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ason.
The guy in the white Escort didn't even see me coming; as I walked down the road, he was furtively talking into a cellular phone. The guy's white, pudgy features became recognizable as I got closer. It was Van Doren, of course.
I stopped at the driver-side window, flipped the bat around so I was holding the thick end, and rapped hard on the window with the handle end. Van Doren jumped at the noise and looked around, confused. It took him about five seconds to realize exactly who it was banging at his door. He spent another three seconds trying to figure out how to make a break for it before he realized he was boxed in. Finally, he smiled sheepishly and rolled down the window.
"Tom," he said, "isn't this a small world."
"Get out of your car, Jim," I said.
Van Doren's eyes made a beeline for the bat. "Why?"
"As long as you're following me, you're a danger to other motorists," I said. "I can't have anyone's death but yours on my conscience."
"I think I'll stay in my car," Van Doren said.
"Jim," I said, "If you don't get out of the car in exactly three seconds, I'm going to take this bat to your windshield."
"You wouldn't dare," Van Doren said. "You've got a whole street full of witnesses."
"This is LA, Jim," I said. "No one's going to whip out a camcorder unless I'm wearing a badge. One. Two."
Van Doren hastily opened his door and undid his seat belt.
"All right," I said, once he had gotten out of his car. "Let's go. We'll take my car."
"What about my car?" Van Doren said. "I can't just leave it here."
"Sure you can," I said. "The police will come by any minute now to pick it up."
"Please," Van Doren said. "I can't. It's a company car."
"Should've thought of that earlier. Come on, Jim. Less talk. More walk. The light's changed already." I nudged him with my bat. He went. We got in my car and made it through the tail end of the next yellow, thus restoring my traffic karmic balance.
Van Doren wa
