Historical September 1994 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
Seven had been his previous high, and that had occurred one rainy afternoon over a year ago. Twice he had done six, and five’s were almost routine these days. Sometimes he thought that maybe, just maybe. he ought to get a new hobby.
But those thoughts would vanish in no time.
After all, this was a hobby that he had invented, and he didn’t know anyone else who did it.
Most of all. he loved the feeling of control that it gave him.
He set the alarm for 6:30 a.m.
It Was tough getting up that early, he’d watched Letterman and, even, Conan. Letterman’s TOP TEN list was always worthwhile.
He went back and forth between laughing and being incredulous that anyone could get paid so much money for being so stupid.
He had been sleepy last night all evening, so he drank a couple of cups of coffee while watching “Sound Of Music,” his favorite video.
It had done the trick, Julie was sonic honey, and he didn’t doze off untitsometinic around I a.m.
The alarm shattered his sleep.
He was dreaming about something, he knew that much, but he couldn’t remember what. That was the trouble with dreams, you could never quite piece them all together..He only lay in bed for a minute, but then he had to get moving.
He couldn’t be late this morning; a big day was ahead, lots of plans!
He took a quick shower, threw down a chilled coffee flavored -Slim-Fast, put on his sweats, grabbed all of his documentation, and hopped in the car.
It wasn’t even 7 a.m. yet. and the streetlights were still on. Over the horizon he could see the beginnings of a sunrise.
The sky had an orange glaze, and he would have liked to have lingered and watched the day begin. Maybe toniorrow, he thought, right now he had an appointment. No time to waste!
He backed his Chrysler out of the garagc, secured his scat belt and shoulder harness, and began to drive up the street.
His car was an old brown Chrysler, full of dents and bruises, but that was just as well. Although he had done this dozens of times, he had to consciously work at not getting too excited and carried away with anticipation. What a great hobby!
He could feel his heart pounding, but he took pride in knowing that an outsider wouldn’t have been able to detect his nervousness.
He moved his hand away from the steering wheel for a few seconds, held it level, and took pride at how steady it was.
He was so intent on watching his hand that he didn’t note his car drifting into the next lane.
In a flash he heard the horn and saw the other car at the same time. Instantly he responded by jerking the wheel to the left and veering away.
He had barely missed having an accident. Wouldn’t that be ironic, lie thought, an accident an the way.
All of his attention was on the • road now and he drove the next few miles quite carefully. At times like this he often wished he had a radio, but it would have already been ruined several times, lie knew. and would be ruined again for sure, so he didn’t bother with it. Instead he hummed a bit.
He made a turn and then he saw it, his destination, Skinker and the Forest Park Expressway.
He was heading cast on the Expressway and he lowered the visor to keep the morning sun from getting in his eyes.
He had lots of intersections where he “hobbied.” as be called it. but this was one of his favorites.
He drew closer and began looking and planning. Sure enough, even at this time of day, the rush hour had started.
He began to select his target.
He looked at a car, another, a truck, even a bus. Nothing seemed to strike his fancy.
But just then he spotted a white station wagon that looked appealing.
A man in his 50’s was driving it.
The car was headed south on Skinker, waiting to make a left turn onto the Forest Park Expressway. YES, he thought. this is it His heartbeat picked up even more and he began to perspire a bit.
He loved this part!
He turned his car on to Skinker, carefully adhering to the correct lane, and then with a quick jerk of his wrist steered his car into the side of the station wagon.
There was a crash, the sound of steel twisting and breaking. glass shattering. two metal elephants banging against one another.
The force of his old Chrysler caused the station wagon to lurch sideways in to the next lane.
His car shuttered to a halt. Although he had braced himself for the impact, the jolt had thrown him forward and he had lost sight of the other car for a moment.
After the crash he immediately raised himself and looked out the window. Good. the other driver didn’t appear hurt at all, just quite stunned. “Arc you all right?” he asked.
The other driver didn’t respond and he repeated the question. Slowly the man turned his head and nodded at him. By now he was out of the car and walking toward the station wagon.
It was perfect, he saw, as he got closer.
The other driver wasn’t hurt. And better, while he had damaged both doors and a side panel, it was clear that the station wagon could be driven again.
His own car, he saw, was in good shape except for the fronts of the fenders and the headlights.
He smiled to himself, thinking of all of the reinforced steel hidden just below the hood.
He often delighted in thinking that he was really driving a battering ram. By now the other driver had produced a driver’s license and insurance certificate.
He pulled out his documents and they exchanged numbers.
This was just too good. he thought, this old guy never thought to look carefully at the driver’s license.
If he had he would have seen that the photo didn’t really look like the guy who had just hit him.
For that matter, he didn’t see that the name on the insurance certificate had been carefully changed to match the stolen driver’s license.
His satisfaction was broken by the angry horns and shouts of drivers.
As he had hoped, the fenderbender had almost completely shut down the traffic at the intersection. Three southbound lanes were blocked by the two cars, but it was more than that. People in all directions had stopped to look.
He could feel the power; now he was in control!
He had anticipated this accident as a 6, but the traffic jam was worse than he had hoped and had madc it at least an 8, he thought. What a mess! Maybe it was because everyone was in a hurry this early. Heck, if he’d known that he would be getting an 8, he would have brought some of his fake blood to get to a I0. Blood pouring into the street always added two or three numbers, even if it was just ketchup.
The other driver was getting very nervous now, seeing what was happening at the intersection, and probably worrying that unless he moved, hp might be part of a second accident.
They shook hands and promised to call one another’s insurance agents, and slowly drove away.
He let the white station wagon pull into traffic first, always being the gentleman.
A couple of minutes later he was driving down a fairly quiet road in Forest Park, headed toward Kingshighway, being very pleased with himself.
His first appointment had been an 8. and the day was still young.
If he hurried, he could make another meeting before rush hour finished.
In no time he was approaching the intersection Of Arsenal and Kingshighway.
He quickly identified his target. a red late model Ford. and rammed it from behind.
It was a perfect hit, he thought.
He could see that the impact had broken the Ford’s tail lights, crushed the trunk, and pulled the bumper away.
He hadn’t damaged his car, but already three lanes of traffic were stopped.
He left his Chrysler and pulled out a new driver’s license and insurance certificate.
This time it was a lady.
She was very nervous, almost crying, and he knew that she wouldn’t even glance at the photo on the license.
They began exchanging information and he could hear horns and tires squealing in the background as other drivers tried to avoid the wreckage.
This was going to be a 7, maybe an 8. he thought.
But he couldn’t focus on this rating just yet.
He found himself anticipating the rest of the day.
From here he’d go to Chippewa and Grand. then Olive and Grand.
After that he’d switch cars and get the old Chevy and have lunch.
During the afternoon drive time, he’d begin with Delmar and Union, then move to Page and Woodson. Maybe then he’d call it a day. Of course, he could end with Lindbergh and Gravois, but maybe that should be tomorrow’s first appointment.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, September 1994.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1994_09.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 7.
