Please visit my official website (www.geocities.com/samuelstrevor/index), or my MySpace page (www.myspace.com/trevorsamuels) for full details on my Trevor Samuels Mystery series.
My novels are unique in that reader participation is encouraged and appreciated! There is a question at the end of each novel, and only you, the reader, can decide whether or not a character or team of characters make it into a subsequent volume! Please visit my official website for full details.
The first couple of chapters of the second volume, “PAIN,” are included below.
The first few chapters from the first novel in the series, “The Back of My Mind,” are in my first blog entry.
Further chapters from both novels are on my website.
I hope you enjoy my tale! Feel free to leave me any comments you may have, they are always appreciated!
Steve
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PAIN. Copyright © 2008 by Steven Payette. All rights reserved. Printed in Canada.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without the express written permission of the author.
He wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. He’d been doing so every few seconds since he started this journey. The adrenaline rush he was currently experiencing caused his blood pressure to soar, not to mention his over-active sweat glands.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror every few seconds. The coast was still clear. He’s traveling at a constant speed of 120 MP/H, as this is the maximum allowed by the car. The engine came equipped with a speed governor that prohibited it from going any faster.
The driver didn’t know where he was going, he only knew he had to get out of town as quickly as possible. The plans he’d made had gone horribly wrong, and he knew they were after him.
He smelled the pungent aroma of his own sweat and wiped his forehead for the twentieth time. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror as he looked for his pursuer, and he didn’t recognize the eyes that were starring back at him. They were the eyes of a wild man, not those of a simple man who had gotten into something that had spun out of control remarkably fast.
He wasn’t sure what had caused his plan to so wrong, so quickly, and he didn’t have time to think about it now. He had to concentrate on the road ahead, especially at the high rate of speed he was traveling. He knew the highway on-ramp was approaching, and the panic he was feeling subsided slightly.
He knew he could make a clean getaway if he made it to the highway, but another quick look in the rear-view mirror brought him back to a full panic. Two headlights appeared in the distance behind him, and they were getting closer as the seconds ticked by.
He initially thought he had looked back at the road ahead of him in the nick of time, but that thought proved to be wrong. He had only one thought race through his mind as he and the metal armor that surrounded him went airborne.
Here comes the pain!
CADILLAC MAN
Martin looked in his rear-view mirror every few seconds. He knew what was coming. He sat in his late model Honda Civic in bumper-to-bumper traffic, just waiting for “The Hit”. He dreaded the actual collision, as you never knew what to expect. The outcome, however, was gravy.
He was starting to get antsy. He had always been an anxious person, but he was especially anxious now. There’s no way Sharon could hit him from behind in this traffic; it wasn’t moving more than a couple of inches every few minutes. He made a mental note not to plan an accident during rush hour again. The extreme humidity of the day didn’t help ease his discomfort, it was almost 95 degrees and his car didn’t have air conditioning.
After what seemed like an eternity, the traffic finally started to move. He turned on his left turn signal indicator and eased into the fast lane. It was smooth sailing as soon as he got passed the exits to the suburbs. He finally got to 62 MP/H, the legal cruising speed. He looked in the rear-view mirror and spotted the familiar beige Pontiac Parisienne a few car lengths behind him. He also spotted his own blood-shot, brown eyes. He hadn’t slept the night before and it showed. The black bags under his forty-two-year-old eyes told the tale. He was convinced he would’ve had a full head of gray hair by now. That is, if he had hair.
He wished he had a larger car; it wasn’t comfortable driving a Civic when you were 6′4 and 240 pounds. He shifted in his seat, preparing for impact. He only hoped Sharon didn’t get over-zealous and hit him too hard. A real injury was not in his plans. He glanced in his rear-view mirror just as Sharon changed lanes. She was now right
behind him. He shifted in his seat again. He could only think of the money. He often fantasized about lying on a beach in Mexico, soaking up the sun for days on end. Not a care in the world, just living a lazy lifestyle that many people would envy. And it would all be courtesy of Sharon’s insurance company. After all, insurance companies have all the money in the world.
The traffic was getting congested again. He was slowing to a crawl behind a huge yellow Hummer when panic began to set in. He didn’t want Sharon to hit him now. He would get pushed underneath the Hummer and be seriously hurt. But there was no way to stop her. He looked in his rear-view mirror again. The Pontiac was barreling toward him…she was going too fast. He closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel very tightly.
You usually hear tires screech before the distinct metal-on-metal sound that comes with a car accident, but not this time. The last thing Martin saw was the Hummer’s rear bumper, up close and personal.
There’s nothing quite like the sight of a well-maintained car. The chrome glistening, the paint waxed to a glaring shine, the windows so clean you can see your reflection perfectly.
Some people couldn’t care less about their cars. They spend upwards of $40,000 for a new vehicle, and don’t take care of it. They’d change the oil once a year, if that often. A lot of people didn’t take their car in for recommended maintenance, but rather only when it brakes down. They’re forced to visit the service department of their local dealership when that happens. Would you spend thousand of dollars on something and not take care of it? Bryce Holmes certainly wouldn’t.
Bryce was thankful for what he had. He was neither a wealthy nor complicated man, he led a simple life. He’s been a librarian for more years than he cared to remember. You’d think he’d become bored, what with doing the same job day after day, year after year. But not Bryce, he loved every minute of every day he spent surrounded by the stacks. He’d always been a junky for the written word, ever since his mother started reading Dr. Seuss books to him every night before bed. He loved to escape into fantasy worlds. One day he would fly into outer space on a shuttle, and the next he would chase bank robbers through Times Square. Bryce had a talent; when he read books, he actually thought he was one of the characters. That’s how involved he got with whatever book he happened to be reading. You could yell at him, poke him, and even hit him. If he were reading, you’d never get his attention.
Bryce didn’t fit the “book worm” persona. He didn’t wear dated clothing, he didn’t part his hair in a nerdy sort of way, and he didn’t wear thick glasses. The ladies around the library fancied him quite the catch, though they had never told him as much. He looked much younger than his 45 years of age. He had yet to grow a gray hair, and he kept his golden locks shoulder-length, straight as an arrow. His piercing blue eyes coupled with his muscular 6′2 frame set the ladies a-quiver. Oddly enough, he had never worked-out with weights; his rugged physique came naturally.
Bryce cherished his possessions; he had worked hard for them, and didn’t take them for granted. A life-long bachelor, he lived in a small one-bedroom apartment a few blocks from the library. His tastes were simple. He bought most of his furniture and clothing from Wal-Mart. Nothing fancy or extravagant, just your average, run-of-the-mill wares. In fact, besides books, Bryce only had one other passion.
Cadillac’s. He adored Cadillac’s. Actually, adored isn’t a big enough word. Every time he saw a Cadillac, he studied it thoroughly. He’d walk right up to it, no matter where it was parked. It could be in someone’s garage and, if the door were open, he’d wander in. He’d run his hand along the smooth lines of the car; admire the distinct shape and hood ornament that adorned the majority of them. He’d gaze through the windows just to see if it had brougham or leather interior, and what color. He was also an authority on the Cadillac brand. He knew all the years of production for each model, the engine specifications, curb weight, length of each model, etc.
If there was one model of Cadillac that Bryce was partial too, it was the Eldorado. He always said the Eldorado was different from all other Cadillac’s. Only available in a two-door model, its body style appealed to him the best. It wasn’t as “rectangular” as a Deville, and wasn’t as “square” as a Seville. It wasn’t sporty like the Allante, nor did it resemble any other cars like the Cimarron (which looked like a Chev Cavalier). No, the Eldorado was unique. Bryce couldn’t put his finger on what it was about the Eldorado that appealed to him so; he just loved the whole package. He was in tears when Cadillac dropped the Eldorado from its line. He couldn’t fathom how they could even consider dropping such a stylish, classy vehicle. He wrote to General Motors asking them just that. He never got a reply.
Limited production runs of the Eldorado caused an inflated price. But then, all Cadillac’s held huge price tags. Bryce had always dreamed of owning an Eldorado, but on his salary, he thought a dream was all it would ever be. That is, until he met Charlie Taft.
Charlie was a retired engineer who had spent fifty years working for the Federal Government. He was a widower with no children, and his health was failing. He decided
to put his affairs in order and, of utmost priority, was finding a new owner for his maroon 1999 Cadillac Eldorado Touring Coupe (ETC for short).
Charlie bought the car brand new in 1998. He saw it sitting on a rotating platform in one of the local GM dealerships and, as soon as he saw it, he knew he couldn’t live without it. He strutted up to the first salesman he saw and asked him “How much?” while pointing toward the car. The salesman snickered and whispered the price in his ear. Charlie only uttered one word…”Sold”. The salesman’s face dropped in surprise; I guess he hadn’t noticed the sparkle in Charlie’s eye when he looked at the car.
Fast-forward almost ten years. Charlie had about six months to live thanks to pancreatic cancer. He got tears in his eyes at the mere thought of selling his ETC, but he wanted to make sure the “right” buyer purchased it. He didn’t want some teenage kid ruining his baby, nor did he want someone who didn’t appreciate the uniqueness of his classic automobile. No, he wanted someone like himself to have the car. A person who fell in love with it at first sight, who felt they couldn’t live without it.
Bryce was flipping through the newspaper classifieds one day, not looking for anything in particular, just browsing. His eyes happened to catch an ad, and he sat bolt upright in his chair in the library’s lunchroom:
FOR SALE: 1999 Cadillac Eldorado, pristine condition, never winter driven, 50,000 original miles, one non-smoking owner. Car is fully loaded and all options are functioning. Original manual, warranty papers, bill of sale, and service records are included, as is the safety certificate. Serious offers only! Please call Charlie at 555-9376 for an appointment.
Bryce knew he couldn’t afford to buy the car, but the fact that no asking price was listed piqued his curiosity. What’s the worst that could happen? The guy wouldn’t let him drive the car? He was okay with that, he’d be happy just to look at it.
Bryce could barely hold in his excitement as he rode the bus to the other side of town. He called Charlie two minutes after he’d finished reading the ad. Bryce had told him about seeing the ad, and asked when he could see the car. Charlie sounded hesitant on the phone, but told him he could go over around 6:00 that evening. Charlie recited his address, and Bryce assured him he’d be there at 6:00, not a minute later.
Bryce began to walk up Charlie’s very long driveway at 5:58. The doors were shut on the bays of the triple car garage, so Bryce rang the front doorbell. A slender, white haired man of seventy answered the door. He looked somewhat frail, but then so
did many other Cadillac owners. Cadillac’s are usually the car of choice for the older generation.
“Hello, sir. I’m hear to see Charlie,” Bryce stammered.
“You’re looking at him,” Charlie replied.
“Hi, I’m Bryce Holmes. We spoke on the phone earlier about the Eldorado for sale.”
Charlie gave him the once-over, and then looked him in the eye.
“You’re quite the clean-cut young man. What do you do for a living?” Charlie asked.
Bryce looked down at himself before answering.
“I’m a librarian, sir,” he replied.
“Do librarians earn a healthy wage?”
“Uh, no, they don’t. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to see an Eldorado! They’re so rare, I think the Allante is the only other Cadillac you rarely see on the road.”
Charlie turned his head slightly, but never lost eye contact with Bryce.
“You know a lot about Cadillac’s, do you?” Charlie asked.
Bryce then went on a five-minute tear about the luxury brand, starting in the early years of production, and ending with the present models. He was just excited to have an audience to listen to him. When he finished speaking, Charlie smiled, grabbed a set of keys off his foyer table, and said, “Follow me”.
They stood outside the first garage bay. Charlie pointed a remote control at the door and pushed a button. The garage door slowly began to rise.
“Oh my god!” Bryce said with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “It’s an ETC! And with a Northstar V8 to boot!”
Charlie didn’t know how Bryce knew it was that particular model, nor did he know how Bryce knew it had the Northstar engine, but he was impressed…very impressed.
“You certainly know a lot about Cadillac’s, especially the Eldorado,” Charlie said.
That statement set Bryce off on another spiel, this one a ten-minute lecture on the Northstar engine, how it could be driven 50 miles with no coolant, etc. Then he went on about the body style; how it was a far more “aggressive” package than that offered by the older models, and how it was originally marketed toward the younger generation. He even quoted the old slogan, “Once, buying a Cadillac meant you were too old for anything else. Not anymore.”
Charlie watched as Bryce walked slowly around the car, taking it all in. How lovingly he ran his hand along the side of the car, reached through the open window and felt the headrest, gently touched the taillights. From that moment on, Charlie knew he had found the next owner of his baby.
“I’ll tell you what…Bryce was it?” Charlie asked.
“Yes, sir,” Bryce replied, never taking his eyes off the car.
“Why don’t you take her for a drive, and if you’re still interested, we’ll talk when you get back.”
Bryce just stared at him with his mouth hanging open. He wasn’t sure he’d heard Charlie correctly.
“I can drive the car?”
Chuckling, Charlie replied, “Yes, Bryce, you can drive the car.”
Bryce was in seventh heaven. He drove the rich maroon dream at a steady 20 MP/H along the side streets in the neighborhood. He couldn’t remember ever experiencing a happier moment. He cautiously turned back into Charlie’s driveway, and pulled the car into the garage ten minutes after he had left it. He wanted to drive forever, but he didn’t want Charlie to think he was taking advantage of his good nature. Charlie was standing by the garage when Bryce was getting out of the car.
“So, how was she?” Charlie asked.
“She drove like a dream, sir,” Bryce replied as he handed the keys back to Charlie.
“So would you like to make me an offer?”
Bryce’s smile faded, and he looked as though a cloud was hanging over him.
“Uhm…I don’t think I can afford this car, sir,” Bryce said. “Don’t get me wrong, I love everything about it. I’ve always dreamed of having a car like this one, but like I said, my salary is not what you would call…generous.”
Now it was Charlie’s turn to smile.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. Make me an offer, and don’t worry about insulting me, you won’t. In this world, some people have money and some don’t, that’s just the way it is.”
“I don’t think I can afford to pay you what it’s worth, sir.”
“I didn’t ask you what it’s worth; I asked you to make me an offer. Do you want the car?”
“More than anything.”
“All right then, make me an offer.”
Bryce shuffled nervously, shifting his weight from one side of his body to the next. He didn’t know what to say. Finally, he decided to offer what he could.
“Five thousand dollars?” He asked sheepishly while looking at the ground in front of Charlie.
“Sold. Drop by tomorrow evening if you like. I’ll have all the papers ready for you, and she’ll be washed and ready to go. Make sure you bring your own plates,” Charlie said.
The feeling that coursed through Bryce at that moment could never be put into words. Joy wasn’t a big enough word, not nearly big enough. I thought he was going to hug and kiss Charlie right there in the driveway.
Bryce rang Charlie’s doorbell at precisely 6:00 the next night; five thousand dollars in cash was tucked in the envelope he held firmly in his hand. He hadn’t stopped smiling since 6:00 the previous night. He couldn’t even sleep last night, he was too excited.
Bryce and Charlie reviewed the paperwork, Bryce gave him the cash, and Charlie signed over the ownership and gave him all the paperwork he had promised in the ad. They shook hands and Charlie watched his baby as it disappeared down his driveway. It was only the second time he’d ever seen the car being driven by someone else. The first time was the night before. He shed a few tears that evening as he reminisced about all the pleasant memories he had had with the car. He hadn’t realized until that moment how many memories there were in the back of his mind.
Bryce felt like the happiest man alive, and, in fact, he was. For a few days anyway.
WAYNE
Piece of cake. That’s what Wayne was thinking as he surveyed the street. It was 3:00 a.m. on this humid summer day. His T-shirt was drenched with perspiration, and it hung on his gangly torso as if he’d been caught in a rainstorm. His long brown hair was matted to his skull as well. There wasn’t a sound to be heard on this typical suburban street; everyone was asleep at this hour. His target was parked directly across from the immense tree he was hiding behind, with his hammer in hand. An onyx black 2002 Cadillac Seville STS.
He had staked out the house for a week, watching the owner leave precisely at 8:00 every weekday morning. He also returned each weekday between 5:00 and 6:00 p.m., 5:00 if he didn’t have any errands to run. He appeared to live alone in the modest two-story Colonial he was currently eyeballing. He obviously didn’t spend a lot of money on his house; it had a “run-down” appearance. The front lawn looked as though it hadn’t been cut in weeks, and the eaves troughs looked as if they would fall to the ground when hit by the slightest breeze. He obviously spent his money elsewhere, like on the
black beauty in his driveway. And what a beauty it was! She sparkled in the early morning light, almost as if glitter had been applied to the paint. There wasn’t a scratch, door ding, or dent to be found anywhere on her. Wayne had thoroughly inspected the car at 6:00 a.m. one morning, just as the sun had begun to rise. He had to ensure the car was pristine. His boss had given him precise instructions; he had to get a black Cadillac, no older than a 2001 model year. And not only did it have to be a Cadillac, it had to be the top model, a fully loaded Seville STS. Wayne had stolen over fifty cars in his three-year career and hadn’t even come close to getting caught. He knew auto theft was his forte, and he profited from it immensely. Not many other twenty-year-old guys were pulling down the kind of tax-free money he was.
Wayne had learned that both disabling an alarm and stealing a car at the same time took too long. He had decided to cut the risk by disabling the alarm the day before he jacked the car. That way the owner wouldn’t have time to take the car in for service.
Wayne had followed the owner of the Cadillac to work yesterday morning. He was delighted to discover that it was parked in an underground garage. The owner must work in one of the high-rise office buildings immediately surrounding the garage, he thought. He was also happy to discover the security, or lack thereof, at the garage.
The lone parking attendant sat in his booth at the entrance to the garage. He was busy with people coming and going so he didn’t notice Wayne walk by his booth, and down the ramp leading into the garage. He walked with his keys in hand, trying to give the impression that he was leaving. It may seem odd that someone was going rather than coming at 8:30 in the morning; anyone who noticed would probably think he had forgotten something, and he was heading back to his car to retrieve whatever he had forgotten.
Wayne was wondering how far this garage extended into the earth; he had already walked down four levels and still hadn’t spotted his target. Finally on the fifth level he saw her. The owner had reversed into parking stall 512, right beside a set of stairs. He assumed they led back to the main level of the garage.
You had to be careful when gaining entry to a car. You also had to do your research before attempting this step. The fuse panel for this gem was located below and to the left of the steering column. He knew he was looking for the fourth fuse in the second column. This was the alarm fuse. He’d looked at the fuse schematic on the Internet a few days ago. There was no way to stop the alarm from sounding once you opened the door, but knowing where the fuse box was, and which fuse to pull, certainly cut down on the amount of time the alarm would sound. Luckily people didn’t usually
pay attention when a car alarm went off. They’re more annoyed at having to listen to it than anything else. Thankfully false alarms greatly outweigh car theft attempts these days.
After taking a look around the garage, and noting it was deserted, Wayne pulled the “Slim-Jim” from the waist of his pants. He always kept it along the right side of his right leg. He slipped the Slim-Jim between the driver’s side window and the doorframe. He pushed the tool three-quarters of the way down, just behind the lock switch on the inside of the door. He gave the tool a forceful jolt toward the front of the car and heard a familiar “click”. He quickly removed the Slim-Jim from the door and pushed it down the waist of his torn blue jeans, back along his leg.
Wayne heard a noise. He looked to his left and saw headlights coming down the ramp. He quickly walked to the front of the Cadillac, and, slowing his pace, he began to walk down the lane, toward the next ramp. He walked away from the approaching car so the driver couldn’t see his face. A white Mazda Precidia finally drove passed him, turned down the next ramp, and disappeared into the bowels of the garage. Wayne stopped and listened. The only noise he heard was getting farther away from him. He surveyed the level he has on, and the coast was clear.
He jogged back to the Cadillac and opened the door decisively. The familiar siren began to sound immediately. He had forgotten how loud they were when activated in an underground garage, or any garage for that matter. He got on his knees outside the door, removed the fuse panel door, and pulled the appropriate fuse. Silence. He wiped the sweat off his face with the front of his T-shirt. He then replaced the fuse panel door, pushed the door lock switch to lock the car, shut the door as quietly as possible, and headed for the stairs.
Wayne stopped when he reached the top; he had to catch his breath after bolting up five flights of stairs. After a few minutes had elapsed, he stood at the staircase door and listened intently. He couldn’t hear a sound. Lucky for him the owner of the Caddy didn’t have to be at work for 7:00 or 8:00 a.m., as this was the busiest time for public parking garages. Traffic slowed down after 8:30, thereby giving him a little more privacy.
He opened the door, walked onto the main level of the garage, and headed toward the same ramp from which he had entered. When he looked around the corner, Wayne saw that the parking attendant booth was empty. Maybe the guy went to get a coffee…or maybe he’d heard the alarm and was checking it out. Wayne was leaning towards the former, as it was doubtful the attendant would have heard the five seconds of noise made by the alarm from five levels below ground, especially in a concrete garage. He walked
nonchalantly up the ramp and into the light of day. He made his way back to his car, a mid-70’s model Chevrolet Malibu, opened the unlocked door, and got behind the wheel. He looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him. No one was. He started his beast and headed for home.
Wayne had researched the Cadillac extensively and knew that the “alarm” light would come on when the car was started. He also knew the owner wouldn’t have time for service today, not at 4:30 when he left his office; the service departments of all the local dealerships closed at 5:00 p.m. He also knew the owner wouldn’t take his baby to just any garage. A Cadillac was a car of distinction and couldn’t be repaired by just any mechanic.
Until we meet early tomorrow morning, he thought as he headed home with a slight grin on his face. He couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel of this conquest. He’d return around 4:15 that afternoon and follow the owner home, just in case he did stop somewhere for service. He’d hate to show up the next morning and have the alarm sound when he opened the door. The alarm would definitely be heard at 3:00 a.m., especially with the car being parked in the owner’s driveway.
After taking one last look around, Wayne was satisfied it was safe to act. He came around the tree trunk slowly, always looking in all directions. You could never be too cautious. Nothing was stirring yet; there wasn’t even a slight breeze. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand while laying the hammer on the ground. After pushing the Slim-Jim down the inside of the door frame, he heard the “click” of the door lock opening, the same as it had the day before. He always held his breath at this point. He pulled the door handle, and was relieved when the door opened silently. No noise followed. He picked up the hammer, got behind the wheel, and shut the door quietly. He took a quick scan of his surroundings via the windshield and front door windows…nothing.
The surprising aspect of domestic cars was always the ease of theft. The ignitions of them all, including Cadillac’s, were so easy to tamper with. All you needed was a very thin flathead screwdriver, a little bigger than a jeweler’s screwdriver, but not by much. Wayne took the miniature screwdriver out of the front pocket of his jeans and slid it as far as could between the ridges of the keyhole. He then rocked the screwdriver back and forth while continuing to push it into the ignition. Once it would go no further, he took the hammer off the passenger seat and gave the screwdriver a very firm hit. He then turned the steering wheel to the left and right while rocking the screwdriver back and forth. He grinned as the steering wheel lock finally gave way. He twisted the
screwdriver forward, and the car roared to life. The headlights came on and the dash lit up like a jet cockpit. He quickly shifted the transmission into “D”, pulled out of the driveway, and headed for the highway.
In hindsight, it was too bad he didn’t realize that the taillights hadn’t come on. You had to turn them on manually; only the headlights came on automatically. As he drove East on the highway at a safe 62 MP/H, he looked in the rear-view mirror just in time to see the red and blue lights of a police car begin to swirl.
This was the first time Wayne hadn’t made a clean getaway. He was perspiring heavily as he sped down the highway, his eyes locked on the road ahead. He could now hear the siren of the police car. He knew he couldn’t stop; he hadn’t checked the glove compartment to see if the ownership was in it.
Wayne’s mind raced as he sped along the highway, he was now going 95 MP/H. How the hell am I going to get out of this, he thought. The cop would’ve called for back up by now; he or she had probably asked another cop to get on the highway further ahead, and attempt to stop him.
As his mind was reeling, he noticed an off-ramp coming up. He didn’t know this part of town very well, but he figured he might be able to lose the tail if he got off the highway. He could hide on some lone street in a community, but he couldn’t hide on the highway.
He decided to stay in the left lane of the four-lane stretch, even though the off-ramp was on the right side of the highway. If he swerved to take the off-ramp at the last minute, the cop might not have enough time to swerve and follow him. He made his move just as he was about to pass the off-ramp. He jerked the leather-wrapped steering wheel hard to the right and the car responded. He came within an inch of hitting the concrete barrier that marked the off-ramp. Just as he thought, the cop couldn’t make the turn in time and Wayne heard the screech of tires grinding to a halt. The officer was probably reversing back to the ramp; there wasn’t any traffic on the highway at this hour so the lane would be clear.
What Wayne didn’t know was that the off-ramp curved sharply to the right; it wasn’t straight like most of the off-ramps. He thought he was going to make it around the curve and, in fact, he did. Unfortunately he didn’t notice the parked police car on the shoulder of the off-ramp. The officer was waiting for the morning traffic to begin so he could monitor speed levels.
Wayne was about to scream in triumphant joy when his face suddenly dropped. He looked as if he had lost control of his facial muscles. One minute he wore a huge,
wide-mouthed grin, and the next a look of such utter shock…I can’t even begin to describe it.
The last thought to course through Wayne’s mind before impact was “There’s never a cop around when you need one, but when you don’t….”
