I left my Pinto parked across the street from Nini’s and jumped in the passenger seat of William’s El Camino. Nini’s was close to a 101 freeway on-ramp, a too-short span before cars had to merge into morning traffic. William punched the gas, and the El Camino leaped forward with a growl I felt in my stomach, like the feeling of going over a hill riding a roller coaster.
Just as quickly, William slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing a blue BMW that had changed lanes and cut us off. William laid on the horn, and just as quickly, the woman driving the BMW raised the middle finger of her right hand and flipped us off.
William didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The same dark look shaded his face as the night of the softball brawl. I felt the El Camino accelerate until its front bumper was within inches of the BMW’s back bumper. The woman sped up. So did William. The woman tapped her brakes, William didn’t. I thought we would plow into the back of her car. She must have had the same thought because she didn’t try that again. She kept shifting her eyes from the rearview mirror to the side mirror. From what I could see, she looked young, with long dark hair, and afraid.
She took the next exit. William followed. She ran the stoplight at the end of the exit, turning right. So did William. A horn blared, the car on a collision course with the passenger side of the El Camino. I braced for impact, my stomach in my throat.
The car missed us.
William never glanced at me. Never said a word. His eyes, and his mind, were singularly focused on the BMW. The woman took a sharp left on a residential street. William followed. She took another right. William followed.
I didn’t know what to say at this point, so I said nothing.
The game of cat and mouse continued. When we reached the El Camino Real, the woman switched lanes, cutting off cars. William stayed right on her bumper. After several miles she took a sharp right, then made a left and drove into a garage beneath an apartment building.
William followed her.
Now I was scared.
“William.”
He ignored me. The woman parked the BMW in a stall by the elevator. Before she could get out of her car, William pulled behind her, threw the gearshift on the steering column into park but left the engine running.
The woman kept peering at the side and rearview mirrors. I could see the terror in her eyes, and I knew she was contemplating making a run for the elevator. I didn’t know what William might do, but I hoped she wouldn’t run.
Her car door opened.
William opened his door. I almost said, “William, no,” but the woman hurriedly shut and locked her door. William shut his door. I could see now the woman was crying, tears of fear.
We sat, at a standoff, for another minute or two that felt like ten or twenty. Then, slowly, the dark cloud lifted. William looked over at me, his eyes once again that crystal blue. He reached up, lowered the gearshift on the steering column into reverse, backed up, and drove from the building.
I let out a sigh and had to concentrate to keep my legs from shaking. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
When we reached the El Camino Real, William lit a cigarette and took a drag, blowing smoke out the open window. After another drag, he looked over at me and his mouth inched into a grin. Then he said something I had never considered. “We just saved that woman’s life.”
I didn’t ask how. He told me anyway. “Remember when I said you won’t fail, because you understand what the consequences will be if you do?”
“Yeah.”
“So does that woman. She’ll never flip off another person as long as she lives.”
I gave what he said some thought. “You scared the shit out of her.”
“That was the intent. Better me than some guy who would have harmed her. People have been shot for less.”
“What if she wrote down your license plate?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t.”
“But what if she did?”
He shrugged again. “What’s she going to say?” He blew smoke out the window. “She’s happy to be rid of me. In her mind, she doesn’t want to provoke me and possibly relive the experience.”
It had been a hard lesson learned for the young woman, certainly, but William was right. It was a lesson that might someday save her life. Mine, too. I have never flipped off anyone in the car. I’ve wanted to, many times, but the look of terror on that woman’s face, even after all these years, remains as fresh as the day it happened. I told that story both to Beau and to Mary Beth when each got their driver’s license, but the story doesn’t have the same impact on them as it had on me, because they didn’t experience what I experienced. They didn’t see that raw, pure terror in the woman’s eyes. Both said they would outsmart the driver—drive to a police station, or call 911 on their cell phone.