The Log 6

The beam wavered as the officer grasped his flashlight tighter by the side of his head. His jaw clenched and opened to speak, when flashing amber lights sudenly appeared down the road, approaching the fallen log.

“Lefty’s!” Rex announced the tow truck arrival with the enthusiasm of a child opening an eagerly anticipated present. Jimmy cackled, the officer immediately outside his van forgotten. “Jim Dandy to the rescue.”

The officer hustled toward the log, the van an annoying obligation from which he’d been freed. The yellow tow truck pulled up to the left of the log, its wide tired digging into the soft shoulder; then stopped, the van’s headlights illuminating the tall boom winch at its rear, wet rain splattering against the stiff metal; the vehicle then went into reverse, back onto the road, then lurched away from the log; stopped again, red brakelights shining, then into reverse again, stopping, just short of the log.

The officer stepped over the log, as the driver of the tow truck exited. A quick conversation erupted between the two, punctuated with arm motions directed at the van. The outline of the tow truck driver began to emerge in the haze beyond the log — short, broad, thin black wires of hair extending from his head. That figure began to point with vehement animation at the officer.

Rex threw himself back against the passenger seat. “Double-J.”

The broad figure pushed the officer. Jimmy threw open his door, his cry of SHIT! flying into the cold night air as he ran out of the van.

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