In my nameless city, there are several prominent families, called the Founding Five – Descendants of the five original settlers in the area; Fellowes, Hendrix, Perrine, Reinhardt and Yarrow. All filthy rich, they are also (for the most part) kind and compassionate people, who work hard for a living. When two Founding Five wed, it’s a media circus. Oren Hendrix and Merle Fellowes are due to wed soon, but are planning a trip to get away together, before the craziness completely takes over. However, they aren’t anticipating getting into a car accident on their way to the airport.
A truck careened out of the ally without looking. Expensive brakes held, but the car behind wasn’t so lucky. It plowed into their rear. The Porsche lurched forward and sideways, smashing into a minivan parked at the curb.
The truck sped away, uncaring. Oren and Merle sat still, dazed. Someone tapped on the window. A young Indian woman dressed in a magenta sari spoke to Merle. Her voice was muffled by the glass.
“Are you all right?” Her lightly accented voice held a hint of England.
“Yes,” Merle whispered, nodding.
A swarthy man stood on the other side, angry and cursing, his ire directed at the departing truck. He shook a fist, making a universally rude finger gesture. The woman spoke to him sharply and he moved out of the road as a police car pulled up. Oren opened his door with difficulty, climbing out of the car as the EMTs arrived. As soon as they recognized Oren, the son of the police commissioner, and successful business man in his own right, they became very solicitous. The young Indian man wasn’t getting the same treatment. In fact, the police officer who was talking to him, was rude, almost brutal.
“Hold up there!” Oren called as the officer forced the young man to put his hands on the hood of his car. “He’s not to blame here. Let him go. And be nice, dammit! It’s not his fault.”
“He rear ended you, Mr. Hendrix.”
“Yeah, but it’s the truck’s fault.”
“Truck? There’s no truck here.”
“Check the traffic cameras.” Oren pointed to them. “And for gods sake, let him up. Dammit! Just because he ran into me, doesn’t make him guilty of a crime.” He walked over to the young man, holding out his hand. “Oren Hendrix. I’m really sorry about all this”
“I am sorry, Mr. Hendrix. But my insurance is insufficient to cover such an expensive car.”
Oren smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. The man winced.
“Hey!” Oren called to a nearby paramedic. “Have you checked him for injuries?”
“Why not? Because I’m f**king Oren Hendrix and he’s not?” he bellowed. “Dammit! Check him for injuries! Am I the only one here who doesn’t think I’m the shit?” He looked for Merle, finding her perched on the ambulance. The young Indian woman sat next to her, being checked by an EMT.
“Babe, are you okay?” he asked loudly as he walked over.
“I’m fine. What are you yelling for?”
“No idea,” he said quietly.
The EMT led the other man over. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hendrix. I was told he’d been checked.”
“Not your fault. I’m sorry I yelled.” He nodded at the EMT, kissed Merle and walked over to the police who were checking the traffic cameras on a tablet. “Any luck finding the truck?”
“Yes. We got an ID. You sure you aren’t pressing charges with this guy?” He jerked his thumb at the Indian man. “He was traveling pretty close to you.”
Oren chuckled. “Dude, it’s city traffic, near rush hour. Of course he’s too close. Cut the guy some slack. Do we have info on this car owner?” He pointed to the damaged minivan.
“He was in there,” the cop said, pointing to a jeweler’s store.
© 2019 Dellani Oakes