Asking For Trouble by Simon Wood Page B

always been so forgiving. Somehow, Jude knew she would have moved on. She was just that kind of person. Jude fidgeted in her seat, suddenly unsure. Maybe moving on was the right thing to do. Sure it was unfair, but that was life. Injustice stalked the innocent every day, and that was never going to change. She grasped the key to start the ignition, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wasn’t ready to walk away or follow through. She’d stick it out just a little longer until she figured out what to do.
    By the time day gave way to night, Jude had flip-flopped several times on her choice to kill Meadows. As she followed him from bar to bar, he’d do something to trigger her disgust or pity. When he hit the road at one in the morning to head home, Jude still didn’t know what she wanted to do.
    Meadows turned onto Larkin from Market, taking a route past where Kirsten had died. Jude shivered when she reached the spot.
    On Larkin, Meadows’s driving deteriorated. It hadn’t been good, but now the drunk couldn’t maintain a straight line to save his life. The Oldsmobile wandered into oncoming traffic and Meadows overcompensated. The Cutlass lurched hard right, riding over the sidewalk. Thecar struck a newspaper box, ripping it from its anchors. Then Meadows proceeded to plow into anything and everything on the sidewalk, felling a tree and half a dozen parking meters. A fire hydrant ended the trail of destruction. By then, the Oldsmobile lacked the momentum to shear it off. Meadows stumbled from his vehicle, seemingly unhurt by the crash.
    Jude witnessed the carnage with sickening awe. Her foot came off the gas and she pulled up behind the wreckage. Fabian had warned her not to engage Meadows unless she intended on going through with the kill. She slipped from the car without the weapon.
    “Are you okay?” she asked.
    As she approached, her feet clinked on spilled quarters and dimes from the parking meters. Meadows, too drunk or too dazed, didn’t answer. She asked him again. He turned to face her, almost lost his balance, and grabbed the Oldsmobile’s roof for support.
    “I’m okay,” he slurred. “I think I got a blowout.”
    “Yeah, it looked like it,” Jude replied, amazed at Meadows’s nerve. “Would you like me to call nine one one?”
    “No, I’m fine.”
    “A tow truck then?”
    “No, I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
    “I don’t think you can leave the car like this.”
    Meadows cast a look over his busted Cutlass, bleeding radiator fluid and hissing steam. “I guess not.”
    He extracted a McDonald’s napkin, scrawled something on it, and stuck it under the windshield wiper. “That should do it.”
    “Can I give you a ride?”
    Jude didn’t know why she offered him a ride. She guessed Fabian would not have approved, but screw him. She’d handle it her way.
    Meadows smiled and accepted the offer. The stench of alcohol filled the car’s interior. It wasn’t just his breath. He was so drunk that alcohol mixed with his fetid body odor was leaking from his pores. Jude cracked a window.
    “Where can I drop you?”
    She set off in the direction of his address even before he told her.
    “That was some blowout,” she remarked.
    “It happens.”
    “Yeah, must have been a hundred proof.”
    Meadows breathed hard, sounding like a leaky steam line. “What are you saying?”
    “You’ve been drinking.”
    “What of it?”
    Jude shrugged.
    Without provocation, Meadows trotted out a drunk’s tale. He cataloged a series of personal calamities that had led to two broken marriages, a wrecked career, and his dependent relationship with the bottle. Jude felt a pang of sympathy, but it was fleeting. Meadows took no responsibility for his mistakes.
    “You have no idea what it is to be me,” Meadows ranted. He stuck his face in hers. She gagged on his rancid breath. He’d failed to notice she’d doubled back. They were on Market again and approaching the spot where Kirsten had died.