Fleshy, nervous fingers moved from the steering wheel to punch at the buttons on the cell phone.

"Hey Stan, how ya doing? Listen, how about we push my appointment back an hour? You know me, running a little late as usual." Chucky Betts tucked the phone between his shoulder and left ear, hit a button on the car's radio, and adjusted the volume.

"Great, great. Any word from the old lady?" He glanced into the back seat for his brief case, reached for the leather handle, and snatched it. "Half my retirement fund? You got to be kidding. She don't deserve squat, lucky I agreed to the house. Uh huh, uh huh," he grunted. "I'm gonna have to move some money around, then. I'll see you later."

Chuck fumbled with the lock on the brief case between glances at the road ahead.

"Come on, come on."

The lid popped open. He rummaged through loose papers, aspirin bottles, and foil wrapped tummy tablets before grabbing one of the four packs of cigarettes.

"Freakin' thinks she's gonna get half my retirement too, she's got another think coming."

He tapped the pack on the dashboard, rousted one away from the others, and planted it between his lips. A few flicks of the lighter and the cigarette poured smoke into the car and over his face. Chuck took a deep drag and settled into the seat.

"Bitch."

He listened as a voice on the radio droned: "Credit problems got you down? Need money for that summer vacation or a new pool?"

Chucky pursed his lips and blew smoke at the voice. "Yeah, let me guess, just give you a call, right? It'll only cost me 20 percent financing." He reached for the Scan button.

"Give us a call at Mortgage Lenders - -"

"Rockin' 105.5 on your FM dial. Now here's The Crush with - -

" . . . and breezy, highs in the mid sixties."

Chucky hit the radio's scan button again and locked on a station he usually only half listened to. A blue Mustang in front of him finally found its way into the left hand lane.

"About damn time," Chucky shouted.

Before him lay open road, for at least a mile. This is more like it, he thought. This is the way it used to be. Just a couple of years ago, nothing but orange groves and scrub out this way. Now look at this crap.

He drove on past the scores of mini-marts, gas stations, and recently closed shops that cluttered the divided highway. Greedy developing bastards . . .wish I had their money.

Chuck ran his fingers over several buttons along the car's arm rest, found the one he wanted and lowered the power windows to enjoy the mix of his smoke and the fresh autumn air. He went back to the radio.

". . . three times in the chest. Paramedics arrived - -"

Come on down! Stetson's Used Cars, a car for - -"

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed - - "

Chuck went for the scan button, missed, and hit the off at the exact moment he saw the three thousand pounds of sun yellow four-door, coming fast, from the right.

"Crazy bastard's gonna hit me!" he shrieked

The left side of his head exploded with the sound of a blaring car horn. Chuck stomped on the gas pedal and squirted through the intersection. He looked up at the rearview mirror and felt a sudden giddiness. A shudder convulsed his body. His eyes focused on the mirror and riveted themselves on the reflection of a small red dot. A red light! A frickin' red light!

It was green. I know damn well it was green. How in the hell . . . Good God! I could've . . .get hold of yourself. Calm down. No damage done. I'm okay. Car's okay.

He drove a few hundred feet and began to settle down.

Ha! The car. What was it she said? 'You care more about that damn car than you do for me.' Of course I do.

He gave the steering wheel an affectionate squeeze.

Can't separate a salesman from his car, wouldn't be right. Me and my car, we've been places together.

He muttered, "Just thinking about that bitch is gonna kill me!"

Chuck pulled next to a pointy nosed little blonde in a white convertible, top down. He looked over and shouted, "I think I'm in love."

The little blonde, sporting wide, dark designer sunglasses, a deep golden tan, and fire engine red fingernails, threw her head back in a false laugh and zoomed off.

"Yeah, and how much did Daddy pay for that car you little . . . damn, I've got to give Sherri a call, it's been too long."

He reached for his cell phone and started to dial Sherri's number, then grabbed his appointment book. Just two weeks before, his wife had finally discovered it.

"Rot in Hell, you bastard!" she'd cried and slammed the door.

Chucky smiled and thumbed his way through the book. He switched his eyes between the road and his girlfriends.

"Let's see...A, B, E, S, Shauna, ah, Sherri." Chucky dialed the number. Nothing.

Hit send you idiot. No tone.

Now what? Battery says it's good. Can't be out of the cell already. He tried the phone again.

"Damn it all, eighty bucks a month for nothing."

Chuck threw the phone down. Another few seconds and a fresh cigarette was nestled into the corner of his mouth.

"Where's that Riverview exit? Should have come up on it by now." Chuck followed the highway as it curved to the right, then back to the left. He gave a low whistle as he pulled up behind a slow moving blue Mustang.

Classic 67, he thought. Got to be worth some dough. Wish I still had mine, but what'd I know, a seventeen year old kid.

Chuck nudged the gas and remembered the radio, went to turn it back on, then felt the left side of his head explode in a cacophony of blaring car horn and screeching brakes. His right eye caught a flash of something huge approaching from the side. He gulped air, gunned the engine, and left the confusion behind.

His side view mirror showed a familiar red dot.

"For Christ's sake. Not again! I - - " A sudden tingle ran from the base of each of the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck. Below the light lay the crumpled form of a tattered white car.

His thoughts raced

Wasn't my fault! Light was green. You're supposed to stop, you know that, right? Be tied up for an hour! Looks like the front end. A dent. No one hurt.

He stole another glance into the mirror and muttered, "Yeah, probably just a big ding. That was lucky, but . . ." He noticed the street sign next to the light. "King Street? Already been through that - - "

Chucky's jaw tightened.

Good God. You idiot! Must have driven in a damn circle. Concentrate, damn it! Good thing for me the cops are holed up eating donuts or something. He gazed through the windshield and drummed the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel. You're a very lucky boy. You're a very lucky boy.

A smile spread across Chuck's face and he snapped his fingers.

"That's it!" he said. "Must be an omen. I've got to get to the track and lay a couple of Franklins on that number three horse in the fifth."

He reached into his brief case and pulled out the daily racing news, glanced up at the road, and back at the paper until he found the column he wanted. Fourteen to one? Chuck laughed then gave out a low whistle.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Chuck punched the gas pedal and pulled up to the pointy nosed little blonde in the white convertible. "Hey! You as confused as I am today?"

This time the blonde pulled her sunglasses down and glowered at him with sullen, vacant, gray eyes. Her skin was drawn taut across cheekbones that seemed too high. Her hair was not the perky, bleach blonde he thought he'd seen before but, rather, the lifeless, dingy, straw yellow of a poorly made hairpiece.

"Jesus, sure fooled me lady. Hey, keep the glasses on, huh?"

Chuck raced on down the road, but pulled up short behind a slow moving blue Mustang. He remembered the radio and punched the on button at the same time the Mustang found its way into the left hand lane.

"Took you awhile," he said.

Chuck stretched his legs and settled back into his seat, his foot firmly planted on the car's accelerator. Outside, the world flashed by in a jumble of different shapes, sizes, colors, and textures. Every few seconds a visual hit of recognition would register with some nerve ending hidden deep within his brain. Suncoast Pawnshop. Elm Street. Willow. King Street.

King Street?

". . . three times in the chest."

Chuck snapped back to attention. ". . . paramedics arrived - -"

"Come on down! Stetson's Used Cars, a car for - -"

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed - - "

Chuck went for the radio's scan button at the exact moment he saw a huge flash of yellow from the corner of this right eye. From the left, the sound of a car's blaring horn stabbed at his ear.

He looked straight ahead, closed his eyes, and drove through the bedlam. From behind, he heard the squeal of rubber on pavement, the sickening crunch of two heavy objects meeting head on. The smell of spilled gas and oil filled the car.

"GOOD GOD! WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE TODAY?"

He glanced into the rearview and saw two smashed vehicles, people milling about, and an ambulance and fire truck.

"Already? How?"

He stared intently into the mirror. The jaws of life cut into the white car. A sheet covered a lump that rested on a gurney next to the yellow four-door.

Chuck's hands started to shake violently. "My god, wh . . . what have I done?"

He stole another glance back.

Why aren't those freaking cops all over me?

He scanned each corner of the mirror--one side to the other--top to the bottom. Two tow trucks separated the yellow and the white car to reveal the familiar burgundy color and hood ornament of a 97 Cadillac.

Chuck's throat tightened. His lungs fought for air. He grabbed for the mirror, ripped it off the glass, and thrust it directly in front of his face. In the mirror, centered squarely, perfectly, hideously, was the familiar circle of a red light.

Chuck threw the mirror down. His hands flew up to his face then down along his body.

"I'm here, God dammit! RIGHT HERE!"

Suddenly, a white car, top ripped off, appeared on his right. A skeleton with its head thrown back in a grisly, mocking laugh, clutched the steering wheel. Long wisps of fair hair trailed from its bone gray skull.

Chuck watched the car race down the black and narrow highway and disappear in a flash of brilliant, white light. His breath returned, slowed, then slowed some more. Calmness enveloped him; his chest heaved in a deep sigh. He thought:

If only . . . if only. Guess that's what everyone says about now, huh?

Outside, darkness descended, the road vanished, and the sky and earth appeared as one.

Chuck reached for a new pack of cigarettes but stopped, and laughed. "Who the hell am I kidding?" He settled back into his seat and stared through the windshield. "Well, at least I won't have to worry about running anymore goddamn red - - "

Ever so slightly, Chucky's lips curled into a thin, wry smile. A few seconds passed and he began to laugh. The laughter grew--gut wrenching, maddened. He clawed at his face; he rubbed the sockets that once housed his eyes. For in the distance, appearing only as a small dot at first, but growing larger by the second, was the unmistakable and unforgiving circle of a red light. And, beyond that . . . was another . . . and another . . .