Suddenly this big brand-new black Mercedes is angling into the gap in front of him.

“Where’d you come from?”

Obviously it scooted down the shoulder on Jack’s left and cut in front of him while he was staring at the overpass. Jack is confounded… can’t believe someone would do this to the King.

Instantly the world takes on this cranberry tint.

Venting an inarticulate cry somewhere between a scream and a growl, Jack hits the pedal and rams the Merc’s front passenger door. The Merc rocks back and forth. And while the driver, vaguely visible through the tinted glass, is staring his way in shock, Jack reverses a couple of feet, angles the wheel a little left, and caves in the rear passenger door, but harder. Then he kicks open his door and jumps out of his cab.

Behind him he hears cheers and applause from other drivers, but he ignores them. He’s focused on this son-of-a-bitch with his blow-dried salt-and-pepper hair and his multi-thousand-dollar suit getting out of his Mercedes, guy who thinks he’s gonna give the King some attitude. Well, listen, buddy, you don’t know attitude, you’ve never seen, never dreamed attitude like you’re gonna get right now.

Guy’s eyes widen at his first glimpse of Jack, probably because with his singed hair, scorched skin, and torn bloody clothing he must look like someone who’s just walked through a burning building for fun. And of course the fact that Jack is screaming and his outstretched hands are curved into claws does not make him look particularly amiable.

“You think ‘cause you drive a Mercedes you can just cut in front of anybody whenever you damn well please? ‘Snooze, you lose’—is that what you were thinking? Well this time you cut off the King of the Road and you do not ever cut off the King of the fucking Road!”

Jack jumps up on the Merc’s trunk and comes for the driver. Wants to tear this guy apart with his bare hands and can see by the look on the guy’s face, florid outrage blanching to oh-shit-what-have-I-got-myself-into? pallor, that the guy knows it. Leaps onto the car roof and slides across feetfirst as the guy ducks back in behind the wheel. Driver door is closing but Jack catches its upper edge with both sneakers, kicking it back open.

Now he’s down inside the door with his feet on the pavement, pulling the guy out of the car, and the guy’s kicking and clawing at Jack, whimpering please don’t hurt him and how it was a mistake, a dumb careless mistake, and he’s sorry, he’s so terribly sorry.

Yeah, now you’re sorry, Mr. Mercedes, but you weren’t sorry a minute ago, were you, no, you weren’t sorry at all then, and Jack wants to punch his face in but the guy proceeds to wet his pants and that’s so pathetic and now he’s burping and gagging and oh jeez he’s gonna puke.

Jack turns the guy a quick one-eighty and lets him blow breakfast onto the concrete divider. Not gonna punch him out now, not with barf all over him.