Pressure Burst Veins
Landlord Clarke's truck roared down Madison Avenue, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. The crumpled twenty-dollar bill sat on the passenger seat.
"Just wait until I get over there it’s not going to be pretty," he mumbled through clenched teeth, pressing down on the accelerator to go faster. The speedometer moved past 70, but Clarke wasn’t worried about how fast he going his mind was on that rent money he been owed for two years now from Max's and his pathetic excuses for not paying his rent on time.
Red and blue lights suddenly flashing in his rearview mirror.
Landlord Clarke: "You've got to be kidding me".
Clarke pulled over with a sharp jerk of the steering wheel coming to sketching stop. He watched in his side view mirror as the officer was approaching his truck, each step closer increasing Clarke's blood pressure.
Police officer: "Roll down your window".
Clarke pressed down on the window button.
Landlord Clarke: "Yes officer, why the hell did you pull me over, SIR?"
The officer tilted his sunglasses down his nose and looked over.
Police Officer: "Hey!, watch your tone, maggot. You were doing 70 in a 30. This is not your personal speedway."
Clarke started sweating with veins popping out his neck. He'd been owning and managing properties for twenty years, and nobody called him 'maggot' – not even a cop. But he had bigger fish to fry and he was waiting at the complex, so he forced himself to swallow his pride.
Landlord Clarke: "Well, I have important business to attend to, could you just write the ticket so I can be on my way, please?"
The officer's mirrored sunglasses reflected Clarke's reddened face back at him.
Police officer: "Hold tight."
Clarke watched through his rear view mirror as the officer returned to his police car.
Landlord Clarke: "Don't tell me to hold tight, loosen up that tight shirt that’s what’s got a hold on you tight." He mumbled.
Minutes felt like hours until the officer returned, he handed Clarke the speeding ticket. Clarke snatched it without saying a word, his eyes widened at the amount: $385.
He waited until the police officer pulled away before slamming his hands against the steering wheel. Then he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Landlord Clarke: Max!!!! This is all your fault. The twenty dollars. The ticket. Everything.
By the time he pulled into the apartment complex parking lot, Clarke's blood pressure had reached new heights.
He stormed across the lot toward the building entrance, the ticket crumpled along with Max's twenty in his pocket, his face was frowned like a skunk was near him. That’s what sent other tenants moving out of his path.
To be continued... will Landlord Clarke finally get to confront Max.