Highway Robbery by Jim Harrington
Highway Robbery by Jim Harrington
A rusty blue Cadillac rolled around the blind corner spitting and wheezing. It stopped a few feet from where a bearded sprite sat on his haunches holding a Stop sign. The red of the sign matched the color of the sprite’s blazer and tam combo.
“Good afternoon…um…whatever you are,” the heavyset driver said, cranking down the window. He looked around at the fall trees dressed in various shades of red and yellow and green, took a hankie out, and wiped his brow. “Gets pretty humid here.”
“Yes, sir,” the sprite replied. “It’ll be better once spring arrives.”
“Do you have a name?” the driver asked.
“Flash.”
“Flash? But aren’t you a…um…?”
“Sprite. And proud of it,” Flash said.
“Well, I better be going. I’m already late for a business retreat.”
“Nice meeting you,” Flash replied. “That’ll be $98.38.”
“Say what?”
“This is a toll road. You have to pay to use it. Plus, all the monies collected go to a fund to save the forest,” Flash said, his fingers crossed behind his back.
“That’s highway robbery, and besides, I don’t give a damn about the forest.”
“More like country road robbery.” the sprite said, straight-faced. “And you should care. The trees are beneficial in many ways.
“Well, I’m not paying,” the man said, reaching for the gear shift.
“Before you go, there’s something you need to know.” Flash lowered the sign and pointed to the front of the vehicle. “While you and I were chatting, Miranda, my wife, cuddled up against a front tire for a nap. My son Junior did the same in the back.” Flash held out his hands, palms up and hunched his shoulders. “You wouldn’t want to deprive a son of his mother, or a mother her only child.”
“I don’t have that much cash on me,” the man said, revving the engine in warning.
“We also take credit and bank transfers.”
“Oh, all right,” the man said, a scowl outlining his face. He took out his wallet and handed over five twenties. “Keep the change,” the man said, giving Flash the finger.
Flash smiled in return and waved goodbye.
Later, Miranda rested her head against Flash’s shoulder. “You know how I get horny when you score like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe you could send Junior on an errand,” she said, a finger meandering lazily down his torso.
“Junior,” Flash yelled. “I need you to run an errand.”
“Again?” Junior replied.
* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Jim Harrington 2025
