“Okay, so we’ve got to act this out I guess?” I decided to get theatrical myself. There wasn’t much else I could do but play along. “Well, gee. Yes, guys. My car here’s broken down, and, as you mentioned, there’s not much traffic out tonight. To make matters worse, my phone’s out of juice. But I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you two with your handy tools. I mean, what a relief.”

They began walking toward me, raising their tools. Their heavy work boots crunched over grit and broken glass.

“Seriously, I don’t have time for this. Not tonight. I’ve got to get home. Let’s do this some other time.” They kept coming, closing the distance by half. Twiddledee on the far side snickered again. Shadows obscured their faces as they stepped in front of the beaming headlights.

“Dude, give me a break. I don’t feel like running around out here half the night,” I said. And I was going to run, I knew it. I wasn’t convinced they would seriously hurt me, but they weren’t about to throw down their tools and tell me they were kidding. Not according to that book. And I figured that’s what this was about.

“That’s okay,” the one on the left said.

“There ain’t nowhere to run,” said the one nearest me.

They were taking slow, deliberate steps. Brandishing their tools. Old men with their old-man strength. Large, mechanics’ hands. I checked the side of the road for a rock, or some piece of debris to use as a weapon. I saw a shredded flap from a blown tire and bent to pick it up, but one of the steel wires sticking out pricked my hand.

They quickened their pace, loose gravel skittering under their feet. I backpedaled away from my car to maintain distance. Getting in would just trap me there.

“Where you going?” the near one said, coming faster now.

The other one was coming around the far side of the car. “We’re only here to help,” he said, and snickered. The one with the sense of humor, I guess.

They’d reached the back end of my car, and the guy with the wrench stopped for a moment, pretending to inspect the tires. “Well, ain’t that a shame,” he said. Tire Iron was still coming around toward me with that dumb chuckle. “I’m afraid this car here is totaled.”

He set his feet and raised the wrench in the air with both hands, then swung it down with ferocious strength, smashing in the back window. “Sure hope you have insurance,” he said, and now they were both laughing. The bark of two hyenas – a family tree with a single branch.