Escape Artist

by William A. Noguera

  “I gotta help them out. We’re working on that grey vert.” Adrian and I spent the next few hours together until I had to get to the studio to work out. He drove me home.

  “How are you getting to school tomorrow?”

  “Probably walking. My car’s not running.”

  “I’ll pick you up at around seven forty-five.”

  “Cool, thanks. See you tomorrow.”

  For the next two weeks Adrian picked me up for school and, after hanging out for a while after school, dropped me off.

  When I saved enough to buy my fuel pump I put it in, but I didn’t want to drive my car. I told Adrian I needed a new job so I could afford a car like his. I also asked him again what he did and if maybe there was a job opening where he worked. He smiled again and said, “Maybe. We’ll check it out.”

  Another month of the same routine passed before Adrian showed up at my house driving his sister’s BMW 320i and asked, “You want to work with me?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Yes.”

  “Get in. We need to talk.”

  I got in and we drove to a warehouse in Montebello. As soon as the car stopped I opened the door to get out, but he stopped me.

  “Wait up. I need to talk to you. This isn’t a regular job and I need to know you can keep your mouth shut. This isn’t a game and the guys inside are serious as a heart attack.”

  He looked straight at me and I could tell he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea.

  “Listen, we’ve been hanging around with each other for a couple of months, and at first I thought you had some killer job that paid well, but since you never went to work I figured you probably were doing something like selling drugs. And since you always have good weed, it fit. Whatever you’re doing is safe with me. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Right on, but just so you know. I’m not a drug dealer. I do changeovers on cars.”

  “You do what?”

  “You’ll see. Let’s go.”

  We went to the front of the warehouse and he knocked on the small door. A few seconds later Francis opened it and seemed surprised to see me, but then smiled and let us in. Working on a car inside were three guys I’d seen at Adrian’s house, plus one more I’d never seen.

  “Francis, Adrian, we need help lifting the shell. The new pan is ready,” Julian said.

  Everyone there grabbed a corner of the car by the bumpers. Francis got inside the car with a box cutter and Adrian walked over and stood next to what I assumed was the new pan, which was the underbelly of the car. Except it already had the front end, transmission, and Porsche alloy wheels. All at once, they lifted the body/shell off its original pan. As soon as they did, Francis cut the carpet, which was still attached and wouldn’t allow the body to be lifted off its pan. Once that was done, they carried the body over and set it down on the new pan. Adrian lined it up as it was put in place and they started bolting it down. Adrian and Julian went off by the door to talk. I knew it was probably about me, so I waited.

  “Hey Bill, grab me that torque wrench sitting next to my tool box,” said Francis. “This baby doll is clean, huh?”

  “Yeah, what is it, a ’60?”

  “’58 European convertible. It’s Marco’s, and when he pops out with it, everybody’s going to eat cheese,” he laughed. “Hey Marco, this is Bill. He’s the one we were telling you about.”

  “What’s the word, Bill? How do you like my new ride?”

  “She’s clean. What size motor are you going to run in it?”

  He smiled at me. “It’s a secret, but it’s big and will blow the doors off anything around.”

  I imagined how the car would look when it was completely done, and I envied Marco. I wanted to be a part of that and have a car like his. I was still unsure exactly what was going on, but I wanted in.

  Francis jumped into the ’58 and sat on the floor where the driver’s seat should be, his hands on the steering wheel and his head barely visible.

  “Hey Marco, Darque Knights down. Everybody eats cheese,” Francis yelled as he laughed.

  Francis was always laughing or playing around, even in class. If I’d look at him, he’d smile so everyone knew he was up to something.

  I watched Marco and Francis work until Adrian and Julian came back from their talk.

  “Hey Bill, check it out. Adrian tells me you’re cool and can keep your mouth shut. This is a serious deal and none of us want to get busted. If you want to back out, tell me now and there’s no hard feelings. But if you decide to stay and we let you know what’s up, we expect your loyalty and help,” Julian said.

  “I understand. I may not know exactly what’s going on, but I have a good idea. Seriously, I thought you guys were dealing drugs and that’s how you could afford your rides. Either way, I’m not going to say shit. I want in.”

  “Here’s the deal. This ’58 is stolen. We took it last night from San Diego and drove it back. Now it’s Marco’s because he bought a wrecked ’58 for one hundred fifty dollars. We unbolted the wrecked body and prepared the pan for the ’58 we stole. Once we got it, we unbolted it from its original pan where the serial numbers are and placed it on this one, which Marco owns and will register. The only other numbers on the body are in the form of a small plate under the front hood behind where the spare tire goes. Here, I’ll show you.”

  We walked over and he lifted the hood.

  “See that plate? Watch.”

  He got a screwdriver and broke the rivets holding it in place, then pulled another plate from his shirt pocket and Adrian handed him a rivet gun, which he used to rivet the new plate where the old one had been.

  “Mission accomplished. This is now Marco’s new ride. All we have to do now is finish bolting it down, connect all the wiring, put in the motor, and he’ll pop out tomorrow night. We’re all going to the boulevard.”

  “Let me get this straight. This bad-ass ride cost Marco a hundred fifty bucks? No shit.”

  Luis and Ruben came over to where we stood.

  “Órale, Bill, it’s all about the Darque Knights. We’re now ten strong, and if you put one together, we’ll be eleven,” said Ruben.

  We all shook hands. “Yeah, I’m in.”

  My thoughts were going a hundred miles an hour and I was smiling ear to ear. For the rest of the day, I helped them put the ’58 together. By four that afternoon it was done, and I told Adrian I had to get to the studio to train and he drove me home.

  The next morning after my run, Adrian picked me up and we went back to help put in the motor and get it ready for the boulevard that night. I barely slept, I was so excited. I kept thinking of the car I wanted for myself and how I could get the money I needed. The first thing I’d do was sell my car. I knew a guy who wanted to buy it but didn’t have a lot of money. I would take what he had. The important thing would be to get started, and to do that I needed cash.

  As we put the motor in and got everything put together, I realized that, although all of them knew a lot about Volkswagens, they didn’t know much of anything about the motors and transmissions. They referred to a built motor as “big,” but they didn’t know the size of the crank, pistons, or cam it had. They could take a motor out and put it in with their eyes closed, but the inner workings of the engine and transmission were foreign to them.

  By 11:30 a.m. it was done and Marco got inside and turned the key and the motor came to life with a roar. He was right. The motor was big. It had dual Weber 48 IDA carburetors and its response to the accelerator was immediate.

  “Get in, Bill. Let’s take a spin.”

  As soon as we hit the street, he opened it up and I could tell the work done to the engine was extreme and done right. I couldn’t believe the car cost him under $200.

  We drove around the block a couple of times and then came back to the warehouse, where we sat around drinking beer, smoking weed, and talking about stealing cars and how it was done the fastest. I learned the easiest way to get in was by popping out the back quarter window o
n the driver’s side and then reaching in and opening the door by hand. One way to start it was to connect a wire with two roach clips on each end to the first and last fuse in the fuse box right under the dashboard on the driver’s side. Luis pulled a pair from his pocket and handed them to me. We went to his car and he showed me how to do it. As soon as I placed the roach clips on the fuses, the lights on the dashboard came on.

  “See those lights? All you have to do is push the car while it’s in neutral, jump in, put it in second and pop the clutch, and it’ll start. That’s one way. Another is to open the front trunk. Here, I’ll show you.”

  He opened the front trunk of his car and showed me the back of the ignition. There were three wires attached to it.

  “Pull the wires out and touch them together and the car will start. Then let go of the bottom wire and roach-clip the remaining two together and the car will stay on. I can break into any car in less than fifteen seconds and start it in even less than that.”

  I listened to everything he said and drank it in. I wanted to know everything he knew and I was dying to try it all out.

  That night, before we went to the boulevard, I called the guy I knew was interested in my car and made a deal to sell it to him. I needed quick cash, so I sold it for $1,000. The guy could hardly believe it and became suspicious something was wrong with it. But after driving and testing it out, the deal was made.

  When the guys arrived at my house, they made a grand entrance. All ten of the club’s members showed up and lined my street with their cars. You could hear them coming because their stereo systems were all playing the same song, and I swear I felt like royalty. I got in Adrian’s car and we took off with Julian in the lead. It was a caravan of the baddest cars I had ever seen, and I was with them. I was a member of the Darque Knights.

  From the start, I saw the type of reception we got from everyone at the boulevard where we cruised as well as in the parking lot where we stopped and many other car clubs were parked. Later, when we went to a dance club, the reception was the same. Everyone wanted to be around us. Guys wanted to be seen with us, and girls wanted to be with us. It was like we were some kind of celebrities. I watched it all with morbid fascination, and it was with this insight that I saw it. Most of the guys who seemed to be friendly at first glance, when observed closely, were actually envious and hated every one of us.

  It wasn’t just because of the cars, either. It was everything. From walking into the club without paying or waiting in line, to the way women responded to us. I say us because I had become one of them, but I could tell it was something that had been going on for a long time. The Darque Knights were all pretty boys. At least that’s how I heard someone refer to us. We’d all been hand-picked, as Adrian later explained, to represent a certain idea, look, and concept.

  Who were the Darque Knights? You had to be Hispanic, from the La Puente area, have a certain look, your car had to be a 1967 or older and stolen (change-over). Your car and you had to represent the club at all times, and above all else our business was ours and we stuck together. At least that’s what the rules were. Later, I learned the rule above all others would be to watch your own back and trust no one.

  For the next few days, Adrian and I planned everything about what my car would look like and where to look for it. The plan was to steal an original car, then steal a fixed up California-style one with the rims, engine, stereo, and everything I wanted, and then put those parts on my original car. If you planned it carefully, it would only take two cars.

  I had found a wrecked ’63 Volkswagen on a lot in Covina and bought it for $130. I had put it in a small warehouse in La Puente, about a mile from my house, that I’d rented for three days. That day, I unbolted the wrecked body and cleaned and prepared the pan for its new body. Once that was done, Adrian and I took his sister’s car and went out looking for a clean ’63, and another car that had all the parts I wanted. I was nervous. Not about stealing a car, but about making the deadline of three days to find the cars and put mine together. We drove to Pasadena because Adrian said he heard of a clean ’63 sedan in an apartment complex, but assured me we’d find our mark even if the first one wasn’t there. It was 9:45 p.m. when we got off the 210 Freeway in Pasadena.

  “Let’s stop at In-N-Out Burger and get something to eat. It’s early and I’m fuckin’ hungry,” said Adrian.

  “Yeah, me too. But I want to see if that ’63 is there first, then go eat and come back and get it. I don’t want to waste time if that ride’s not there. I only have that place for three days and I want to make it count.”

  “Let’s go check it out. It’s only a few miles up the road.”

  Arriving at the apartment complex, we first checked the street for it in case it was parked outside, then we drove into the underground parking lot.

  “Stop. Back up,” I said. He put the car in reverse and eased back until I could see the red VW. We parked and got out, but even before we were fifteen yards away, I knew I wasn’t interested. It was a ’63 sedan. It was clean, but not to the level of perfection the rest of the club’s cars were.

  “Let’s split. I don’t want it. We’ll have to keep looking. Know of any other ones?”

  “Yeah, but they’re in Orange County. Let’s go eat and I’ll call Francis and see if he’ll give up some of his secrets. He has a list of cars and where they are.”

  As I got into the car, the sound of tires got my attention. I could hear the engine and the distinct sound of stock Tweety Bird mufflers of older Volkswagens. I saw the headlights first as it turned the corner of the parking lot and came toward us. It was a ’63 and it was also red. But the difference between it and the one we first saw was obvious even as it drove by and parked a few spaces away.

  The ’63 was perfect and fully restored. We waited a few minutes and then went to take a look at it. Even up close, the car looked as if it had just come off the showroom floor in 1963.

  “Man, she’s clean as fuck. What do you think?”

  I nodded, but could barely hear Adrian. My mind was racing. My heart pounded in my chest and my eyes were locked on the ’63. My focus was absolute. I reached out and touched the door handle and when I pressed it, it clicked open. I didn’t bother to look around. I got in the driver’s seat and pulled my roach clips and wire out and placed them on the first and last fuse. The dash lights came on.

  “It’s too early, Bill. We’ll come back later.”

  “I got this. Later might be too late. I don’t think it lives here.”

  Putting the ’63 in neutral, I backed up. When he saw what I was doing, Adrian helped. As soon as we got it out of the parking space, we pushed it forward and, as it picked up speed, I jumped in, threw it into second, and popped the clutch. It started immediately. I didn’t bother to look back at Adrian. I drove out of the apartment complex and in the direction of the warehouse. My heart pounded in my chest and ears. The adrenaline pumping through my veins was off the charts. To be perfectly candid, I loved it. I grew addicted to it and would later start to seek it out as if it were a drug.

  Arriving at the warehouse, I drove it into the space next to the pan I had readied and got out. Even under the lights of the warehouse, it was perfect. Adrian arrived and walked in.

  “Damn. You’re crazy as fuck, but this baby doll is clean,” laughed Adrian. “When I saw the dash lights come on and saw you were going to take it, I freaked. I couldn’t believe you had the balls for it.” He shook my hand. “You’re down, ese.”

  “Let’s call Francis. I want to know if he knows where any rides are with alloys and a big motor. I want to get it tonight so we can start by tomorrow.”

  We closed the warehouse and went to a phone booth and dialed Francis’s number.

  “What’s up, Francis? I’m with Bill, we just got his ’63. Yeah, it’s clean. Hey, do you know where any big motors are?”

  Adrian turned to me. “He knows where a few are, but wants to come with us.”

  “Tell him to get ready. Let’s
do this,” I said.

  We picked up Francis and he told us of at least four rides in Orange County that he described as “white boy fast with alloys.”

  Most of the guys in the club referred to fast rides as white boy fast, because, according to them, white guys always worried about the speed of their cars rather than how they looked. Therefore, their engines and transmissions were almost always built right and were fast.

  We drove to Newport Beach and, just as Francis said, we found four rides within a mile of each other. We took a close look at all of them and all four of them had duel carbs and alloy wheels, but just one of them was complete. It had everything I wanted. It was a white ’67 sun roof sedan with fully polished Porsche alloy wheels and Ricardo seats. It was close to show condition.

  I decided I’d take it, but because Francis found it, a fee or tribute would have to be made to him. At first I thought he was joking, but Adrian explained it was always like that with us, and Francis usually went out twice a week just to scope for rides so he’d know where they were and get a finder’s fee.

  “What do you want?” I said.

  “Not much.” And in his best Godfather voice said, “I just want to wet my beak, that’s all,” then laughed. “Listen, Bill, I know you need the motor, trans, wheels, and stereo, so how about you give me them two Ricardo seats and we’ll be even. Deal?”

  “Let’s do this.”

  It was close to midnight and raining lightly. The car was parked next to an Aston Martin, and I stuck my flat screwdriver under the corner of the back quarter window and popped the entire window out, then reached in and pulled the handle, opening the door. I got in and opened the passenger side door for Francis, putting the car in neutral. I released the emergency brake and backed it out of the driveway, pausing only to look around and listen. I pushed the car forward and down the street. I didn’t want to start it there because the sound of the engine would wake its owner. Halfway down the block I got inside as Francis pushed and placed my clips in the fuse box and popped the clutch. The engine roared to life. Francis jumped in. “Let’s go.”