"Hey, I'm a girl, I don't do that crashing of cars into stuff thing, y'know?"

Someone's out to get Kathy. She decides it's time to drop out of sight. A slight issue comes up...

I stopped around the block from my apartments and checked the webcams. Coast seemed clear. Nothing in range of the 'cams, anyhow. I checked my watch. Five minutes. Not enough time, hopefully, for whatever was about to happen to have arrived yet. I drove around the block and parked my Toyota in the driveway, and ran into my apartment and grabbed my go-bag, a large duffel packed for these kinds of occasions, then ran out. And stopped short, looking at my Toyota.

Hell, what if they'd already bugged my Toyota?

I was pretty sure my apartment wasn't bugged. Not by anybody except an inept FBI agent over a year ago, and those bugs had already quietly died as their batteries expired and the FBI lost interest in listening to irate tenants whine about how their faucet was dripping or those kids were playing their stereo too loud in the parking lot. But my Toyota? It lived out in the open. Shit.

I looked around for a solution, and I saw it.

I jogged over to where Jose Mendeles was caressing his classic Impala with a dust mop. "Yo! Jose! I need to borrow your wheels for a couple days."

His jaw dropped. "Wha? No way!"

"I'll let you borrow my Toyota. A month's free rent! All I need it for is a couple days, I need to do some stuff my Toyota won't do. I won't hurt it, I promise. Hey, I'm a girl, I don't do that crashing cars into stuff thing, y'know?"

"A month's free rent?"

"Yeah. For two days use of your car. Three, max. And you get the keys to my Toyota. Hey, c'mon, think how proud your grandma will be. A whole month's rent!"

"Okay, but..."

"Thanks! Gotta go. Here's the keys to my Toy. Where's the keys to Critter? Oh, there they are, in the ignition, of course. Thanks!" I tossed my keys to him. As he caught them I shoved past him, tossed my duffel in through the back window, and jumped into the front seat, reaching down and hauling it close enough for me to reach the pedals as I turned the ignition key. Critter started up with 454 cubic inches of Detroit madness rumbling under its hood, and I jammed the automatic tranny into reverse and hit the gas pedal. Hmm. Bad move. Tires screeching. 400 horsepower tend to do that. Oops! Jose was yelling something at me, but I was trying to avoid hitting a car that was turning into the parking lot. I jammed the transmission into drive, and headed out the other entrance of the parking lot, hitting the buttons to roll up the very illegal tinted windows on this beast, and bounced out onto the avenue, barely missing an Accord in the other lane as I wheeled the big steering wheel wildly trying to get the barge to turn. Hmm, note to self -- a classic Impala doesn't turn corners as sharply as my Toyota. I glanced backward and Jose had run to the corner and was shaking his fist at me. I hit the gas pedal and moved.

Moral of story: well, I guess there isn't one.

PS: Jose's car comes out fine. It woulda been a nice cheap stunt to crash the car, but she ends up abandoning it in a shopping center parking lot and paying cash for a used Nissan being sold by a private party, because a classic Impala just sticks out too much. Her Toyota, alas, does not turn out so well -- Jose barely avoids getting crispy when he goes to start the thing the next day.