Gretchen's brake lights flared. She slammed on the brakes, and I had no choice but to decelerate with her.
Norman hunched forward in the backseat, his right hand clutching his chest.
"Clarence Gilbert, my chest feels like it's caving in. How much farther to the hospital?"
His voice was weaker now. Sweat rolled down my temples. "Almost there. Just hold on a little longer."
I grabbed my phone and called Gretchen.
Through the rearview mirror, I watched her glance at the screen. She declined the call without a second's hesitation.
From the truck beside me, Cecil laid on the horn and let out a whoop, dripping with mockery.
I turned my head. Our eyes met. He grinned at me, slow and vicious.
A voice message from my wife buzzed through the phone.
"You love punishing people so much, don't you? Cecil took a wrong turn on a delivery, and you boxed him in and slapped him across the face."
"So what if there was a delay? The company still closed the deal in the end! But you nearly ran him off the road!"
"You like playing highway games? I'm going to show you exactly how it feels!"
Cecil took a wrong turn on a delivery?
That wasn't what happened. Not even close.