The drive to Tess's apartment
isn't especially long. From Vommy's office, it's as simple as hopping onto the
expressway and getting off two exits later. Martin isn't expecting it to be an
eventful trip, and that's a good thing. He's a bit nervous about confronting
someone hell-bent on ruining his life. He's still angry, too, but as far as he
can tell, that's not really his problem.
Landon is kind enough to be
silent as he turns up the on-ramp. Martin is lost in his thoughts somewhere far
away from this car. A loud bang pulls him back.
"Holy shit," says
Landon, and he instinctively hits his hazard lights before coming to a hasty
stop at the edge of the road that has Martin bracing against the dashboard. A
car just ahead of them had careened into the guard rail. Its radiator grill is
crumpled beyond repair, the hood folded like an accordion. Landon gets out of
the car.
"Where are you going?"
Martin shouts after him, but when someone like Landon has their sights set on a
goal, the confused yelps of a stand-up comic aren't much of a deterrent. Martin
also gets out of the car.
At first, Martin expects to see
his life flash before his eyes as the cars on the road whiz past them, but
everyone has been kind enough to either stop or slow down to rubberneck as Landon
tears off his human costume to reveal the Superman outfit underneath. Martin joins him at the driver's window. He's
just some ginger kid, the driver, and he's all alone in there. Martin can't
imagine he's been driving for long.
"I can't get the door
open," Landon mutters as he pounds on the glass. The kid's slumped over
the steering wheel, but it doesn't look like he's suffered any head trauma.
"Just call 911. They know
how to handle this shit."
Another car pulls over behind the
accident, a hulk of chipped white paint and rust. A young black woman hustles
to get out and over to the car. She begins to take pictures of Martin and
Landon. Martin thinks she might be kind of cute if she weren't being weird and
annoying.
"What are you doing?"
Martin says, approaching her. "Isn't it kinda creepy to take pictures of
an accident?"
"I work for the paper,"
she says, taking another picture of Martin before turning her lens back to the
crashed car. Martin doesn't think he likes this sort of journalism, if only
because she seems a bit too happy to have stumbled across this wreck.
Landon puts his phone back in his
pocket. "Figures that he'd do this right at the midpoint between exits.
With the traffic backing up, it's gonna be a while before anyone gets to
us."
Martin notices a strange light
flickering inside the crashed vehicle. "Dude, what is that?" he asks,
pointing.
Landon presses his face to the
glass, putting up his hands up to cut down on any glare. "Oh shit,"
he says. "Shit shit shit." He's gone from impatient to downright
frantic as he runs to his car and pops the trunk.
"What?" Martin says,
realizing he'll have to look for himself to see what the problem is.
Fire. Fire is the problem. The
kid must have been trying to light a cigarette before he crashed, because now
there's a small flame burning its way through the middle of his passenger seat.
Martin doesn't even hear sirens yet.
"Look out," Landon says.
One quick swing of the tire iron shatters the kid's window. "Get ready,
Martin." Landon unlocks the door and pulls it open. Martin fumbles at
getting the kid's seat belt undone. His adrenaline-charged brain can't seem to
solve such a simple problem. Landon pulls him out of the way to do it for him.
The lady from the newspaper continues to take photographs instead of helping, a
point Martin intends to bring up later. "Got it," Landon shouts, and
suddenly Martin is helping Landon pull the kid out of the car and away. The
reporter follows them closely, trying to capture the scene from multiple
angles.
"Oh fuck off!" Martin
yells, and she most certainly grabs a picture of his frustration. He looks to
Landon and to the car, still on fire. "Do we have anything to put that
out?"
"Not at this point,"
Landon admits. He looks defeated, but Landon's done more than most people would
have by now. This reporter woman has done absolutely nothing. Martin has to
make a conscious effort to resist yelling at her more before the police, an
ambulance, and later a fire truck finally make their way through the traffic.
The car is a blackened skeleton once the fire is doused.
It's another thirty minutes after
help arrives before the police let them go on their way. Thankfully the woman
from the newspaper is more interested in chatting with the police, paramedics,
and firefighters at that point, so Landon and Martin have no problem sneaking
away. Landon asks Martin if he still wants to see Tess, but Martin just shakes
his head. He's too unsettled by how contagious Landon's desire to do the right
thing turned out to be. How can Martin be angry about Tess's book when he's
just saved some kid's life?
Landon drops Martin off at his
house. Ray isn't around, so the night turns into Martin's typical night in:
beer, naked girls on webcams, and streaming television on his computer.
The next day he decides to get
coffee from an actual coffee shop instead of drinking the shit he brews at
home. He's not hung-over when he orders his coffee, but nor is he fully awake
when he picks up a copy of the morning paper.
"Two Men Called Heroes in
Expressway Crash" jumps out at Martin. He flips to the continuation a few
pages in, and there's an action shot of him pulling the red-headed kid out of
the car. There's no mistaking that it's Martin, though the article is mostly
about the great and powerful Landon Freeman tacking another medal onto his
jacket.
Damn it. This is yet another hit
on Martin's scumbag reputation. First the book, and now this? It's like he's
forgotten how to be dick to people, how to let idiot kids burn themselves to a
crisp after they realize they can't drive and light a cigarette at the same
time. But how's he supposed to be a jerk when he surrounds himself with decent people
like Landon Freeman? Martin needs sleaze to tarnish this good. Martin needs
shitty to scuff up this not-so-bad. Martin needs another ginger, an asshole to
make Martin forget what it's like to be nice.
Of all the people Martin could
need, Martin needs Max Enberg.
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