The Layover

by Lacie Waldon

“I think he has fifty pounds on you,” Jack says, “and you have about that many years on him. What are you doing stealing car batteries anyway?” “I warned him to put the muffler back on. What did he expect? I couldn’t hear myself think through all that noise. I don’t suppose you took that tire iron from him and put it to good use.” “You mean, did I bludgeon a man with a metal pipe and then come looking for a tasty sandwich?” R.J. throws his hands out like he’s waiting for an answer. “No, Dad.” Jack sighs. “I didn’t.” “So, what? My house is on fire now?” Jack shakes his head. “We came to an agreement. I gave his battery back, added fifty bucks for a new muffler, and explained to him that I used to work on cars and know at least five guys who could crush that metal trash heap into a cube that would fit in my trunk, no questions asked.” “Fifty bucks?” R.J. mutters. “Sucker.” “How did you know where his battery was?” I ask, licking a bit of chocolate off my thumb. “Oh, good,” Jack says flatly. “You’re a part of this conversation.”