Slow Play, Part 1: A Fiery Cockpit

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.