Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Hey, come on, man. The owner of the car is right here.” I pointed to the guy who’d started this. “This dude tried to steal her spot and picked a fight with her. We were only gone for ten minutes, max. She’s moving into that building right there, and she has all these boxes to carry up. Can you cut her some slack, please? We’ll move the car right after you unhook her, I promise.”
The tow truck driver lifted a foot onto the bumper of his truck and spoke to the other driver. “I don’t know, Officer Agostino, what do you think? Should I give the lady here a break?”
The dickface flashed an evil smile. “Definitely not. Get that piece of shit out of here, Johnny.”
Oh fuck. I hung my head. The asshole is a cop...
I let out a sigh of defeat and spoke to Johnny. “Can we just pay you for the tow, you can unhook it right here, and we’ll move the car? At least save us from having to go down to the impound lot to get it.”
The tow truck driver looked to the cop again. The dickwad shook his head with a smile so big it made me think this was the most fun he’d had in a long-ass time.
The tow truck driver finished cranking up Lala’s car and handed me a card. “I’m probably going to stop for some lunch, so it might be a while.”
“Can we at least take the boxes out before you go? Things are going to rattle around from all the potholes and being towed with the front end in the air.”
“Sorry. No can do.” He walked toward his truck.
I looked at Lala. “Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She pointed to the cop. “It’s his.”
The officer flashed one last smug smile and got into his car. “You two have a great fucking day.”
***
Things didn’t get any better after that. Lala and I took an overpriced Uber to Brooklyn to get her car from the impound lot. But when we arrived, the car wasn’t there yet. The damn tow truck driver moseyed in almost an hour later. Then we went to pay and found out they didn’t take credit cards, and neither one of us had enough cash on us. So we had to walk six blocks to the nearest cash machine. After, when we returned with the three-hundred-and-fifty bucks they had the balls to charge, the clerk at the lot didn’t want to release the car to Lala because she didn’t have the registration on her. Once we finally convinced them Lala wasn’t a car thief trying to steal her eleven-year-old piece-of-crap car from the tow company, her car wouldn’t start.
“They messed up your car. I’m gonna kill that tow truck driver.” I started to get out, but Lala reached for me.
“No. I don’t think they did anything, Holden.” She shook her head. “I had to get my neighbor to come over and give me a jump before I left this morning. He said it was probably the alternator.”
“Oh. Alright.” I looked around, but the impound yard was empty except for cars. “Let me go back to the office and see if the clerk can get someone to give us a jump. I’ll be right back.”
But our string of bad luck didn’t stop there. The car wouldn’t start, even after half an hour of trying to jump it and letting the battery charge.
I finally closed the hood of Lala’s car and wiped my hands on my pants before extending a hand to the woman who’d helped us. “I really appreciate you trying. Is there a mechanic nearby who won’t gouge her for an alternator if we have you guys tow it there?”
She nodded. “Banner Auto Repair is about a mile down on the right. He’s fair.”
“Can you tow it there?”
She looked at the time on her phone. “It’s almost six on a Sunday. He’s closed for the day by now. I can get it towed over first thing in the morning, but I’m going to have to charge you for it.”
I blew out two cheeks of hot air and looked over at Lala.
She shrugged. “What choice do we have? But what about all my boxes? I don’t even have a toothbrush or clothes to wear to work tomorrow without them.”
“I’ll call Dylan, my bass player, and see if he can come get us and the boxes. He lives in Brooklyn and stores the band’s van in his driveway.”
Dylan was able to help, but we didn’t get back to the apartment building and finish unloading everything until almost eight thirty.
Lala looked around the living room, littered with boxes. “Could you please call my cell? I have no idea where I put it down. I really hope I didn’t drop it in the van since Dylan just left.”