Joyride

Despite the pouring rain, he kept the window down of his recently acquired BMW 5 Series. He would’ve struggled to explain it, but even the rain felt different from the insides of this dream of a machine. He caressed the steering wheel with motherly affection, enjoying the night and revelling in his latest triumph.

Cruising effortlessly in the night, it seemed incredible to him how only yesterday he was wondering if he was too old for this game. Right now, his joy left no room for doubt in a car meant for five. He’d been doing this for about 25 years now and this had been the best job he had held. Through the successes, and more importantly, the failures, he had crafted his modus operandi to perfection. To him, the whole endeavour resembled a patient and painstakingly choreographed play. First on his checklist was the weather. He would only step out on the nights when the storm was as predictable as his divorce. Not only was the storm a perfect cover to avoid the law, it set up the stage perfectly for him to put the rest of his plan into action. He would take a tin-box of a car designed to provoke despondency and take his place on the side of the highway. The car, of course, would have a flat tyre. Any driver unfortunate to be caught in the storm would see a helpless old man fighting a losing battle against the elements. Inadvertently, a good samaritan would stop to conduct his good deed of the day. He had, somewhat ironically, realised that you could always count on the good men of the society. A cold, unflinching hit to the head of the driver from his trusted wrench would follow. Most people like him instinctively mitigated their force while delivering the blow. Why use more force than necessary? That was a rookie mistake. He always went with full force. You could never be too careful in his line of work. The driver usually woke up the next morning in a dilapidated Ford. 

The previous (and the rightful) owner of this car was right now enjoying the similar hospitality of a Mazda that smelled peculiarly like rotten apples. 

Today had seemed like the perfect invitation. The main course of tumultuous storm served after the appetiser of deafening thunder was as good as advertised. The almost-poetic scene of a rundown car by the highway illuminated by flashes of thunder was scored perfectly with the battering rain. 

It was a beautiful night.

He had pulled this parka closer and peered blearily through the shimmering curtain of rain towards the highway. Understandably, the traffic was non-existent. What a waste this ripe night would be without a deserving haul! Another night, perhaps…

But maybe the night had different plans. While turning towards the heap of metal next to him, he caught the beam of an oncoming car out of the corner of his eye. He waited patiently for the car to reach him. 

The car came to a hesitant stop near him. It was a BMW 5 Series. He suppressed a grin. This would do very nicely. 

He moved closer to the car as the driver lowered his window. The driver was a youngish fellow with a haggard look on his face. He nodded towards the battered Mazda.

“Having car troubles, sir?”

This was one of the educated ones with cultivated manners. The night was turning out to be way better than he could have expected.

“Right, son. My car gave up on me. The rear tyre is completely busted. I have a spare one in the trunk, but I have foolishly forgotten the jack at home.” He added embarrassment to his face for good measure. 

“That sounds terrible, sir. Umm… I have a jack with me, but I’m in an awful hurry myself…” He had hesitated here, picking his words, “… well, my wife just called from the hospital and gave me an earful for missing my kid’s birth.” 

He seemed like he wanted to help, but the threat of a marital discord troubled him greatly. He was one of those who sit on the fence, waiting for somebody to nudge them either way. The old man gladly nudged.

“Jesus, son! Believe me, I understand. I’m sure there’s another car just around the corner.” He had given the highway a hopeful look. With a resigned look and a sigh, the driver had unhooked his seat belt.

“I appreciate it, son. I’ll just take the spare out while you fetch the jack.”

He had pulled out his wrench and patiently waited for the driver to turn. The friendly driver was busy rummaging around his car’s crowded trunk. The old man’s wrench met him halfway through his turn. He crashed into the back of his car with a thud and slid down into a pool of water. The old man threw his wrench in the BMW’s trunk and slammed it down. He pulled the driver with great effort into the Mazda. His limbs ached from his recent high-intensity activities. He took a moment to catch his breath. He should get at least a couple of hours of head start with the driver removed from the view. The wife would send someone to catch hold of him soon; hopefully, the storm would keep up.

Still lingering in that moment, he was brought out of his reverie with the police siren lights in the rearview mirror. He was getting too old for this. He had completely missed checking the rear lights before taking off with the car! Getting caught in a stolen car for a broken taillight was amateurish. And in his line of work, there was no greater sacrilege. He would again have to talk his way out of this one. He silently reprimanded himself. Just because God had given him the gift of the gab didn’t mean that he could act carelessly. He’ll have the internal inquest later. It was time to put his glib tongue to use.

As he straightened his collar, he saw the police officer open the door of his car and step out with the weapon drawn. 

“Sir, please step out of the vehicle with your arms raised! And don’t turn!” He shouted over the din.

Bemused over this uncommon display of aggression, he thought it best to obey. He stepped out with his hands raised. A moment later, his hands were pulled behind him and handcuffed roughly. The panic was followed by a single thought: They found him.

The police officer dragged him to the back of the car. He was still trying to fathom what mistake he had made at the scene when the officer grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his head on the trunk of his car. The hand stayed on his neck. He twisted his head to loosen the grip. The hand grew tighter until he couldn’t move his neck at all. He could see the taillights from his vantage point. His eyes first squinted as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, and then widened in shock as his brain finally caught up.

Both the taillights appeared unharmed, but the same couldn’t be said of the owner of the hand that dangled from the slightly ajar trunk.