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Stan was tired. It was late, the Sun had long since set, and Stan needed to rest.
But he couldn’t.
Another state, another name, running from another failed scam. He’d been driving since midday and still couldn’t stop checking his side mirrors for the flashing lights of Police cars.
Stan now regretted not pulling over in that small town. He regretted not settling for the last shitty motel he passed. Because now it was dark, and he was God knows how far out from the nearest town.
His eyelids grew heavy. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them open. He was fighting off sleep as best he could, but so far it was a losing battle. He was unfocused. He didn’t see the man running towards him.
He did, however, hear the the shout.
“STOP!”
Stan’s eyes snapped open, just in time to see the man jump onto his windscreen. He swerved, swearing from shock. The man swung through the passenger window, dropping onto the passenger seat.
“Ok, now go! Go!”
Stan slammed his foot down onto the wheel. Shouts of rage and heavy footsteps slowly disappeared behind them as they sped away. He allowed himself to breathe.
His eyes drifted over to the guy next to him, wincing and clutching his shoulder.
“Hey, um… You ok there? I mean… I kinda hit you with my car.”
“Nah, i-it’s cool. I needed a getaway and you were coming at me already.” The guy shifted in his seat. “Look away if you’re squeamish, or whatever,” he muttered before pushing his shoulder back into place with a loud “fuck!”
“Jesus, kid! I could’ve done that for you if you’d told me you fucking /dislocated/ your shoulder!”
“I’m not a fuckin’ kid. I’m probably older th-than you.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
“Why are you worried about th-the guy who literally jumped through the window of your car?” The man smirked.
“I also hit you.”
The man scoffed. Silence fell, the only sound being that of wheels rolling against the road.
“So what’s your name, pal?” the man asked. “Real one. You look like the kinda guy who’s got a million fakes.”
“Stanley Pines,” he replied, his eyes fixed to the road. “You? And you better not give me a fake one, either.”
“Rick Sanchez. Nice to meetcha, Lee.”
Stan raised an eyebrow, looking away from the road for a moment.
“No one calls me Lee.”
“Well,” Rick rolled his previously dislocated shoulder. “I-I do, now. Y-you got a problem with that?”
“No! I was just… Stating a fact, is all.”
Rick nodded. “So what lead to you falling asleep behind the wheel in the late hours of the night?”
“Honestly?” Stan turned his head. Rick nodded. “Several late nights and early mornings workin’ on the latest scam.” He awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “It… Fell through. Running from the cops. Really starting to regret not getting any sleep last night.” Rick huffed out a sound of amusement. Not quite a laugh, but almost. “So what lead to you jumping through my window?”
“Drug deal gone wrong.” Rick said it with such nonchalance, it was as if he was talking about working at a grocery store.
“You deal?”
“Deal, make, take, all of it. I-it’s a good business. When y-you don’t try to sell to undercover cops.”
The shorter man winced. “That’s rough.”
Rick shrugged. “I-it was probably getting time for me to leave anyway. C-can’t stay in one place for too long.”
“I feel that,” Stan mumbled.
“Ever d-done drugs, Lee?”
“What, are you kidding me? Living my kind of life?”
The skinny man laughed, then put a hand around his ribs. “You’re right, stupid question.”
Stan didn’t miss the careful way Rick rubbed his side. “So where are we going? Hospital? You probably need to get that shoulder checked, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you broke a rib or two.”
Rick reclined his seat and kicked his feet up on the dash. He laughed. “Who needs some fuckin’ egocentric asshole with some dumb piece of paper to tell me w-what’s wrong? No one. Or at least, not me.”
Stan cracked a small smile. “Fine, no hospitals. Where, then?”
Rick smiled, pulling a sleek, white, gun-shaped object out of the inside of his jacket. “Wherever th-the fuck we want, Lee.”