Taking a call through his in-ear headset, he pops the hood of his convertible.
“Hey Steve!” he shouts. “Uh-huh. Yeah, like it’s not bad enough that my bitch ex-wife drags me out to fuckass nowhere for a court date because of ‘missed child alimony payments’ or some made-up shit, now my car broke down. I know,I know… Never should’ve stuck my dick in crazy hillbilly pussy. But I swear she won’t get her grubby hands on my money.”
The volume of his voice turns the heads of passing townsfolk. Lucky for him, they’re all too polite to give him a piece of their mind.
The suit fiddles with something under the hood before giving up. “I didn’t even have cell reception to call roadside assistance. I had to flag down some dumb hick to pull me to some kind of tacky fair. Everything stinks of cow shit and deep-fried food.”
The guy driving the tractor definitely heard that part. He shakes his head, mumbling something. In my book, that puts his patience on the level of a saint. If it was me, I would’ve already had a few choice words for the suit. And maybe a right hook.
Tally fake gags. “I thought he couldn’t get any grosser than when he cut us off and almost ran over that lady with the baby… but wow. This asshole deserves a lesson. Pity there’s like a million witnesses here.”
In the meantime, the suit continues to shout. “No, they don’t have a car workshop around here. Country bumpkin bullshit! The inbred waste of air who towed me said the next service center is in—fuck, hold up. I forgot. Let me ask again.”
He walks up to the tractor owner, yanking on the leg of his muddy jeans. “Where did you say the next car workshop was?”
The man on the tractor rolls his eyes and mumbles something under his breath.
“Show me some fucking respect and speak up!” the suit demands.
Finally, tractor guy’s patience has reached its limit. “Respect?” He laughs sarcastically and hops off the seat. “How ‘bout you show me some fuckin’ respect first?”
The suit throws up his hands. “Or what?”
While the two launch into an explicit shouting match, a light bulb turns on in my head.
Because Tally’s right. This suit-wearing asshole deserves a lesson.
Sure, one might argue heonlycut us off andonly almostran over the lady with the stroller. But from what we’ve heard, he’s gotten away with bad shit for far too long. He lacks respect for his fellow humans. And what sorta scumbag skips child alimony payments?
So whyshouldn’tit be me who dishes out some karma on this beautiful summer day?
“I got an idea,” I whisper in Tally’s ear.
“One night in jail and you’re a real bad boy now. What, you gonna make a second attempt at arson? We both know I had to save you from yourself the first time.”
I put a kiss on her forehead. “Shut your pretty mouth and watch.”
I sprint to my truck. From my on-the-go toolbox, I put on a pair of insulating gloves. Whistling, I grab a large wrench and wipe it down with a rag to remove my fingerprints. When I get back, a sizeable crowd has gathered around the arguing men like a wall. People have pulled out their phones, filming as the tractor guy shoves the suit.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” somebody shouts and everyone joins in.
It’s the perfect distraction. No one’s looking at me or the sports car. Except Tally, of course.
I stroll toward the convertible and stick my head under the hood. Lucky this ain’t one of those modern cars where the whole engine is hidden under a cover.
Carefully, I put the ends of the wrench on both the negative and positive terminals of the battery. I take off the gloves and shove them into my pocket as I walk back to Tally. When I look over my shoulder, smoke rises from the engine block. A flame licks upward and satisfaction streams through me.
As I pass by the crowd, I put on a fake voice and shout, “Hey, buddy, your car’s on fire!”
Silence comes over the hyped-up mass of people. Heads swivel, wondering where the warning came from, but no eyes land on me.
The suit squeals. “My baby!”
He barrels through the onlookers to his vehicle. Phone cameras follow his path and people cheer. The tractorowner has a shit-eating grin on his face, nodding to himself.
The suit braces his hands on his head. “Help! Oh God, help me for fuck’s sake! Somebody do something, you useless, inbred hillbilly degenerates!”
Nobody moves a muscle. They just keep filming and laughing. I don’t blame them. He deserves their mockery.
