Carl the Death Driver
Chapter.3: Love’s Lasting Ride • Part.3
Introduction: Welcome to the thirteenth installment of “Carl the Death Driver”. We continue to learn more about Porter and his substance use. A fortuitous crossing of paths in a social setting leads to an unexpected setback. We can see things begin to unravel for Porter through bad habits he can’t break and the bad luck that accompanies an unguarded flank.
So Far: Carl’s death triggered the emergence of a mysterious vehicle bearing the license plate “LUVCARL”. After causing chaos in the neighborhood and leading some teens to their tragic end, we learned the poignant backstory of Carl and Annette’s relationship. Their love story began in university, where they met as ambitious engineering students. Despite their deep connection, they faced struggles with infertility and ultimately, Annette’s devastating cancer diagnosis. Before her death, Annette’s final act of love was purchasing a car for Carl, complete with personalized plates. Now, as Chapter 3 continues, we meet Victor Porter, a troubled bank employee whose substance abuse issues and professional compromises are about to intersect with LUVCARL’s haunting presence.
Porter wanted to dial down the persistent feelings of frustration with the most mundane aspects of his work. His growing impatience with anyone on the other end of a phone call was bleeding through his tone and choice of words. Willingly or not, he had become enmeshed in the deceits of the financial institution and hooked on the livelihood it provided. He was self-aware of his dazed appearance while internal thoughts overlapped and his mind was tuned into too many channels at once.
Porter started to introduce a single serving of beer with lunch in place of the afternoon Adderall. In time, many lunches became purely beer. He started to ingest the caffeine drinks earlier in the afternoon and added a savory THC infused protein bar for the last hour of work. When all of his final loan application forms were submitted and Richard Boyar left the building, Porter popped his end-of-day celebration treat, a Molly known as “Snuggles”.
Snuggles was a concoction of MDMA, caffeine, and cellulose for bulk. It was also known to be infused with N-Bomb. The pill stood out with a baby blue pastel color, rumored to be the result of a small amount of laundry detergent used as yet another cutting agent. When Porter reached for a Snuggles, this marked a mental escape from the monotony and stagnation he endured throughout each workday.
The heavy duty synthetic hallucinogen component of the pressed pill offered a break from the self-doubts that intensified with the execution of each loan application. And by the time his body metabolized that portion of the man-made compound which quieted his non-stop internal voices and offered escape from the myriad obsessions, Porter was left with just enough Ecstasy feel-good to rebuild his self-worth in the hours before it all started once again.
On Fridays, Porter held back from his Snuggles routine at the end of the workday. Throughout Friday afternoons, arrangements were made to connect with old buddies and party-friendly co-workers. When Friday evening finally arrived, the underlying mission of all social gatherings was to consume enough alcohol in the most cost effective way in order to detach from rational thought. Saturday night was an attempt to find a love companion with mixed results and transitory commitments. The weekend in total represented a reprieve from work with afternoons serving as short-lived recoveries from the party night peaks of Porter’s substance use disorder.
Toward the end of his training period and with a heightened confidence of becoming a steady fixture at the bank, Porter left Open Arms Sobriety House and moved into an efficiency. No more part-time janitorial duties and no more check-ins with his recovery coach or his accountability partner. Plenty of time on Saturday and Sunday to recover on his own terms and smooth out any anxious bumps with a supplement of his own choosing.
On a Saturday night gathering with a co-worker and his loose group of friends, Porter attempted to scale back his alcohol intake. He was motivated by the presence of an attractive young girl with a full sleeve monochromatic tattoo on her left arm. The intricate inked design featured Morrigan the Irish Goddess in varying shades of taupe. The Goddess was surrounded by an elaborate floral pattern with crows hidden among Celtic fairy flowers and other mythological iconography. Her name was Tricia. She was the half-sister of his co-worker Benicio Gomez. Benicio was a teller at the bank who started two months after Porter’s arrival. The senior staff at First Fourth called him Benny, but Porter came to realize that friends outside of work knew him as Bingo.
It was close to 1:00am when traffic slowed and Porter saw flashing lights on both sides of the road. Tricia was riding shotgun and vibing to the music as they were headed to the group’s next meet up. Taking in the sudden change in environment, they both anticipated the wreckage of a careless motorist up ahead. Two lanes narrowed to one with temporary cones guiding their path into a slow-motion crawl of bumper-to-bumper traffic. A large spread of neatly parked motorcycle units lined the coned-off lane to their right. Bright red emergency lights flashed and flickered in random order from the rear and sides of the armed motor bikes. It was intimidating with no real option for retreat. They braced themselves for a possible encounter with law enforcement. The motorcycle officers were on foot further up the road, along with parked cruisers and patrol officers. As the scale of the authorities’ operation slowly revealed itself in the distance, Porter reached toward the radio and the cabin became silent. There was no terrible accident up ahead. Porter and Tricia were locked in line for a sobriety checkpoint.
As they approached two police officers guiding traffic with bright red batons, the roadway began to widen. The cars ahead were channeled into one of two lines. Every third vehicle was stopped while others were waved through. Porter studied the pattern of those allowed to pass, and worked through many conversations in his head to maintain a relaxed demeanor.
Tricia fumbled for a sweet mint in her purse. “I only had one beer, and that was over an hour ago.” She offered Porter a candy. “How ’bout you, you’re doin’ alright?”
Porter calmly looked over as if he were consoling a loved one upon saying goodbye. He paused a beat, taking in the moment. Her face framed by strobing lights. A diffused red pulsated and pierced the passenger side window from police cruisers alongside the road. Her troubled eyes resting above full round cheeks revealed a deep and sorrowful concern. “They’re not gonna really bother you,” he said softly. “They’ll take a real good look at me though. That’s for sure.”
Tricia’s lower lip curled inward and under her upper teeth. She noticed Porter’s dilated pupils and the red rims just beneath his eyelids. Her expectations for the balance of their time together shifted to the disruption about to take place.
They reached a second set of officers and were directed to roll down their windows and move ahead to the right. Porter counted the cars — they were tenth in line. Unless the next group of officers 150 feet ahead somehow lost count, his car would be stopped. He closed his eyes, as if he could wash away the evidence with the moisture beneath his eyelids.
Tricia was fixated on two uniformed officers talking with a woman beyond the inspection point. The thirty-something female was crouching uncomfortably on the curb. The woman’s arms waved frantically as she howled at one of the officers hovering overhead with gloved hands and a small clipboard. Someone honked their horn and Porter inched forward.
One car was waved through, then the vehicle directly in front of them. A tall officer appeared before Porter’s car. There was no eye contact as the big cop held his hand out flat with the confidence of someone who knew that those approaching would always yield. Bright beams of intense LED lights invaded the front seats and footwells. Blinding white flashes assaulted Tricia and Porter’s eyes and then combed over their bodies while they recovered from the intrusion. An overly polite police officer leaned in through the passenger side window, his practiced smile meeting their nervous glances, “Good evening folks, how are we doing tonight?”
Porter sat on the concrete curb in front of a police cruiser with his hands cuffed behind his back. He studied the weathered bits of trash scattered beneath his feet. A cool breeze rolled over the back of his neck, offering a soothing distraction from his feelings of embarrassment and self-loathing. A tow hook-up was in place within minutes of the failed breathalyzer test. Tricia pleaded with an officer. She promised to drive the car safely and take Porter directly home. As her desperate appeal was dismissed, his ride was dragged away for impoundment and Porter was under arrest.
Teaser: The story continues with the aftermath of Porter’s DUI arrest. He’s forced him to navigate a delicate balance between maintaining his professional facade at First Fourth Trust and managing his transportation challenges. When his co-worker Bingo offers unexpected help with his commuting woes, Porter finds himself drawn into an evening of entertainment that will eventually lead to a heart stopping dance with disaster that changes everything.
New to Carl’s story? My monthly newsletter provides easy access to recent installments and keeps you in the loop.
