Stories You Wouldn't Tell Your Mother Episode 5: Insurance Fraud

     Dirty Dick had the tips of his fingers taped up like some type of serial killer.  The steering wheel pressed against his palm and the masking tape that covered his flared out fingers formed bent cones like Bugles corn chips.  Glass from the busted window dug into my jeans and t shirt with every twist I made or bump the car went over.  The sun had barely been stolen on the other side of Easley before we took this car, and for two hours we had to drive around with the Saturday dinner traffic before it could be disposed of.

            “Now I’m going to have to use all of my money from this job to buy band-aids.  Remind me again why you had to break the window out since you had the key?”  I asked.

            “We had to make it look real.  You can’t say a car has been stolen if you see two guys walk up to it with a key, unlock it, and drive away.”  Dirty Dick said.

            “Couldn’t we have brought a towel, or he could have left the window down.  This glass is like sitting in a basket of chiggers.”

Officially, we had stolen the car.  A friend of Dirty Dicks couldn’t afford to make the payments on his overpriced Mustang, and if he sold it he would still be upside down on the loan.  His next logical step was to have someone steal it, destroy it, and let the insurance company work out the details.  It didn't think it was a bad plan since I got half of the thousand dollars he was willing to pay to be rid of the thing. 

The real problem was who shared the thousand dollars with me.  Dirty Dick’s eagerness was overshadowed by his lack of planning.  The Mustang man had barely been in Characters night club twenty minutes before Dick busted the driver's window with the claw end of a hammer.  The last rays of sunlight were still holding on to the tall buildings, and the parking lot was almost empty.  If we would have got to see the security tapes it would have shown two idiots in ski masks in the middle of July.

After that we had to ride around for a couple of hours.  Dirty Dick was all geared up for starting the destruction at nine o’clock.  I wasn’t comfortable with that since more people would be out and we were more than likely going to be seen if we set the car on fire this early in the night.

Dirty Dick tried to lay his arm in the busted window but the broken glass kept scratching him, and then he would put his hand back on the steering wheel.  It was dark enough to suit me at eleven, so we exited the highway on the lower side of Fountain Inn.  A few cars still passed us as we turned toward the small town, and we barreled down the road with the fumes of anticipation giving us a high. 

“I was thinking we could start us a very lucrative business doing this.”  Dirty Dick said.  He chewed on the filter of a cigarette.  The unlit tip bobbed up and down like an abandoned fishing rod caught on the hungriest fish. 

“I don’t know how we would advertise.  Can we put an ad in the IWANNA for insurance fraud?”

Dirty Dick zipped through town faster than I liked.  We blew through a yellow light before it was about to change then followed the crumbling road on up to Van Patten’s bridge.  Dirty Dick eased the car down the side of the bridge, on to the rocks, next to the Reedy River.  The water didn’t move fast enough to make a rushing sound.    Instead it was more like the tinkling of a toilet that leaked.  It was completely dark under the shadow of the bridge once the car’s interior light turned off.  Although I couldn’t see the water, I could see patches of moonlight were the water tried to wash it away.

Dirty Dick threw the butt of his finished cigarette in the back seat and flipped a flash light on underneath his chin.  His long thin fingers curled around the handle like a grapevine on a trellis.  His narrow face split the beam, and the discoloration of his teeth looked more like special effects than the rot it actually was. 

“So what do you want to do?  Do you want to spray paint it first, stab the tires, or pee on the seats?”

A car passed over the top of us.  The drone of the tires on the concrete of the bridge was as loud as a jet passing by.  I kept looking over my shoulder.  This place was popular for teenagers who wanted to drink beer and smoke pot.

“I want to get it over with, and get out of here.  If we get caught we will be in real trouble.”

“Okay, okay.”  He said.

He popped the trunk latch and jumped out of the car.  When I stepped out to the river's edge the soft ground sank an inch under the weight of my foot.  Dick threw the cap to the can of gas on the ground and started splashing the car liberally like it was oil on a salad.  I had to back up to make sure none of it hit me.  I stepped away and fired up a cigarette but I was still close enough to smell the fumes.    On the trunk lid he shook out the last drops of the gallon and threw the empty can into the grass. 

I wasn't really thinking when I did it.  I flicked the butt of my smoke toward the car and the flames reared up from the ground like summoned demons.

"What the hell are you doing?  The key is still in there."  Dirty Dick said.

The flames from the hood tickled the canopy of live trees above us.  Ashes from burned leaves snowed into my hair and the ground, and the singed branches of the tree sizzled as the moisture burned out of it.  Dick ducked into the driver's door and reached for the key.  The flames covered the area and I could feel my skin tighten like it was sunburned. 

"Hot!  God dammit."

His armpit caught fire from reaching over the burning door and his hair singed away from his tank top.  He grabbed the key and rolled away from the car.  I tried to help him up but he lay there, rolling back and forth, like a clean dog in a pile of dung.  When he stood up he waved his hand in the air like he recognized someone.  I could see patches of the remaining curled hairs and the blush of burned skin.  He wasn't burned bad, but a red blotch welted up from his rib cage to just below his elbow.  He danced a minute in the fire light before one of the tires exploded and I ducked to the ground.

"Let's get out of here."  Dick yelled

We ran up the embankment toward the church parking lot where we had Dirty Dick's car stashed.  I got winded and prayed to fate that no cars would pass us fleeing from the scene.  Dick was faster than me.  He made it to his car a good minute before I walked up and he stood jerking on the door handle of his Camaro.

"I left my keys in the other car.  Why in the hell did you light the damn thing?  I had some new CDs in there still."  Dick said.

"You don't have a spare any where?  In your wallet?  Who takes their keys out of their pockets in a stolen car?"

The black smoke billowed into the sky.  It formed a black cloud over us and blocked out the stars.  Dirty Dick tugged on the door handle a few more times and I watched as the bridge disappeared.

"We have got to go back and get'em."  Dirty Dick said. 

"We don't have time.  Someone's going to call the fire department or the cops."

"Well, we can wait here for them to arrive or we can figure out something."

A set of headlights was dulled by the smoke.  The car slowly drove over the bridge, toward us, when Dick and I ran to the bushes.  I laid flat on the ground and tried to get myself as low as possible.  Dick took a knee in the bushes and wedged his bony body into the thickest part of the shrubs.

I raised my head after they passed.  The car was going slow and I heard the engine idle as they drove by, and then it sped off after they had a good look at the car parked at the church.  I felt something wiggle on my face.  I wasn't sure if it was a bug or stray hair, but I slapped at my face trying to get it away from me.

"We've got to figure out something man.  We got to get out of here."  I said.

"I might have a key in the glove box."  Dirty Dick said.

He didn't tell me his plan again.  I picked myself up and brushed my clothes off with my hands.  Dick picked up a small rock and walked back to the car.  I heard the window crack when he hit it, and the sound of the pellets hitting the parking lot was like quarters dropping from a change machine. 

After Dick walked over to the driver's seat I jogged back to the car.  The engine revved up when it started and, again, I sat in a pile of glass.  When we drove through the cloud I could taste the thick smoke.  It was chalky with a strong dose of sulfur.  The headlights were useless until we got to the other side.  Dirty Dick rolled down his window and held his right hand against the roof to let the cool air blow over his burn.  The tape that rose above the tips of his fingers had charred black and flaked off.

"My burned up CDs are coming out of you half."  He said as the fire trucks screamed toward us.

Stories You Wouldn't Tell Your Mother Episode 2: Built Like a Brick Shithouse

Episode 2: Built Like a Brick Shithouse

Moonlight glinted of the head of the Bic lighter. The tight hinges of the portable toilet held pressure of the molded plastic door against my back. The smell of lighter fluid burned out the odor of waste sitting days in the sun, and I wanted my money's worth. I wanted to see the whole unit melt like a plastic bucket. The fumes of the lighter fluid made me light headed. I stood back to let in more fresh air. My hands slicked with sweat, and my thumb didn't want to flick the bic's wheel the right way.

“Come on lets go.” Gerald yelled from the window of the SUV.

“Not until I see it burn.” I whispered to myself.

I felt the ridges of the lighter embed in my thumb. When I tried to spark it again it slipped from my hand, skipped of the rim, and dropped like a rock. I heard the gurgle of the water as it was accepted with the sewage.

“Shit.” Literally.

I sulked from the tree line back to the Blazer. Dense pine trees stood around like skinny people after a U2 concert.

“Does anybody have another lighter. I dropped that one.”

Gerald and Sonny glanced at each other and laughed. The dim interior light looked smog covered at the last of sunset. The bass of a rap song drowned out the lyrics, and Gerald held up his hands open-palmed.

“That was the only one.”

They looked at each other and started snickering again. I tore into the console and started digging through loose CDs and empty cigarette packs. The speakers buzzed when I pushed in the dash lighter.

“What are you doing?” Sonny asked.

A lock of brown hair touched his eyebrow. His hallowed face broke through the shadows of the backseat like a diver coming out of water. He looked at me with a grin of amusement. A belittling grin where the corners of the mouth don't rise above the top lip. I found a piece of paper and wrapped Gerald's registration in it.

“I am going to try and catch this paper on fire with the car lighter.” Bass came back to the speakers after the button of the lighter popped out. When I jammed the tear shaped end of the paper into the coils the thin line of fire moved up the crinkles slowly without producing a flame. I blew above the ash like a mother blowing on a child's cut.

“I think I got it.” I said and moved back toward the plastic toilet. No one stole from me and got away with it.

With my left hand I cupped the fire to shield it from the stream of wind I would create from walking. Part of a flame rose when the fire hit the twisted knot that looked like an oak root. I rubbed the paper on the walls in the pattern of the cross, and nothing caught. I picked the can of lighter fluid off the floor, but it doused out the flame. I threw the paper into the pit. It might as well have that too.

When I ducked into the passenger seat Gerald turned the radio down. They wouldn't want to do what I was going to tell them to do.

“Well?” Gerald asked. His cheeks hung low on his face and drooped below his jaw line.

“Drive to the store. We're going to get a lighter and some matches.”

“That didn't work either?”

“No.”

They both laughed as Gerald put the car in drive and we did a three point turn to the street. Anger built in me like a Pepsi bottle that has been shaken too much. My finger nails dug into my palm as I clinched my fist.

“Your going to make us late for the movie.” Sonny said. His arms rested on his knees and his head poked through the seats.

“Fuck the movie. It will be playing every night this month.”

“Why are you so hellbent on setting this thing on fire?” Gerald asked.

“I told you he owed me money. I don't work for free. That son-of-a-bitch owes me one hundred and sixty four dollars, and I am going to get it one way or another.”

“Is it worth a hundred and sixty-four dollars to go through all this trouble?” Gerald asked.

“I tell you what, you give me the money if it isn't worth all the trouble. Then we can go to your faggy Beavis and Butthead movie without another word said.”

Streetlights flitted across the hood as we made our way into Ingles' parking lot. Empty rows were painted on the concrete slanted like dried fish bones.

“Didn't you bust the back axle of his truck then abandon it in Inman? Sounds to me like you might owe him some money.” Sonny said.

The car pulled up into the fire lane, and I had the door open before we stopped.

“When you become the magistrate then you can make your own fucking ruling. Until then lend me five bucks since I didn't get a paycheck this week.”

I held my hand up in the silence. Sonny huffed, and the back seat made raspberry sounds from the friction of his jeans as he moved. The bill landed in my hand with a hard slap, and I slammed the door of the car on my way into the store.

I knew my actions appeared illogical as the large box of kitchen matches and a two pack of Bics trundled down the conveyer belt. I was owed for the twenty hours of work, and I didn't ask for that job. The cashier smiled at me like she was trying to remember my face. As she handed me the receipt I snatched up the bag. Closer to the exit I heard the boom and vibrations from Gerald's car like a whale singing for company.

“All right. Let's go, let's get this over with.” I said

I thought they didn't hear me. There heads bobbed to Tupac's new disc, and their hair created static with the drooping headliner. Gerald rolled through the parking lot then peeled his tires into the street. I let my window down and the smell of honeysuckle wafted by me like the passing of a pretty girl. I hoped the music would carry us to the deed. With my cohorts lost in the emptiness I could get it over with without any more questions. A mile or two before the pull off, Gerald turned the volume down with his remote control.

“You sure you want to do this? You haven't committed arson yet? This is new for even you.” Sonny said.

“If I could get a little help this would go much more quickly. You know, like I helped you catch your step-mom cheating on your dad. And I helped you break the back window out of Jeremy Bergoins car for stealing your stuff. Co-operation. Teamwork”

They were almost finished laughing by the time we pulled into the construction site.

“You act like we haven't been in this same situation with you a hundred times already.” Gerald said

“Egging the police station after you got that ticket.” Sonny said

“Stealing from The Pantry when they wouldn't sell you a pack of cigarettes.” Gerald said.

“Destroying Jamie Brooks house while I screwed his chubby sister. He just beat you gambling.”

“So what you are telling me is that you guys are used to stuff like this. So this shouldn't be much of a problem?” I asked

“Alright. I will help you out. Turn the car around so we can get out of here quicker.” Sonny said.

He crawled out into the sound of crickets fast and shrill. I held the front seat up and gripped the block of matches in my hand. The gravel was new and hadn't washed away yet. Our footsteps crunched like we were walking in light snow.

“What do you want me to do?” Sonny asked

“Hold the door open while I try to light it on fire.”  I said

Sonny didn't watch me. His face was pointed toward the ground like a hostage who fell asleep tied to a chair. One of his feet faced the car, and he was crouched like he was ready to run. I lit the kitchen matches and laid them near the rim of the seat. Their flames wafted from the draft before dying. I rubbed them on the walls, threw them in places where lighter fluid had pooled, but everything had evaporated. What was left in the can dripped out onto the seat when I turned it upside down. When I put a match to it it burned off quickly and barely singed the plastic.

“Dammit.” I yelled as I threw the matches to the ground.

“Come on. Speed it up.” Sonny said.

“The lighter fluid evaporated. What am I supposed to do.”

Sonny let go of the door and it thwacked me in the back. I lit another match and set the whole box on fire. It produced a good flame, but died out as well. Tension crawled up to the base of my neck. I punched the wall and stomped out to the ground.

“Well?” Sonny asked.

With all of my weight I ran into the door. The two by four base resisted like a tackle dummy. I charged again and the toilet rocked back, and when I moved away for another wind up the portable toilet lurched forward, and fell on the door.

“There. Are you happy?” Sonny asked.

My heart pumped and my hands shook. I didn't feel relieved at all. I kicked the roof and didn't even make a dent. Then the smell caught me. It stuck in the back of my throat, and when I exhaled it was like a burp I could taste. I stepped away and my shoes felt slick as they scraped across the ground.

“God dammit.”

“Don't tell me you got it on you. Shitfoot. All these months you been goin round cleaning up other people's shit, and now you get it on you. I told you Shitfoot. I told you when you started this stupid job you would get somebody else's shit on you. And now your Shitfoot. Hoppin round like it was a surprise.”