John sneered up from beneath the car and said: “Christ, Rog, did you do this intentionally?”
“What makes you say that?” Roger asked.
John shook his head and ducked back under. “Because this is the kind of fucked you can only get by going over a speed bump slowly or mounting a surface that’s too high,” he replied, his voice slightly muffled by the vehicle that covered him. “You’re a good driver, mate. So when I see this kind of damage I hafta ask.”
Roger sighed softly and shrugged. “A bit stupid of me.”
“Can say that again.”
Roger did a circuit of the jacked-up car, looking at the flat tires and the scratched-up bumpers. It didn’t look good from this angle. “Prognosis?”
John cleared his throat. “Back bumper’s hanging by metal threads. You’ve put a hole in the exhaust and that’s barely hanging, and you’ve somehow fucked three of the tires so they’re flat. And then you drove home on the things, so the rims are fucked along with the tires.”
“Can you fix it?”
John scoffed. “This is a garage job – I don’t have the tools or the time to fix it. Frankly I feel under-qualified just looking at it. And I’m only doing it as a favour to you.”
“Fair enough,” Roger said and did a second circuit of the car. He huffed constantly as he assayed the damage. “Went over one of those low roundabouts. Not low enough, I guess.”
“Don’t sound like you.”
“Thinking about other stuff.”
“Such as.”
“Trouble at home.”
John paused momentarily. “What?”
“It’s gotten worse.”
John poked his head out from under the car again. “Worse?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit,” John said, looking uncomfortable. “Owt I can do?”
“No more than you’ve done already.”
“Huh?”
“Can you fix marriages and cars?”
John went back beneath the car. “Marriages? Pfffff, can’t even fix my own.”
Roger paused. “Angela’s having an affair.”
“Really?”
He crouched and looked at the top of John’s head. “That’s why I pranged the car.”
John tilted his head so he could see Roger. “Shit, mate. Sorry,” he said and paused. “I guess something like that would make anybody lose control.”
“I didn’t lose control.”
“But, you said…”
“I said it was a bit stupid of me.”
John looked at something directly above him and tinkered with it. “Expensive way of venting steam,” he said, his voice stiff.
“I wasn’t venting steam.”
John angled his head back at Roger. “So you’ve inflicted all this damage for no reason?”
“No. I had a reason.”
John pulled at a piece of metal and threw it to one side. “Which was?”
Roger took a mobile phone from his pocket and prodded the screen. “I wanted you to look at the car.”
John paused. “I don’t understand.”
Roger got on his knees and crept towards the car. “This should explain it.”
John reached out from beneath the vehicle and Roger put the phone in his outstretched hand. He stood up and brushed the knees of his jeans.
John looked at the text, tried to speak but stuttered.
Roger looked at the jack. “Actually I wanted you beneath it.”
John screeched a rapid stream of words, reached out and hooked both hands around the foot of the car, trying to pull himself out. Roger kicked the jack away. The car seemed to hang in the air forever, and Roger worried for a split-second second it wasn’t going to fall at all. Then it dropped with violent finality. John squealed as the vehicle struck; bones cracked loudly, followed by a wheeze as the air rushed from his lungs. Two unmoving hands poked out from beneath the car body. The mobile lay on its back next to Roger’s right hand. The message on the screen read: I wanna see you, babe. Meet me tonight. The wife’s away. Make an excuse for Roger. John. Xxx
Roger squatted on his haunches for a view of the corpse. He saw a strip of bloodied hair in the light, but the rest was in shadow. It was good enough.
He smiled, stood and left the garage, closing the door on the way out.
