“It’s a good thing you didn’t dent up my car,” the man said as he stood right next to me. I could feel his glare on my tingling skin. From his stature and demeanor, I got the idea he was used to being taller than most guys, but we met nearly eye-to-eye. He had at least forty pounds on me, though, so the effect was similar.
“I’m sorry—” I started to say, but he interrupted me.
“I’d say you are!” His laugh was full of menace.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, “but you…”
I stopped. His demeanor and harsh stare were throwing me off. If I could just remember how I’d practiced scenarios like this one, I would be fine, but I couldn’t focus enough to remember everything.
Insurance. I need to ask him for insurance information.
I took a deep breath and continued.
“If you could just give me the name of your insurance company—”
He took half a step forward and poked his finger into my chest—twice.
“Fuck. You.”
I swallowed hard. I knew how to defend myself, but every martial art I had ever studied demanded strict adherence to the rule: only use force if there is no other choice. I still had some choices left.
I made a sweeping gesture toward my bumper, cringing at the sight. I wanted to say something about how he had rear-ended me and was at fault, but I couldn’t get the words out. I couldn’t stop staring at the lopsided dent in the bumper. I wouldn’t be able to drive it like this, not when I knew the bumper was back here, looking the way it did. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
Would my insurance rates go up?
A fresh wave of panic smacked into my chest.
I was rarely angry at others. I usually reserved that type of emotion for self-loathing, but this guy was so obviously wrong. I pushed back another pending deluge of panic. I couldn’t let that happen here at the edge of the street and in front of this Neanderthal . I took a couple of deep breaths, wishing I had enough money t
o go back to the therapist in town.
“Call the police,” I whispered. I hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but I knew this was the next course of action if there was a dispute. I had a prepaid phone in my glove compartment for emergencies.
“Fuck that. You ain’t calling nobody.”
My skin crawled at his grammar. I needed to get back in my car and use the emergency phone, but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Call police,” I said again. My voice was monotone, and I was only dimly aware of what I was saying. I still couldn’t move, and I tried to find something on the ground to draw my attention away from the situation. “Report the accident. Get insurance information.”
I could feel the man’s hot glare on my face, but I couldn’t look at him. I was repeating “Call the police” over and over again. I couldn’t make myself stop.
“Shut up!” The guy poked me in the chest once more. “Considering the piece of shit you’re driving, I’d consider it a mercy killing. Here”—he shoved a little piece of paper at my chest, and I watched as it fluttered to the ground—“consider us even.”
He laughed again as he turned around, got back into his car, and drove away.
I leaned down and picked up the bit of paper—I couldn’t stand having litter in the street—and saw that it was one of those Powerball lottery tickets. I shook my head slowly as I stared at the paper without really seeing it. I always thought the lottery was a tax on people with poor math skills, and that fit the stereotype of the guy perfectly.
It didn’t matter. I saw his license plate, and I would just let the insurance company deal with it. Having an uncle in the insurance business had definitely been a blessing over the past six months. He made sure the car and the house were covered so I wouldn’t freak out. Travis was cool that way, like my dad.
Like my dad was.
I closed my eyes, took another couple of long breaths, and got back into the driver’s seat. I tried to wipe my mind clear of the image of the bumper, but of course, it didn’t work. I had to pull over twice to get myself back into driving condition before I completed the three-mile drive home.
Home.
The house was in a nice neighborhood, but there was nothing extravagant about it. Three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths—a typical suburban place with a small yard and a mailbox with a cedar post. The property backed onto a large wooded area, which was good for hiding out alone. More than anything, it was…quiet.
I walked in and dropped my book bag on the little bench in the foyer before getting myself a glass of water. Mostly I ate stuff out of the freezer that I could heat up in the microwave. I hadn’t cooked any fresh food for three days, and I tried to force myself to make some real food at least a couple of times a week.