HOT-WIRING THE old Jag was the easy part — just couldn’t work the tricky shift and clutch pedal to keep it in reverse, let alone drive the muthafuggah away. He knew he had to get out of there fast, so it was better to switch over to the gold SUV, even though he really wanted that cherry sports car to tool around in for a couple of hours.
The 69 year-old woman heard the commotion from inside her home, but had no idea of what it could be. When she went out the garage door, she could see something odd going on at her neighbor’s house next door. That’s when she saw a strange black man climbing out of the vintage Jaguar George Taylor owned, and striding her way.
It dawned on her that maybe she should just call the police. But before she could turn around and go back into the house to get to her phone, she saw the savage-looking black raising something up he had down next to his leg.
Susan Choucroun probably had no idea what hit her. The thin, elderly woman took the 12 gauge shotgun blast right to the chest. More than likely, it was double aught buck — nine round lead balls, each about a third of an inch in diameter; the 12,000 PSI force of the magnum shot shell at such close range slammed her straight down into the hard cement of the driveway. If not already, she would be dead in moments as the bright red, freshly oxygenated and frothy blood from her lungs rhythmically welled up into the pastel blouse she put on to meet her husband for lunch.