Crime and a Candy Apple Red Camaro

               There it is – that black SUV I’m trailing. It’s just in front of this semi I’m behind. Maybe I can slip this Candy Apple Red Camaro I’m driving between the semi and the SUV. Traffic on the Interstate isn’t too heavy and that will make hassling them easier.

               They are pulling over into the left lane to pass that camper. I move over into the left lane. I pass the semi and get right behind the SUV as they are passing the camper. They switch back to the right lane, and I follow them. Right behind them is where I stay.

               My plan is to tail them close – about six or seven feet behind. That gives me just enough space to react to their driving and close enough to give them the willies.

               I am Jack – as in “of all trades and master of none.” I am half bounty hunter, half mercenary, half assassin and all bastard. Jack isn’t my real name. I won’t tell you my name. But if you’re looking for my services, you can find me under Jack.

               They are speeding up. That’s no problem for my rented Camaro. It’s a clear, straight section of the interstate and they got that SUV up to ninety-five. I’d guess I’ve got their attention. You can’t miss a bright Candy Apple Red Camaro on your tail.

               The two guys in the SUV are the enforcers for a short, fat, scum of boss called Alf. He ran a little gang of protection racketeers that I call the Scorpions.

               I was hired to destroy this gang. I can’t say by who. I have a carefully developed plan that appeals to my own sense of humor. I read somewhere that a scorpion’s anus is right next to the stinger. If you snip off the tail below the stinger the scorpion will die slowly from constipation. My plan is to drown Alf with his own waste.

               The SUV came to a stop. They slammed on their brakes. Burnt rubber. Me too. Slammed on my breaks. Skidded. Turned sideways. Left a streak of rubber on the road. That was close. Dang scorpions.

               If you haven’t noticed, I am good at my job. Before doing anything, I study the mark. I know their strengths, weaknesses, abilities, and faults. From that I can build a plan that leaves me beyond suspicion.

               Alf conducted business in a back room of his pub – 4^th Street Drinks & Eats. Sort of a stupid name but reflects Alf’s intelligence. It didn’t take me long to know everything I need to know.

               I’d come in for lunch and watch what was going on. I used my Census Bureau credentials. They help me get into places normally hard for a regular guy. Nobody likes the census taker, but they tolerate them and ignore them the best they can. They aren’t afraid of a census taker like a cop. I pretend I’m canvasing the neighborhood using my Jack Spaniel credentials. I really do work for the Census Bureau; it’s a good cover and a legit job.

               I was eating my lunch – a Ruben sandwich with chips and a seven-up – when Alf entered Drinks & Eats. He walked to the back of the bar and hung up his hat and coat on a hook with the other customers coats. Then he went from table to table greeting the customers.

               “Haven’t seen you here before,” he said as he came up to my table. He looked at my credentials card that hung on a lanyard around my neck. “A census man? Counting people in the neighborhood?”

               “Yeah, something like that,” I said.

               “What do you drive?”

               I pointed out the window with my thumb. “That beat up old Chevy S-10.”

               “A divorce car. She got the Lexus, and you got the pickup, right? You had a little something going on the side?”

               “Yeah. How did you know?” I lied.

               “I know people,” Alf said. “You ever seen a Candy Apple Red Camaro?”

               “Not recently,” I said.

               “I want one. I could kill for one,” he said.

               Two men entered – Alf’s pincers, as I called them. “I got business to take care of,” Alf said.

               On his way back to the back room, he stopped and pulled his wallet out of the inside pocket of his coat.

               It didn’t take me long to figure out the structure of Alf’s business; it’s just like a scorpion. The two pincers put the squeeze on businesses, the six legs made the collections and ran errands, and the two stingers went out bullied anyone who was behind in their payments. They, also, looked for a cherry Candy Apple Red Camaros.

               The day came when Alf was frantic about a bowling alley owner who hadn’t paid his protection fee. He thought the owner felt he was too small a business and too far away for Alf to pay attention to. He was wrong and Alf was spouting off orders where everyone could hear. That afternoon the stinger was to pay the bowling alley a visit.

               They were so busy planning the job that they didn’t notice me go over to the coat hooks and lift Alf’s coat with his wallet and hat. I just walked out.

               What the heck! A semi is passing a farm truck and blocking the interstate. The SUV isn’t slowing down. They are going to hit the farm truck. No, they are passing on the shoulder. What a racket. Both trucks are blowing their horns. Dirt flying; churned up by the SUV tires. I follow the SUV onto the shoulder. It’s not my car. Alf rented it. Doesn’t know it but did.

               I used Alf’s Visa card to rent a Candy Apple Red Camaro. I found one at an independent car dealership that rented out cars.

               At the desk I showed the lady my driver’s license with my picture. Then I switched it for Alf’s and said, “You have beautiful eyes.”

               She blushed and took the license and scanned it into the computer without looking at it.

               “I bet you’ve beat off a lot of men with big sticks.”

               “No! Never!” she exclaimed and blushed more. She half tossed the license back at me without looking at it.

               “I didn’t mean that,” I said. “You just had to shoo away lots of men.”

               “Oh.” She picked up Alf’s Visa card to run it through the card reader.

               “I’ll bet you can be a little naughty though.”

               She didn’t look at the card as she ran it for $500 rental fee. “No. I am married,” she said.

               “Is that a picture of your family,” I said pointing to a photo on her desk.

               “Yes.” She handed me back the Visa card and shoved the rental agreement papers across the counter at me. “Sign these.”

               “Can I see your picture?” I asked as I forged Alf’s signature. 

               “No.”  Then took the papers, filed them, and gave me the keys to Candy Apple Red Camaro.

               “Thank-you for your help. I’m just a tease. Sorry.”

               “Have a nice day,” she said and turned her back to me.

               I drive the Camaro down the street to where I parked my Chevy S-10. I pull out my double barrel over under shotgun from under the seat, load it and return to the Camaro. 

               Now what? The SUV is taking an early exit. What are the stingers doing? It doesn’t connect to a road that goes near the bowling alley. They pull up across the road on the on-ramp. I stop on the other side of the road, still on the off-ramp. Two men get out of the SUV – the stingers. One is carrying a baseball bat. The other has a handgun. As I open the door, I pick up my shotgun and unlock the safety.

               I stand up behind the door and point my shotgun at the two men. But the stinger with the handgun is too fas….