Driving Heat Read Free

probation. If she does not comply, a warrant will be issued for her arrest. Do you understand?”
    Mission accomplished, Cynthia headed back to her car. “I understand, Ava. This isn’t something I want to do, but unfortunately it isn’t up to just me. These actions have been mandated by the court. If she makes it to my office, I’ll do whatever I can to keep her out of jail.” She opened her car door and stepped inside. “You’re welcome. Have a good day.”
    Cynthia placed her key into the ignition and turned. A whining, grinding noise accompanied the car’s attempt to start. This is different. Undaunted, she tried again. This had been a pre-owned purchase, but this regularly washed, regularly serviced vehicle had not given her an ounce of trouble since its purchase two years ago.
    Whine. Grind. No start-up.
    “Really? When the meeting starts at one? Come on. Please start.”
    Following Ivy’s suggestion and as best she could, Cynthia thought about turning the key and hearing the car engine rev, imagined pulling away from the curb and heading downtown. But after a third attempt with continued silence, she admitted the obvious—the car wasn’t going to start.
    Stay calm, Cynthia. Just call Triple A. She pulled out her phone, dialed the 800 number, and received the disheartening news that because of an unusually high number of calls and where she was located, her wait time would be anywhere from ninety minutes to two hours.
    She called a taxi company and scheduled a pickup. The operator said it would be fifteen minutes. Thirty minutes later, she called another company. They said she’d be picked up in ten. Ten minutes after this lie had been told, Cynthia’s calm threatened to join positive attitude, which had already disappeared. It was almost noon. Time was running out!
    She banged the steering wheel. “Dammit!” This cannot be happening right now!
    A slight tap on her window almost caused a heart attack. She turned to see a kindly older man with a pleasant smile.
    She eased down her window. “Yes?”
    “Good morning, miss. Having car trouble?”
    She nodded. “Cab trouble, too.”
    The older man scratched his scruffy black and gray beard, smiling to show even, white teeth. “Hard to get a cab on this block.”
    “Why? This seems to be a nice, quiet neighborhood.”
    “Looks can be deceiving,” the old man responded. “A driver who was resisting a robbery got killed a month or so ago. Haven’t seen one on this block ever since. One young fool makes it hard for everybody.”
    With head in hand, she muttered, “How am I going to get back to work?”
    “Where do you work?”
    “Downtown.”
    “That shouldn’t be too hard. The number 53 runs about every thirty minutes and will take you straight there.”
    Cynthia looked at herself in the rearview mirror. Did he just suggest that I walk down a street where a man got killed . . . and then catch a bus ?

2
    “Did you say take a bus?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Like . . . a city bus?” Even though she’d never ridden one, Cynthia hadn’t meant for the question to sound snobbish. This unexpected delay on a most important day had thrown her for a loop.
    “You could catch the blue line, the train, but you’d have to walk farther.”
    What he’d said about robbers and murderers made a long walk in these parts about as attractive as getting a root canal without Novocain. “Where do I catch the bus?”
    “Right on the corner there, just two short blocks up. There’s a bench and a sign on the light post. You can’t miss it.”
    The old man found humor in Cynthia’s horrified expression. “It’s clear you’re not the type to take one much, having this fine car and all. But short of walking, that’s the best option.”
    With every other option exhausted, Cynthia reached for her purse. She exited the car and locked it. “You say the stop is at the corner?”
    The friendly neighbor nodded as he pointed. “Not this corner, the next one. That main