Bump and Grind

Bump and Grind

“So, we hit it from the back, right?”

“What?”

“I said we’re gonna’ slam from behind, right?”

Eddie Juarez shook his head in disdain. Before, he’d just thought Milo DiCenzo was a pothead who just couldn’t follow his explanations. Now, he realized the man was just an idiot. The problem wasn’t Milo, though. Milo was sitting in the backseat of Eddie’s car asking inane questions. The real problem was in the front passenger’s seat – a burly African-American named Forest Cruser.

Cruser was dating Milo’s sister – a fact that grated on just about every guy in their East Fort Worth neighborhood who’d wanted a shot at her. Milo’s sister wanted Milo out of her apartment that day so she could shampoo the carpets. Forest had to take him – if he wanted any more hot nights from his girlfriend, that was. Since Forest couldn’t gripe at his girlfriend, he’d been reduced to sulking and brooding in the car. That let Eddie know that Forest Cruser was in no mood to argue about Milo’s weird antics.

“Look, I know you in a bad mood, homes, but I got to ask,” Eddie finally blurted after building up some bravado. “Do we really need the pothead?”

“He ain’t no pothead, Eddie,” Forest snapped, causing Eddie to slide back against his driver’s side door in a mix of fear and surprise. “He’s just slow, that’s all. Wasn’t wearing no seat belt a few years ago and got into a car wreck. Hit the steering wheel. Jennifer takes care of him ‘cuz her parents are in some retirement community on fixed incomes. He may not be as smart as you, but he can learn and he listens real well.”

Eddie found that last fact debatable. Still, Forest was boss. So, he kept his mouth shut and pulled the car out of the shopping mall parking lot and back into traffic.

“I take it he has a thing for butts,” Eddie commented after fifteen minutes of silent driving. “He always talking about hittin’ it from the rear and all.”

“He may be slow but that’s what them girls like,” Forest replied, finally breaking a smile. “They like how he listens to them and does what they ask. Course, it don’t hurt he’s packing.”

“So, we’re cool with this, right?” Eddie asked. “I ain’t pulled one of these in an age and a half.”

“Yeah, we cool,” Forest answered, turning away to look out his window at the foliage along the farm road they’d turned onto 10 minutes earlier. “Got to make some bread without goin’ back in. This way, if the cops come, it’ll seem like an accident.”

“Don’t see why it has to be my car,” Eddie muttered, squinting at the late afternoon sun streaming through his windshield. “I was thinkin’ ‘bout puttin’ this baby in High Rider magazine.”

“Man, you ain’t gonna’ do nothing,” Forest retorted, derisively. “This bucket shoulda’ been put out of its misery five years ago. You done spent twice as much in spare parts to keep it running than you paid for it. I think they call that a bad rate of return, bro.”

“Hold on a minute, maybe my rate of return just changed, homes,” Eddie blurted out.

Forest looked ahead and smiled at what Eddie saw. They were closing on the bumper of a black sports car. Both men smiled devilishly, like predators eyeing unsuspecting prey. In the back, Milo just twiddled his thumbs and looked from side to side at the passing trees.

“Man like that gots to have bread on him,” Eddie said, with a broad grin.

“Can’t see why he can’t share some of it,” Forest agreed. “Whole lot simpler to pay us some cash than to let the insurance company raise his rates over it. Okay now. Just like we rehearsed. Just get close to him and when we come up on this intersection, you know what to do."

“I just thought of something, homes,” Eddie remarked. “What if homeboy don’t cooperate. You know, makes a scene or some kind of road rage. Wish you had your piece with you.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what the cops expect to see when they roll up on an accident,” Forest answered, shaking his head derisively. “White dude with a tire iron and a black guy with a piece. Just concentrate on the road ‘fore we have a real accident.”

“Hey, hey, homes, I know what I’m doing,” Eddie snorted. “Just get Milo back there ready for his role as the injured party. Maybe being a little slow’ll help us. Rich people don’t like it when they do somethin’ that hurts kids or slow people. Turn the radio down will ya’, so I can concentrate.”

“Radio’s fine, bro,” Forest shot back. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“Damn, dude’s slowing down,” Eddie muttered under his breath. “Maybe he’s onto us. What you think, homes?”

“Just a sec,” Forest replied, tension rising in his voice. “Maybe he’s making a call on his cell phone. Wait a minute. Changing lanes...getting ahead of him...damn, his windows are tinted heavily, ain't that illegal...okay, getting in front of him, sucker's not paying attention...wait…wait for it…now!”

Whoever was driving the sleek black sports car never looked up in time to see Eddie's car pass and pull in front of him. When Eddie reached a three-way stop, he slammed on his brakes and that’s when his piece-of-crap 1990 full-size four-door (what Milo called a “tank”) became a king-sized road block. The man in the sports car, unable to react in time, rammed into Eddie's bumper, not enough to disable either car but enough to make very visible dents. For a minute a two, the man in the black car didn’t move, apparently stunned by what had just happened. But, then, he was busy in the front seat, apparently retrieving his insurance paperwork.

“Good piece of drivin’, wouldn’t you say, homes?” Eddie asked, as he undid his seat belt and prepared to get out of the car.

“Nothin’ wrong with a little bump and grind, you know,” Forest joked as he unbuckled his seat belt as well. “Hold, dude. Damn, homeboy’s got something in his hand. Dude’s callin’ 911.”

“Hey, he can call the president for all I care,” Eddie snapped. “As long as we get what's comin’ to us.”

The man stopped right by Eddie’s rear bumper and then showed them his phone. Except, it wasn’t a phone. It was a gun, a marvelous shiny piece of work with an extended magazine that held 15 bullets. Alas for Eddie, Forest and Milo, every single bullet found its way into the interior of Eddie’s car.

All three men jerked as bullets slammed into them, filling their bodies with intense pain. Only Milo in the back seat couldn’t understand what was happening. He just lost all feeling in his body and slumped forward. In the front seat, Eddie slumped against his door while Forest had fallen forward, his head resting on the dashboard, his mind futilely berating him for not bringing his piece after all.

Outside of the car, the man simply turned around and walked back to his car. He got in, gunned the motor, pulled around Eddie's car and sped off. Because the incident had occurred on a rural farm road in an unincorporated area of Tarrant County, Texas, Jennifer DiCenzo would not learn the fates of her brother and her lover until the next morning.

Inside the car, Forest moaned as his life ebbed away. The only thing filtering into his mind was the car radio.

“…again, this is a special news bulletin. Motorists are warned to be on the lookout for a black sports coupe, license plate number one-three-four-x-p-t. Police report that the driver, Macon Daniels, shot and killed his wife and mother-in-law in Fort Worth earlier this afternoon. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you see this car, please contact the nearest police department. Do not, I repeat, do not approach this individual. According to Fort Worth police, he warned frightened witnesses at the home of his mother-in-law that anyone approaching him would get what they deserved.

“This has been a special bulletin. Please stay tuned to this station for further updates.”