Tea & Murder

Tea and murder.

What an interesting combination, I think while the kettle begins to shrill in the tranquility of my home.

Most nights are quiet on the surface, but the noise in my head never stops; the volume runs wild like an endless storm. 

The steaming water fills my mug. I dunk the mint tea pouch and smile, knowing tonight is the night. I can taste it the same as the warm tea splashing onto my tongue. I savor the flavor before I swipe my keys from the counter. 

Strolling to my ride, I gently caress the hood with my fingertips while I pass to approach the driver's door. I can’t help but admire the beauty of my 1969 crimson red RoadRunner with her big black stripes. I’m saddened that my precious car will never be seen as cherry again after tonight, but in my eyes, the juice is worth the squeeze.

Life is a battle of ups and downs, good and bad. When the last chapter of your story ends on the latter, you begin to do things out of your regular character. You change and become something you didn’t expect. And sometimes, the person you evolve into turns out to be everything you once despised. 

I crank the key and bring my sleek, cool beast to life. Pop her into first and take off on my mission.

Friday night brings many personalities out into the streets. My headers rumble as I prowl.

I know what I’m looking for but haven’t found it yet. 

Then I saw you ambling out of the theater within the crowd. 

You walk close to your boyfriend. He’s tall, clean-cut, and athletic. He is the type of guy I would expect a lovely girl such as yourself to be attracted to. 

I think back to my last stunt. My gut told me not to do it, but I obeyed the director and performed the last crash of the picture. I have a face full of scars and a body covered with burns to remind me of my decision. 

Along with my looks, my reputation was tarnished. After I was released from the hospital, I couldn’t find another movie to work with me. After four decades of danger and success, I was forced to retire from the only life I ever knew. 

I tell myself pain fades. The chicks like to ask about the scars, so it isn’t all bad. The experience gave me clarity to a world where I was blind. After nearly dying, I realized how little I had lived. 

I admire you. Your hair is so dark it appears black. You dress nice, but I can tell you don’t try too hard. No, I think your beauty comes naturally. Your engaging conversation leads to laughter as you saunter down the street to his car. I slowly drift by as he opens the door and gestures for you to enter his chariot. How cute.

I roll to a halt at the stop sign and see his red tail lights glow in the mirror. I grasp my pistol grip shifter and prepare for the hunt.

I watch you kids pull out into the lane, and I wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Now!

My boot stomps the gas pedal to the floor as I snap the wheel. The torque pressure pins me to my seat. The tail of the Plymouth whips around, and I’m coming for you.

Staring at the road makes me think I’m traveling at hyperspeed. I’m gaining ground, catching up fast. Your lover’s Honda doesn’t stand a chance against my raw Detroit steel. I watch as they begin to slow at the red octagon sign.

I don’t offer the same consideration.

The grille of my beauty queen meets their rear end with heavy pressure. I watch the silhouettes of their heads slam forward in their seats.

Their bumper is smashed in, and their tail lights shattered. I don’t waste time thinking about the damage of my ride. I drop the shifter back to the right to retract from the collision. My tires smoke until I come to a hard stop.

I offer the kids a few seconds to recover. I rev my 440 to occupy my hunger to terrorize.

I drop the clutch and shift to first, and strike again. I’m a shark out for blood. 

I can’t see their faces, but I can imagine the horror. Junior recovers from my attack and speeds away.

“You think you can outrun me, boy? You can’t outrun me!” I peel away from the smoke trail and follow my prey.

They manage to get a few blocks before I’m back on their bumper. Speed is my friend. I wonder what runs through their minds as I clip them again. They flee in terror. I race faster, thirsty for havoc.

The quiet town is soft and dormant in the late hours. But we are full throttle, and I can’t get enough of the thrill. I hit them again. Their car is crumbling; it is no match for the power of my American muscle.

My gauges steer toward the red line. Their import is shaky, and I can tell he is losing control. I lick my lips with anticipation.

We approach the end of the long street. The only option for him is to make a right, or else he will drive directly into the river. I know the roads like the back of my hand. I know precisely when his foot will press on the brake, and he will maneuver for the turn.  

I speed up. 

My Plymouth crunches into his rear panel when he makes his move. 

After the impact, everything goes black. 

I come back to reality and discover my front wheels draping over the edge of the bank. A few more feet, and I would’ve found myself in the murky water of the river. I jam my shifter in reverse and retreat from the muddy sideline back to the asphalt.

I feel fuzzy, but I’m aware of the events that led me here. I turn my head to see their damaged Honda on the other side of the street. Their engine is dead from the confrontation.

I open my door and make my way to the kids.

The young driver rests his face against the steering wheel. I couldn’t see you at first. I get closer when he lifts his head.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I tell him. I reach to the back of my jeans and remove my snub nose revolver. He doesn’t see the gun before I press it to his skull and end his pain.

His passenger begins to holler. I bend down to look through his window. I see you squirm in the darkness of the car.  Injured and bleeding you scramble for the door handle. I don’t allow your suffering to linger. I aim for her soul and pull the trigger. 

I walk back to my Plymouth and drop into my bucket seat. The door squeaks when I pull it closed. I look out at the destruction and smile. 

I force my shifter into first and leave the scene of the crime.

While I roll away, I feel better about my misfortunes. Those kids were the first to suffer the wrath of Travis Roberts, but they won’t be the last.