Hell yes.

Suddenly the knowledge of where a chop shop is that you are certain will pay you several grand for this car. Your mind seems to be firing up new pathways as knowledge fills your head. You throw the car in reverse, quickly adjust the seat, click on the seatbelt, and roar out of the parking lot. You smile as you throw it in drive and can see him in the mirror, beer in hand, as you speed away. Cruising through the night your hand slips into your purse and pulls a phone you have never seen, I mean sure you recognize a new yellow iPhone with a little phone holder thing on back, but this isn’t your phone. You hear yourself say, “Hey Siri call Eddie.”

The phone rings a few times and a gravelly voice answers, “You know you still owe me five grand bitch. I ain’t got shit for you till you pay up.”

“How much for a 18 Mazda 6 signature edition, got the keys and everything.”

There are a few moments of silence then, “Take it to the yard off 140th street.”

“That one stinks, can’t I take it up town?” You hear yourself ask.

“Bitch you are lucky you are still breathing.” He says and hangs up.

A half hour later you realize you are south of Chicago, “How the fuck?” You ask as your body keeps driving, clearly it knows where to go. You turn down a dark road and the smell of fish begins to fill your nostrils. “Fuck it does stink.” Five minutes later you pull into the back gate of an abandoned looking junkyard with a windowless office building covered in lewd graffiti. You slowly wind down a dirt path through the wreckage till you get to a rather new looking RV. As you pull up and toss the car in park the door opens and two men step out. You pop open the door and step out. Suddenly your knees shake as whatever was controlling you sets you free. You look at the men wide eyed certain you are about to be murdered.

The first looks like any other early twenties looser, dirty black jeans ride low enough that his blue striped white boxers are visible, he has brown leather shoes with no laces on his feet, and a white tank top. His hair is short but hasn’t seen a comb in years. He seems sort of handsome, kinda looks like the lead singer of any random grunge band. The second is obviously a lot older, fifty if you had to guess. He has hawk like features and a goatee with a hand rolled cigarette in his mouth and round slightly tinted glasses. He is wearing a dirty burgundy shirt under a sleeveless leather vest at least a decade old and similarly worn blue jeans with a black thin belt, very old black running shoes complete his attire.

The older man takes a long drag of his cigarette as the younger man hops in the car. The two of them inspect it for several minutes in silence while you just stand there silently begging them to say something that will make sense of all of this. You are certain that you were a man hours ago in another city having put on that stupid collar by mistake, now here you are about to be **** and murdered by a couple of hardened criminals. The older man finally looks you in the eyes and says, “Damn Max you sure do have a pair. Eddie was so sure you were going to run he told everyone to grab you on sight. Hell I heard your friend Sarah had choked you to **** and tossed you in a ravine. I think she said she caught you fucking her man.” He waits for you to say something for a few seconds, takes another drag on his cigarette, then moves on. “Right, well Eddie said if the car checked out you were even. Looks good to me. How you getting home?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You say.

“You holdin’?” He asks and glances at your purse.

You open it and discover a somewhat frighteningly large sack of little light blue pills. In a sort of stupor you pull them out. The younger guy snatches them from your hand and asks, “Damn Max where did you get those?”

“I need something to drive home and some cash Carl.” You say suddenly knowing his name somehow. “Don’t even think about stealing from me. You know I’ll fucking cut you.” A rage rises in you that definitely wasn’t there before.

Carl looks at the older man, tosses him the bag and says, “What do you think?”

He smiles wickedly, “I think I should just shoot her in the head.” He even looks like he might be reaching for a gun in his waist at the small of his back, or maybe his ass just itches.