Ackerman.
George's dreams of the yellow shirt were
dashed. He would later tell the orderly at Our Lady of Gusto
Hospital that he was sideswiped by a member of Lazy Bart's
Rust-Proofing team. The nurse bandaged up the six-inch wide snow
tire smudge on the side of his face.
"How long have you been racing dirt bikes?"
she asked.
Dino jumped forward, grabbed the tire that
loosely framed Ackerman's noggin and rushed over to the railing
with the rubber. He stared down at the traffic disappearing
underneath the overpass. He nodded his head up and down, getting
the timing down as Erskine's car approached. He and Donnie had only
been kidding before when they'd spoke about throwing tires at cars.
The intent was to have the tire land in front of the car and cause
a blow-out. Unfortunately they didn't have the cover of darkness.
But there were plenty of cars zipping by at 90 kilometres an hour
or better. For serious tow truck tire tossers, this was a catch-22
situation. More targets were available ... but there was a greater
chance of landing in the hoose-gow.
The stretch limo was two hundred yards
distant and approaching fast. A gap of sixty yards had opened up
between it and a station wagon ahead of it. Piece of cake, thought
Donnie. He hurled the tire over the side. He leaned over to watch
the radial drop like a rock. The limo ran into the tire the same
time as Ackerman's bicycle crash-landed on the hood of the car.
Dino turned to see his brother, twenty feet
to his left, further down the railing.
"It's my turn," said Donnie with a smirk.
A disgusted Erskine stood beside the smoking,
banged-up vehicle. Dennis pulled his tow truck in behind the car.
He hopped out of the cab, saw the bike and stopped short.
"Holy shit. Where's the guy on the bike?"
"There is none."
"Wow. That bad, eh?"
Dennis respectfully took off his baseball
cap.
"No, no," said Erskine. "I meant to say there
was no one riding it. It was just the bicycle and ... that."
Erskine pointed to the tire.
"Someone must have dumped them over the
railing," he said, pointing overhead.
Dennis cocked one eye.
"Kids probably. This neighborhood is bad for
gangs. Maybe they mistook you for a rival member."
"In a stretch limousine?" Erskine was
incredulous.
"Long, short ... old, new -- these kids will
steal anything. They sure as hell aren't riding ten speeds
anymore," Dennis said. They both looked at the mangled ten speed
imbedded in the grill of the caddy.
"They make sure of that," Dennis said as he
began to hitch up the chains.
Dennis unhitched Erskine's mangled car from
the tow truck. Nearby, Victor was in the middle of a cellular phone
call. The phone's state-of-the-art technology had difficulty
withstanding the heated conversation Erskine was having with a
local taxi dispatch.
"I want a fucking cab now! What word don't
you understand?"
Erskine slapped the flip phone shut and
stuffed it back in his sport jacket.
Dennis motioned to the garage.
"This guy's great. Good prices for good work.
He'll have you back on the road in no time ... no matter what you
hit."
Erskine started for the garage, head down ...
and almost bumped into Ray Marcotte. Neither man recognized the
other. Dennis climbed back into the truck and started the motor.
Ray nodded toward the damaged car and smirked.
"What's the other guy look like?"
Erskine looked around, weighing the tire and
bicycle story. Dennis pulled his tow truck up alongside the two
men. He waved to Ray and pulled out into traffic. Erskine turned
and started walking toward the garage. Ray walked with him.
"It was a single-car accident. I ran into
some ... uh, debris on the #401."
"City streets are filled with more crap than
the damn government," Ray said.
Ray lifted the mangled hood and inspected the
damage.
"When will it be ready?"
Ray squinted at Erskine.
"Humpty Dumpty ran into the bleedin' wall
here ... and only one of the king's horsemen is on duty."
"Look ... uh, Ray. Erskine finished the
sentence like he was
George's dreams of the yellow shirt were
dashed. He would later tell the orderly at Our Lady of Gusto
Hospital that he was sideswiped by a member of Lazy Bart's
Rust-Proofing team. The nurse bandaged up the six-inch wide snow
tire smudge on the side of his face.
"How long have you been racing dirt bikes?"
she asked.
Dino jumped forward, grabbed the tire that
loosely framed Ackerman's noggin and rushed over to the railing
with the rubber. He stared down at the traffic disappearing
underneath the overpass. He nodded his head up and down, getting
the timing down as Erskine's car approached. He and Donnie had only
been kidding before when they'd spoke about throwing tires at cars.
The intent was to have the tire land in front of the car and cause
a blow-out. Unfortunately they didn't have the cover of darkness.
But there were plenty of cars zipping by at 90 kilometres an hour
or better. For serious tow truck tire tossers, this was a catch-22
situation. More targets were available ... but there was a greater
chance of landing in the hoose-gow.
The stretch limo was two hundred yards
distant and approaching fast. A gap of sixty yards had opened up
between it and a station wagon ahead of it. Piece of cake, thought
Donnie. He hurled the tire over the side. He leaned over to watch
the radial drop like a rock. The limo ran into the tire the same
time as Ackerman's bicycle crash-landed on the hood of the car.
Dino turned to see his brother, twenty feet
to his left, further down the railing.
"It's my turn," said Donnie with a smirk.
A disgusted Erskine stood beside the smoking,
banged-up vehicle. Dennis pulled his tow truck in behind the car.
He hopped out of the cab, saw the bike and stopped short.
"Holy shit. Where's the guy on the bike?"
"There is none."
"Wow. That bad, eh?"
Dennis respectfully took off his baseball
cap.
"No, no," said Erskine. "I meant to say there
was no one riding it. It was just the bicycle and ... that."
Erskine pointed to the tire.
"Someone must have dumped them over the
railing," he said, pointing overhead.
Dennis cocked one eye.
"Kids probably. This neighborhood is bad for
gangs. Maybe they mistook you for a rival member."
"In a stretch limousine?" Erskine was
incredulous.
"Long, short ... old, new -- these kids will
steal anything. They sure as hell aren't riding ten speeds
anymore," Dennis said. They both looked at the mangled ten speed
imbedded in the grill of the caddy.
"They make sure of that," Dennis said as he
began to hitch up the chains.
Dennis unhitched Erskine's mangled car from
the tow truck. Nearby, Victor was in the middle of a cellular phone
call. The phone's state-of-the-art technology had difficulty
withstanding the heated conversation Erskine was having with a
local taxi dispatch.
"I want a fucking cab now! What word don't
you understand?"
Erskine slapped the flip phone shut and
stuffed it back in his sport jacket.
Dennis motioned to the garage.
"This guy's great. Good prices for good work.
He'll have you back on the road in no time ... no matter what you
hit."
Erskine started for the garage, head down ...
and almost bumped into Ray Marcotte. Neither man recognized the
other. Dennis climbed back into the truck and started the motor.
Ray nodded toward the damaged car and smirked.
"What's the other guy look like?"
Erskine looked around, weighing the tire and
bicycle story. Dennis pulled his tow truck up alongside the two
men. He waved to Ray and pulled out into traffic. Erskine turned
and started walking toward the garage. Ray walked with him.
"It was a single-car accident. I ran into
some ... uh, debris on the #401."
"City streets are filled with more crap than
the damn government," Ray said.
Ray lifted the mangled hood and inspected the
damage.
"When will it be ready?"
Ray squinted at Erskine.
"Humpty Dumpty ran into the bleedin' wall
here ... and only one of the king's horsemen is on duty."
"Look ... uh, Ray. Erskine finished the
sentence like he was
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