Sunny and cloudless, perhaps it was too bright and too right - a day. The meek and milquetoast Albert Jarr was on his way to pick up some bagels. Vacation with the family was always a sweet treat. Florida as compared to New Jersey in March was a rout. Well usually anyways, but today in Jersey the thermometer will hit 74. But that will be later in the day... then, Albert will still be at the police station.
Idling, routine three lanes of AM traffic and a red light. Jarr's lane, the middle one, moved nary an inch despite the green. Some thick browed guy in a 10 year old Expedition had broken down and he and his jalopy stood like blokes in need of help as the agitated and held-up middle laners tried to vector left or right. The side lane drivers must have been from New York, what with their general refusals to let anybody in. The Civic ahead of AlJar make a quick dart to the right. Well...
The now lifeless Simon Gasbard got pissed, way pissed. He was at the helm of a red Camry, the Camry was the car Mr. Civic-tude tuded. In order...
- Gasbard leaned on the horn, hard.
- His mouth moved in grimaces suggesting St. Vitus dance. Teeth were bared, lips drawn up and spittle sprayed. Gasbard was a real secreter.
- Arms moved up and down.
- Middle finger flexed, one and then the other... all the while the lips palavering.
- As they tempo picked up the Civic returned to the middle lane. It was then that stupid Simon sped up to get aside the Honda. Then the veering started.
- Gaspard kept turning his wheel towards the Civic. He was bluffing since he never actually impacted the side of the car driven by Mudpatch Milligan. If Simon had know the guy he was taunting was named Mudpatch, he might have cooled down. Oh, only if...
- Harold Mudpatch showed no emotion. Al watched him carefully as he followed a safe five car lengths behind. Expecting Mudpatch to blow, Al was disappointed when nothing happened.
- Weave-weave-finger-"fuck you"-finger-weave-"fu....", with a certain unpredictable cadence brought the trio to the next light. Red it was, the street was called Military Trail. Al Jarr thought that was a dumb name for a street.
- Things settled, Simon must have tired himself out. Mudpatch had slowed to allow the Camry to pull ahead of him. Then he slithered the Civic stealthily behind he Toyota.
- Simon waited for the interminable traffic signal. Waited...
- Suddenly the Honda door flew open and in six long legged steps Mudpatch had flung open the driver's door of Gasbard's car. With a deft move, Mudpatch pulled his 24 inch modified piano wire hand guillotine up into the tender neck and trachea of the fifty six year old granddaddy.
- Being 82 inches tall and strong as an ox, Mudpatch nearly decapitated Simon Gasbard. Death came quickly.
- In a wink, the gargantuan man jumped back in his ride and he pulled out like nothing happened. Oddly, the signal had turned green just as Mudpatch gained the middle lane to get around the mess he had left in the right lane. The driver of the Chevy Impala, who must have missed the near beheading, began to horn down. Al Jarr, who was a near catatonic witness, had the presence of mind to try to tell the Impala that honking was a bad idea... Not that Mr. Bow Tie driver could hear him!
Yeah, Al stopped. Big mistake, nothing he could do. Frankly, the scene was a blood bath. Jarr had never seen a person bleed out from two severed carotid arteries. The blood shot up at least five feet in the air in the beginning. Simon always had a strong heart. All of the other drivers, who must have been New Yorkers, high tailed it out of the Military Trail and Donald Ross intersection as if their respective keisters were on fire.
With no other witnesses of note, Al Jarr was grilled by the local cops as if he was a summer weiner at a cookout. For whatever reasons, Al said he didn't see much other than he thought the killer was big and that his car was blue or green. As far as a model, Al said foreign. When shown pictures, he identified a Hyundai Veloster.
Al Jarr was no fool. No way he was going to finger a man like Mudpatch Milligan. The way he killed Simon bespoke a special forces kind of training. When asked what color the darkly complexioned Mr. Milligan was, the answer was medium. Medium!!! Sometimes good witnesses are hard to find.