The man in the pickup finished ordering and pulled away, but before Kirk could drive up to the speaker, his door was yanked open. Strong hands grabbed his head and jerked him out of the car. His left elbow hit the armrest on the door; his right arm twisted painfully as it was pressed between his body and the seat. There was a ferocious smell of sweat and something even more unsavory, and then he was dumped hard on the cement. With the car still in gear and his foot no longer on the brake, the Nissan rolled forward, gaining a little bit of speed on the slight incline and drifting to the right until it smacked into two of the cement-filled metal poles that separated the drive-thru from the parking lot.

The man who had pulled him from the car helped him to his feet. In contrast to his overpowering body odor, the man was dressed professionally in black slacks, white shirt and blue tie. There was something off about him, though. The untamed roughness of the tanned, lined face did not match the civilized veneer of the clothes.

“You’re going to need a new car,” the man said. “Did you know that The First People’s Bank is offering auto loans at zero percent financing?” He smiled, revealing several missing teeth.

Kirk pulled away from him. “It’s just a dent.” The car’s engine was still running—he could hear it—which meant that the minor collision had not caused any major damage. He started walking toward the vehicle, taking his phone out as he did so, intending to take a picture of the lunatic who’d accosted him so he could share it with the police.

Suddenly, the man ran past him, hopped into the car, slammed the driver’s door shut and sped backward, burning rubber and nearly knocking Kirk over. The back bumper slammed into another pole, and then the Nissan was speeding forward, past the speaker, around the corner of the Burger King.

“Stop!” Kirk yelled, running after him.

But the man did not go far. He made a U-turn in the street, steering into the parking lot on the other side of the drive-thru lane, accelerating as he headed straight toward the cinderblock wall that separated the Burger King from the transmission shop behind it.

Kirk slipped between two of the poles and ran into the parking lot, waving his arms and screaming for the man to stop.

His car hit the wall head-on with an ear-splitting crash that completely collapsed the front of the vehicle and sent metal parts skittering across the asphalt. Smoke billowed upward from the engine beneath the crumpled hood, and orange flames were visible from within the smoke.

Somehow, miraculously, the man emerged from the wreckage unscathed, exiting the open driver’s door and straightening his tie as he walked toward Kirk.

“I’m calling the sheriff!”

“Why?”

“Why? You destroyed my car!”

“No.”