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Too many bastard cars,’ he cursed to himself.
Forced to take the M25 at rush hour he’d crawled round it at little
more than walking pace. With every click of his dashboard clock more
money had escaped him. He thought of the brown envelopes with their
machine gun type and angry red demands gathering back home and then
strained his eyes looking ahead – but there were only cars in
front; no gaps, no way through.
Whilst trapped there he’d scrutinised other drivers in the lanes
alongside as they sat, motionless and resigned, watching with glazed
eyes as their lives slipped slowly by. Almost all were selfish wankers
who, if they weren’t so lazy, could have easily found an alternative
way into work. Did none of them live near a fucking train station? The
only sympathy he had was for fellow drivers like himself. Vans, trucks,
lorries – people using the roads for proper work purposes. All
these twats, alone in their cars, sat on their fat arses and getting
in his way.
When he’d finally got off the M25 and onto quieter dual-carriageway
he’d been able to put his foot down a bit. Feel more in control.
He’d smilingly taken out a couple of crows pecking at something
dead on the hard shoulder. The vulture-like bastards never expected
a vehicle to jink across the white lines; too late they struggled into
the air, ragged wingtips clawing desperately at the flat sky. Puff.
He’d turned them into broken balls of black feathers. No doubt
their mates were on the carcasses in minutes.
But finding the garage he was dropping the components off at had then
taken ages too. After that was the paperwork. And so here he was, making
the return trip half way through the frigging night, having made piss-all
from the job. The fury had built in him all day and now it constricted
his chest like a giant tubi-grip. He bit on the last piece of banana
then unwound his window and hurled the skin out. As soon as it crossed
the window frame the roar snatched it, sending it flapping through the
air onto the central reservation.
‘Bollocks,’ he decided. Even if it was pouring with rain
he needed some sport, and the bad weather only increased his chances
of success. He pulled his van into the approach road for the services
then, avoiding the feeder lanes luring him to the welcoming glow of
the restaurant car-park, he carried round on a smaller, unlit, service
road to the rear of the buildings. Pulling up in the shadows he jumped
from the van and slid back the side door. From a hold-all he removed
a grey boiler suit and neon waist jacket and put them on. Then he removed
a torch, magnetic siren light, and toolbox that contained the heavy-duty
monkey wrench. Placing it all on the front passenger seat he restarted
the engine and, in seconds, was back on the motorway system searching
for prey.
The steady blink of hazard lights let him know of the stranded vehicle
long before he could actually see it. Instantly he slowed and checked
in his rear view mirror that the road behind was still deserted. Then
he unwound the window and placed the magnetic siren light on the cab
roof then switched it on. Waves of adrenaline surged through his thick
arms as the yellow flash of the lamp began revolving above him. He eased
smoothly onto the hard shoulder, and as he crossed the white line the
ridges made a sharp drilling noise through his tyres. He dropped his
speed still further and stopped fifteen feet behind the solitary car.
Its passenger door opened and a man got out. With one hand he shielded
his eyes from the glare of the van’s lights, with the other he
made a kind of awkward salute. Darts of rain flashed through the headlights
in a steady flow. The van driver sat motionless and, from behind his
dark windscreen, scanned the interior of the car for silhouettes of
any other heads. Seeing none a delicious rush played up his spine. Flicking
his headlights off and hazards on, he jumped eagerly from the van and
grabbed the torch and toolbox. Confidently he strode up to the man with
his first line ready prepared, but the car driver cut in first.
‘Great to see you! I wasn’t expecting you for at least another
half hour or so.’
That was his first question answered: no rescue van due for a while.
He cut straight to the next part of his speech. ‘You’re
in luck mate. All the regular vans are busy with this bad weather. So
they’ve sent me from a garage down the road.’
‘Oh right, I wondered why there were no logos and things painted
on your vehicle. I’m still covered for any repairs though?’
‘Oh yeah pal, ’course,’ he replied quickly walking
round to the front of the car. ‘Let’s get it sorted and
you on your way.’
‘Superb, the bonnet’s already popped.’
‘Cheers,’ the van driver replied, already disliking the
man’s eager politeness. He secured the bonnet with the metal arm
and turned his torch on. The beam cut across the top of the engine,
throwing wires and tubes into stark relief and creating exaggerated
shadows between the engine parts behind. He needed the driver right
by him and not standing off to the side like some spare part. ‘Right,
what was the problem again sir?’ he called over while starting
to gently pull at the spark plugs.
The car driver glanced at him and then stepped to within talking distance.
‘Well, as I outlined to the phone operator, I thought I was running
out of petrol at first. The needle started dropping but then so did
all the power. Nothing too sudden – I was able to pull up right
next to the phone, but now the engine’s totally dead.’
‘Mmmm. OK, could you keep the torch pointed right on that spot
sir?’ the van driver asked. The man had to bend forward right
into the jaws of the opened bonnet.
Casually the van driver removed the monkey wrench from the tool-box
at his feet, and with a quick glance to check no traffic was approaching,
said in a voice pinched with excitement, ‘Great, hold it right
there sir.’
With a sharp chopping motion, he brought the wrench down on the back
of the man’s skull.
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