Bennie Benjamin; Gloria Caldwell; Sol Marcus: "Oh, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good. Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."
= = = =
I once read that over ninety percent of people, in a large survey, claimed to have uttered the same thing when they crashed their vehicle. This wasn't a multiple choice question. Nope, it was 'fill in the blank'. Now probably wasn't the time to snicker about something like that, but I just joined that majority. It occurred to me that this was the first time I'd ever been the cause of a collision. I'd been struck before but this was different.
My face was smashed into the airbag. I wasn't feeling any pain. Two good things. There's a distinctive smell to radiator fluid so no doubt that's been damaged. Brake fluid stinks too and I was smelling it. Surprisingly I wasn't disoriented. This didn't turn out at all how I thought it would. As I sat there pondering things it occurred to me that I really didn't have a clue how I expected it to turn out. Another good thing is that I don't smell gasoline or smoke. My truck was no longer running. Guess I won't be going back to work after all.
Deep down I thought my pickup would crunch into the wall sending glass flying. Is that how it went down? FUCK NO! It was so much more. Not only did my truck crunch into the wall, it continued until it was completely inside. If I could find a mirror I'd know how far I'd gotten into the room. With my face pinned to the airbag I couldn't see a thing.
Not quite sure how long it had been but there was a guy anxiously asking if I was injured. With my lips kissing the airbag how the hell am I'm supposed to answer that?
The buzz got louder and then a lady screamed "There's people injured! Oh gawd! It's bad!"
Well she sure couldn't be talking about me and that made me doubly pleased. The sound of sirens filled the airwaves. Fire engines sound different than the paramedics. My guess is one of each is about to be on-scene.
It was a circus. Triage for the seriously injured. Me? They hooked up a chain and used a winch to extract my truck back into the mid-day sun. I emerged with a few scratches bumps and bruises. A second ambulance was busy loading a gurney. The first ambulance had left a few minutes ago. After being frisked they stuffed my hand-cuffed ass into the back of a patrol car. Guess losing control of your truck can still get you in trouble. At least I wasn't an immigrant looking at one hundred ten years in prison.
Not sure why they didn't whisk me away. That did give me a chance to survey the damage. My trunk had gone through the wall taking out the door, window, and air conditioner. Didn't look like it had stopped until it had driven the bed and box springs into the bathroom. Rooms six and ten seemed completely unaffected. Room eight was out of commission. At least it was a one-story building.
My blood really boiled when I spotted Joe hanging around the motel. I'm no rocket scientist but I was glad I'd broken things up.
I declined to talk with the police. The orange jumpsuit wasn't as uncomfortable as I'd thought it would be. The cot was. Wonder how those poor people from room eight are doing? Like I said, I thought the truck would just blow out the window. None the less, I couldn't stop smiling.
+ + + +
Where are my manners? My name is Vince Clancy. Twenty three years old with a bride of the same age. After high school we screwed around and screwed up. Without a baby bump showing yet Ginny and I married. Two months later Ginny miscarried. Although it bothered me, Ginny took it personally. After six months of counseling we decided to wait a few years before trying again. Her mood swings continue to this day.
What the shotgun wedding also did though was derail our plans to go to college. Instead of pursuing a degree I got a job learning how to be an electrician. Ginny started working as a temporary laborer, mostly as a receptionist. Many of her gigs are one day but sometimes she stays for a week if someone goes on vacation.
In high school I played football and didn't embarrass myself. Ginny was one of six basketball cheerleaders. She attended all of my football games and I did likewise for all of her basketball games. While her motive was probably to support me, mine was to keep the wolves away from her. The basketball players and their friends were always doing full-court presses trying to pry her away from me. In my heart none ever succeeded.
The star player of the basketball team was Joe Clark. He and I weren't friends or even friends of friends. We ran in different circles. That didn't stop him from the occasional double entendre suggestions to Ginny. She laughed it off. I tried to not let it bother me which was tough as I'm the jealous type, big time.
Whereas I made all-state honorable mention, Joe was just second team all-conference. Those honors go to winning teams and our basketball team sucked. Joe did get a books and meals scholarship to a nearby Division I school so he left for the campus summer leagues after graduation. Surprisingly, once the season started, he was getting playing time. When not teamed with players who turned the ball over he's a decent player. Joe would always bring back some of his buddies for homecoming and the likes. One of Joe's buddies, Nolan Larsen, was the star of his team and an obnoxious asshole. Since his team was in contention for a post-season playoff spot Nolan was treated like a god.
Nolan always hit on Ginny, sometimes even doing it right in front of me knowing she was married. Ginny laughed it off. Every once in a while I'd have to step in and make a scene. That just seemed to piss off Ginny.
Apparently Joe and Nolan were best buds as Nolan was always with Joe on his return visits to our town. Rather than put up with their shit I usually found a way to make sure we were busy doing something else. Homecoming was just for a weekend but summer vacations lasted a lot longer. That was a lot tougher and several arguments ensued between Ginny and myself.
"Are you my husband or my chaperone? I'm a big girl and can take care of myself. Those guys are just big blowhards. Give it a rest."
Easier said than done when you're the jealous type. Making things worse was the fact that Ginny had 'filled out nicely'. She drew catcalls when we went line-dancing. Proud? Yes. Jealous? Yes. Insane? Didn't think so but now that's up for review.
+ + + +
"Mr. Clancy, my name is Scott Jensen. I'm your court appointed attorney" from a very young man.
Hell, I think he might only be a few years older than me.
"Clock says it's about two so good afternoon Scott. You can call me Vince."
"How much do you remember about crashing your truck Vince?"
"Everything."
"Was this an intentional act on your part?"
"Not really. I just wanted to scare them. Guess I didn't know a truck going that slow could do so much damage."
"The police report says you were doing about thirty when you struck the motel room. That's not considered slow."
"When my knuckles turned white and the rage washed over me I may have gunned it, but I didn't intend to bust down the wall. That should count for something."
"Doubtful. Right now you're facing two counts of vehicular assault. That will likely change if Mr. Larsen dies. They might toss in attempted murder too."
"Ouch, that bad huh?"
"Yeah, you sent that air conditioner hurdling through the room. Caught Mr. Larsen square in the lower back. Lots of internal injuries but the upside is that it may have saved their lives. The impact from the air conditioner sent them tumbling over the bed moments before your truck pinned them against the wall with the mattress."
"How's the slut?"
"Your wife? The impact drove Mr. Larsen's pelvic area into her fracturing a few of her facial bones. She's lost most of her front teeth and Mr. Larsen has some lasting scars, if you get my drift."
"Awww, such a pity. Other than that they're relatively untouched?"
"Oh no, far from it. They've both got lots of other broken bones. The mattress didn't protect them much when the truck pushed everything into the bathroom tub. Mr. Larsen might be paralyzed."
"I'm trying to shed a tear Scott but it's not happening."
"I understand. How did you know they were in that room?"
"Because after they walked in and closed the door, the number on the door was eight. You're pretty new at this aren't you Scott?"
A bit flustered now "Let me rephrase that. How did you know to be there on that day at that time?"
"I was bringing a bouquet of flowers to Ginny, as a surprise anniversary gift. If she had time I was going to ask her out to lunch. She was doing an indefinite gig for someone on maternity leave. As I rounded the corner I saw her standing by the curb outside of her office building. While waiting for the light to turn green a flashy sports car stopped and she got in. I just followed them."
"So what happened at the motel? Did you confront them?"
"Well their car stopped at the check-in area and Ginny got out. I was still waiting on the main road for an opening in traffic to make a left-hand turn into the parking lot. The sports car pulled around the building and parked so I followed. Ginny emerged from the office a few minutes later and went to room number eight. He met her about the time she got there. The rest, as they say, is history."
"So you don't know what they were doing?"
"You really are new at this, aren't you Scott? What? Do you think they were planning a surprise anniversary dinner for me? Sloppy seconds?"
