The Miracle

Photo by: Alastair Forbes

Druxman sat on the large gym bag he’d stumbled upon at the fairgrounds near Gary, Indiana. Sadly, he watched the police load poor old Jenny onto the car carrier. She looked mighty bad after the mafia men ran them off the road. It was an awful crash and a miracle that Druzman walked away from it. He sighed. He loved that car, but he should never have expected to slip quietly into the night, driving a brightly colored demolition derby car. After so many crashes, he couldn’t believe old Jenny was finished.

Two police cars happened to see the crash and they went after the mafia men. They returned later, having lost the crooks. As the car carrier started up with old Jenny strapped in, the police left. Druxman wasn’t injured at all so they had no reason to remain. Mere minutes after the police left, the mafia men returned, all silk suits and silenced pistols.

“You understand,” said Mafia #1, holding a gun on Druxman. “It’s nothing personal. We gotta have that bag with The Syndicate’s five mil. No witnesses.”

“I know,” said Druxman. He rubbed at graying stubble on his chin. “I’ve lived a good life.”

“If it’s any consolation,” said Mafia #2. “We’ve seen you drive. You were amazing.”

“Yeah. We always rooted for Hitman Druxman.”

Behind the mafia men, they couldn’t see the car carrier driving away, or old Jenny slipping her bonds and landing silently and free on the road. Druxman started talking fast.

“Since I’m gonna die, I’d like to make a confession.”

Mafia #1 crossed himself. “Okay, but I ain’t no priest.”

“That’s alright. You see, I was terrified during every demolition derby. Truth is, I’m a terrible driver.”

Druxman could see her coming, fast. Doing what Jenny always did: keep him safe.

“I don’t believe that,” said Mafia #2. “You drove like a madman. You performed miracles!”

Druxman opened his little flask of whiskey. “Yeah, about that. I wasn’t the miracle.”

“How do you figure?”

Jenny hit the Mafia Men at about 160 miles per hour. Legs, spines, and skulls shattered.

Druxman took a long pull of whiskey and shrugged. “I wasn’t doing the driving.”
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Written for Sunday Photo Fiction. Look here to see the writing prompt and see what other folks wrote: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/09/27/sunday-photo-fiction-september-27th-2015/