Stay in the Truck

Just a little story to peak your interest. If you like it let me know.

Running late, not my style, makes me anxious. I end up driving too fast and ignoring rules I shouldn’t. The sun had just set and left an afterglow of the day. A glint of white caught my eye at the edge of the pavement. Had the look of a body as I drove by… that slowed me down. A glance at the green time keeper on the dash and “I will not make it, anyway.”

I hit the brakes for a U-turn. As I drive past again, it’s definitely a body. I pulled over, flipped it in reverse and the backup light bounced off her white and some other color blouse. As I got out, she stood up and walked toward me, trying to extend her arm. It did not look straight to me.

“Are you all right? Did you get hit by a car?”

“No, my husband shoved me out of his truck.” She ran out of breath as she talked.

“Where is he?”

She pointed towards a trailer park half a mile down the road. I drove off with her in the truck. 

“Stay in the truck.”

I reached under my seat, grabbed the revenge she deserved, and headed toward the door. A hard lean and the door popped open. The drunk slob was lying on the couch. The twelve gauge he was reaching for never made it to his hand before the hammer fell on her justice and my ears began ringing.

She cried in the truck while I sat on his porch, smoking one of his cigars that he would never enjoy, waiting for the ambulance. No need for cops ‘cause I am one. Satisfaction, worthwhile, even though late.