down and unlacing his ratty boot, he loosened the whole thing and swiftly pulled his lace out from the tiny holes until he held it together in both hands.
“Watch and learn, kid,” he instructed, placing one end of the lace between his teeth while his hands worked deftly to tie a loop in the middle of it, securing it with a tight knot that he appreciated his grand total of three outings to Cub Scouts for.
“Like so, see?” he said, showing the stranger the loop before approaching the car and sliding the lace easily between the miniscule gap between the door and frame. If he’d had thicker laces like the ones in Micah’s hiking boots, then it wouldn’t work, but this had been something he’d learned a long time ago and it didn’t take him long to shimmy the lace down towards the locked sneck.
“Watch,” he told the kid, hooking the loop around the lock with a smug smile. This trick meant he was also really fucking good at winning shit on claw machines and he pushed away that familiar unwelcome sense of melancholy when he thought about all the stuffed cat toys Autumn now had in her possession because of him. This was supposed to take his mind off of that.
As soon as the loop fell onto the sneck, Greyson pulled both ends of the lace and tightened the string, pulling upwards so his trap brought the sneck up with it. Dropping the lace, Greyson pulled the handle and opened the door.
“Voila,” he muttered gruffly, clearly pleased with himself and making that clear with the exaggerated bow he gave to the onlooker.
