“Details, please.”

Mike waits for his drink. When it arrives, he sips with reverence, like a guy who knows his bourbon. Jimmy gives him a moment, then says, “You were saying? About the hot girl? What’s her name?”

“Brenda.”

“Brenda what?”

“Firecrotch.”

“Bullshit!”

Mike takes another sip. “You’re right, that was bullshit. But I’d rather not use real names.”

“Fair enough. Wait. Is Brenda a real name?”

“Yeah, sure. It’s just not her name.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s not the same without her real name. I mean, what’s the big deal? Who am I gonna tell?”

Mike looks around the room, then says, “Sadie.”

“See? I can picture that. Sadie’s a helluva lot hotter name than Brenda. So what happened?”

“Friday night I’m in Charlottesville, Highway 27, heading home from happy hour when my car dies.”

“Dies how?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a mechanic. It just died.”

“Did it make a sound first?”

“Engine coughed a couple times, like I had water in the gas line or something.”

“You run out of gas?”

Mike gives him a look.

“Course you didn’t,” Jimmy says. “How far’d you get?”

“Before my car died? Maybe a mile.”

“How late was it?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Humor me.”

“I don’t know. Nine-thirty? Ten? Something like that.”

“You always go there? That same restaurant?”

“On Fridays? Yeah. Usually.”

“Lotta people know that?”

Mike shrugs.

Jimmy bites the corner of his lip. “You know what I think?”

“No,” Mike says. “I only know how long it takes you to tell me.”

“It sounds like you got potatoed.”

“What?”

“Like someone jammed a potato in your exhaust pipe. A clogged tailpipe would shut your car down after a mile or two.”

“Why a potato?”

“I mean, it could’ve been a sock, shorts, a rag, or t-shirt. Anything big enough to clog the pipe. Back in the day we used potatoes.”

“Why?”

“It’s a time-honored tradition. Potatoes are easy to find, easy to carry, and tend to stay put in a tail pipe.”

“What I’m asking, why do that to someone’s car?”

“Back then? Say we were at a dance and wanted to beat a guy’s ass, but wanted to get him alone first. We’d find his car in the parking lot, stick a potato in his tail pipe, follow him from a distance. When he pulled over, we’d pull in behind him and whip his ass.”

“You did that a lot?”

“A few times.”

Mike frowns.

Jimmy says, “Is that what happened? You pulled over and got jumped?”

“Nah.”

“What’d you do, call Triple A?”

“Didn’t get a chance.”

“Why not?”

“Sadie showed up.”

He grins. “Sadie Firecrotch jumped out of her car and whipped your ass?”

Mike gives him a look. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened,” he says, sarcastically.

Jimmy laughs again. Then says, “You ever see her before Friday?”

“Nope.”

“She just pulled in behind you? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Sonuva bitch! Then what happened?”

 

 

 

2.


 

“SADIE OFFERED ME a ride.”

“She what? A total stranger?”

“She actually wanted me to drive her car.