The Sourdough Wars

this car right now.”
    Instead he turned back onto Third and once again gunned it. Now we were going about a hundred and ten. He hit the horn and cars started falling all over themselves to get out of the way. If we didn’t get in a fatal crash, my mother really was going to kill me, but the truth of the matter was, it was fun. Really a lot of fun.
    I said, “Wheeeeee!” and Rob laughed.
    “Hang in there, kid,” he said.
    I was hanging and he was laughing and we were generally having the times of our lives when we heard the crash. I looked around and saw the cop car stopped, spun around at an intersection, its back end crumpled. Another car was stopped there, too, and there was broken glass all over the street. Suddenly it wasn’t fun anymore.
    Rob turned off Third quickly and stopped as soon as he could. He was shaking. I felt awful. We’d done an unbelievably stupid thing and somebody might have gotten hurt on account of it. At the very least, there was property damage. Rob said, “Think they got our license number?”
    “I don’t see how they could have. They were never close enough.”
    “So if we turn on the lights, we’re just an ordinary white Toyota with two respectable citizens in it. ‘Yes, Officer, we did see a crazy driver with his lights off. He went that away.’ ”
    “I don’t think it’s funny anymore.”
    “Hey. Neither do I. But we can either give ourselves up or we can think of a way out of this.”
    I didn’t say anything. Rob flipped on his lights and turned onto Army Street, heading west toward the freeway. There were lots of other cars here, some of them white Toyotas. Probably this was the most sensible course. Rob had broken about a million traffic laws, had caused an accident, and might be in any amount of trouble if we turned ourselves in. On the other hand, I was an officer of the court. I myself had been an accomplice to his crimes, and now I was condoning further law breaking. What kind of hypocrite was I?
    Suddenly I remembered how I met Rob. It was during distressing events that occurred after I agreed to help out a friend by playing the piano in a bordello. Sometimes I had lousy judgment; that was one of them, and so was this. I’d not only been Rob’s accomplice, but had also enjoyed that stupid chase. If I didn’t learn to curb my impulses, I was going to get disbarred.
    Disbarred? Help!
    “We shouldn’t have done that,” I said.
    “You were the one who said, ‘Wheeee!’ ”
    I sighed. There was just no point in arguing, because I couldn’t win—I was as guilty as he was and I knew it. I put my hand on his knee. “Sorry, pussycat,” I said, “But, maybe, you know, out of respect for my job and everything, do you think we could stay within the law from now on?”
    He smiled and held my hand for a minute. “I think we should try, anyway.”
    “Good. I want to go to bed. Could we do that next?”
    “Second to next.”
    “Huh?”
    “What would you do if you were a burglar who was interrupted on his rounds and being pursued by a car full of good guys when suddenly the police started chasing the good guys?”
    “Aha! Go back and burgle away.”
    Rob turned onto the freeway. “So let’s see if we get another crack at him.”
    I guess I should have said we should call the police and let them take care of it. But half an hour ago, I’d wanted to catch that burglar in the worst way, and now the feeling was coming back. I decided not to think about the cops anymore. Rob was driving the car; I’d just let him drive it.
    Once again, we parked down the street and sneaked up on fog feet. It was quiet in front of the warehouse, or almost quiet. I thought I heard a faint thumping, and shushed Rob. He didn’t hear it.
    We’d started to go around the back when he stopped and shushed me. We stood there, silent for a long time, until both of us were sure. It was very faint, but there was a thumping coming from inside the building. An erratic thumping that wasn’t coming from machinery unless it was badly malfunctioning.
    “Let’s call the police,” I said.
    Rob nodded.
    But as we walked back to the front of the warehouse, I couldn’t resist trying to get a look inside. There were some first-floor windows, but they were dark. I looked in them anyway, getting no reward for my trouble. Then I tried the door. It opened. Just like that, nothing to it. The thumping got loud and another sound joined it—something along the lines of “mmmmmf.”
    I groped