Carl the Death Driver / Ch-2 / Pt-3

Both the front and back passenger side windows of LUVCARL simultaneously opened all the way. A rock ballad of melancholy music rose and fired from the open portals. Haunting lead vocals cried out about a lost lover and an emptiness within. LUVCARL slowed to the pace of an ice cream vendor seeking sweet-toothed children. The vehicle’s calculated movements exuded a confidence, which held a few onlookers transfixed and frozen with a belief that this was a prelude to something worse. It was a cruel and unprovoked act of taunting the homeless with loud lyrics of mundane things gone wrong. The vehicle spit out an ever-increasing volume that crossed over to a maddening cacophony of sound frequencies. As the volume continued to increase and approached full distortion, the miserable and downhearted music transformed into an attacking and intolerable deafening noise.

LUVCARL crossed Goldfields Avenue and low-level lights arose within some of the RVs. A number of alarmed occupants stepped out into the cool air, barely dressed and carrying their shoes. The sound assault arrived well ahead of the vehicle’s measured movements along eastbound Province Boulevard. A blinding light penetrated the front windshield of LUVCARL. Someone was tracking his movements with a large LED flashlight. A rising tide of screams from a growing crowd began to override the senseless blare firing from LUVCARL’s overloaded speakers. A beer bottle skimmed the car’s hood and deflected off the windshield to launch skyward. LUVCARL picked up speed and the empty bottle eventually touched down to punctuate the growing crowd’s displeasure with a shattering explosion on the pavement.

Moving faster, the vehicle passed Hyacinth Avenue along the last block of Poet’s Park. In spite of the uproar, there was no compromise on sound levels. LUVCARL performed maximum stress tests on his brake pads and delivered new elements of disturbance to the tranquil night with screeches and skids. He added to his late-night intrusion of reckless driving repertoire with a partial fishtail. His rear end snapped around like a swinging gate and plowed through a plastic container. The container and random items held in peaceful storage detonated against the aluminum exterior of an ancient yellow motor home. An elderly couple tumbled through the motor home’s side door onto the sidewalk. Expecting to have escaped a car collision, they were overrun and crushed by a small mob of their screaming neighbors. Other lone figures were sprinting down Province in an angry and futile attempt to hold the marauding vehicle accountable.   

LUVCARL zipped past Sunflower Avenue, beyond the perimeter of Poet’s Park. Braking hard, the car came to a complete stop between yellow painted lines in the middle turn lane. All electronics ceased at once. No headlights, no interior lights, and no sound. Suddenly the approaching crowd of neighbors in need of a return to quiet became the only source of sound in the night. More folks stepped out into the dimly lit street in a bewildered state and muttered questions to anyone standing nearby. They were all living a stuck and static version of the ‘van life’ and not by choice. Who dared to trespass on their hours of adjournment from daily persecution, only to compound their difficulties?

Of the party giving chase, half of the group stopped in their tracks when LUVCARL seemed to have shut down. Others slowed to a walk sensing a finish to yet one more assault from a disapproving outsider. The car’s abrupt end to a series of wild and reckless activities was peculiar, and their anger and frustration instantly switched to a concern for their own safety. Maybe the person who was perpetrating this mischief could escalate the situation. Maybe it was a sting operation to get them out of their makeshift shelters and police vans were en route to clear out both sides of the RV encampment.

Three men continued to charge toward the dormant vehicle. Exhibiting an outward fury and playing the part of enforcers was less about the moment and more about the dignity of every unfortunate soul taking up temporary residence along the three city blocks of Poet’s Park. Their pace slowed as they came within twenty feet of the car. Two men angled toward the passenger side. The third man, heading to the driver’s side, flicked his right wrist downward, and a twenty-three-inch stainless steel baton expanded and locked. As they approached the rear of the vehicle, one voice screamed, “Get the fuck out!” The lone man’s weapon rose high in full backswing, prepared to pass through the driver’s side window with its metal tip. In that moment, LUVCARL lit up and without pause accelerated in reverse. The swing of the baton missed. The front driver’s side tire rolled over the toes of the baton-wielding man’s left foot.

The man’s body lurched in three conflicting directions at once: forward from the momentum of his missed baton swing, backward in response to LUVCARL’s sudden reverse, and then downward where his toes were crushed beneath the tire. His body twisted awkwardly under these opposing forces while his left ankle instantly gave way with a sharp crack. Writhing in pain, he screamed in short bursts, “I can’t feel it! Can’t feel my foot!” Fuming with frustration and through heavy grunts between each statement, he gasped out, “It’s all broken! Couldn’t see the guy… couldn’t see him.”

LUVCARL continued his reverse trajectory, crossing over to the opposite side of Province Boulevard and heading west. The speed increased as the vehicle passed Hyacinth Avenue. Something less than an escape, this was a cocky victory lap performed before the bewildered crowd. On this second tour of the displaced and downtrodden district, LUVCARL openly dared anyone to interfere with his late night antics. A farewell to everyone he had disturbed and disrespected on the park side of Province Boulevard was followed by more marauding.  The vehicle set its sights on the RV homeless brethren residing across from the park in the shadows of a three-block stretch of vertical mixed-use development.