Page 77 of Rich Girl
I get in the truck and start it before taking a moment to stare at my shop through the windshield. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, fighting the instinct I have to run back inside.
“Fuck.”
I shake my head and put the truck into gear, ready to go and help some asshole who can’t change a tire. The drive to the address he gave me is long, giving me too much time to think. That is something that should be avoided at all costs.
When this guy’s car comes into view, I let out a low whistle of surprise. He is driving a supped-up sedan that costs more than the shop makes in a month. That says a lot since we make a decent living.
“Hey!” I roll my window down when I close enough. “You called about the flat tire?”
The driver, who strikes me familiar for some odd reason, looks like a douchebag, hands down. He sports an expensive haircut that is parted to the side, not a hair out of place. Thesmile he gives me about blinds me, with his teeth unnaturally white.
“Thanks for coming, man,” he responds. He’s trying really hard to act like he’s cool. “It’s in the front, passenger side.”
“I’ll park the truck behind you so we have some light to work with.”
I’m not sure why I saidwesince I don’t expect him to lift a finger to help.
I back up and park the truck behind his car, making sure that the headlights are shining right on him. In fact, I hope they blind him when he looks in the rearview mirror.
Trying not to roll my eyes, I open the door to get out. I grab a jack and bag of tools from the back, then walk to the car. I find it odd that he is not getting out. From my experience with similar situations, they all want to stand and hover over me when I change their tire while asking me a bunch of questions.
“Hey, dude,” I knock on his window. “I need you to fill this out.”
He rolls the window down, and I hand him the metal clipboard I always have in the bag. There’s a blank form right on top, with a pen hooked to it.
“I need your personal details and insurance information, if you want to run this through insurance.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to acknowledge anything that I just said. I get nothing other than a blinding smile.
“If you don’t want to go through insurance, you have to pay cash.”
I pause again. Still nothing.
“Up front.”
He finally shows signs that he’s not a robot when he blinks a few times. He looks like he’s about to shit his pants.
“Listen, dude…” I clear my throat a few times. “You’re the one who called me here. If we can’t communicate, we have a problem. Are you drunk?”
I bring my hand to the pocket of my shirt, ready to grab my cell phone and call the police. I’m gonna report his ass so fast, his head’s gonna spin.
“No! Not drunk,” he rushes to say, but that only raises my suspicions.
I give him an apprehensive look while he stares at me with frightened eyes. He looks like he is about to shit his pants, and I don’t understand what the big deal is.
“Are you Ray Parker ofPark & Tow?” he asks with a shaky voice.
I guess he’s just scared of the dark, although is dusk now, and of strangers. I can understand that.
“I am.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, the world turns into pure chaos.
“Hands where I can see them,” someone yells from behind me.
With the clipboard and bag in both hands, I turn around, instinctively putting my hands up.
“Drop the bag, drop the bag,” the same voice screams off the top of their lungs.
