Author's Notes: A super fantastic thank you to A posse ad esse, wolfchick11 and Laursidotes for reviewing.
Chapter Four: Stranded
By early afternoon Connor and Murphy found themselves back on the road. It was a later start than either of them had hoped for, but they both strongly protested the shrill alarm earlier that morning. Having only driven eight hours they day before, they had sixteen more hours to go until they reached Miami. It was going to be a long day.
Hour after hour crawled by. Their eyes were fixated on the road, but were unseeing to the events around them. Miles seemed to stretch on as it felt like they were making little to no progress. With little else to do, Murphy began watching the clock like a vulture watching its prey waiting for it to die. He knew the exact time of every major event.
3:38 pm they entered North Carolina.
6:17 pm they entered South Carolina.
7:58 pm is when the trouble started.
It started small enough. Little wisps of smoke began to spout out from under the hood. The smoke soon began to bellow making it hard for Connor to see the road or the other drivers. He let out a loud aggravated cry and signaled to pull off the side of the road. As he was doing so he managed to clip the tail end of another car forcing them both to pull over.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" Connor's angry outburst startled Murphy. He threw his fist against the dashboard making the check engine light finally come on. Still unable to see the car he hit, he threw the door opened and flung himself out of the car. He slammed the car door shut with such a force that it created a ringing in Murphy's ears. Murphy heard Connor cursing strongly in Italian before he followed his brother out on to the highway's shoulder.
Fortunately for both of them their accident only created a small semi-minor dent in the bumper of the car. Unfortunately the car was a new 2007 black 328i BMW. Dealer stickers still attached. And like the car beside him, Connor was fuming. He silently clenched and unclenched his fists; an intense glare fixated on the driver's side door. Murphy felt sorry for whoever was about to exit the BMW. He had faced the wrath of Connor many times before and it always ended painfully.
The black door popped open and a large man stumbled out. He towered over Connor, standing 6'7'' and weighing almost 300 pounds. This man looked like he could have been a NFL linebacker wearing dark sunglasses and a suit. He took off his sunglasses and gave them both a dark glare.
"What the fuck is yer problem?"
"My problem? You're the faggot who rear ended me!"
"My car broke down! If ye were payin' any attention, ye'd move out the damn way like ye 'pose to!"
"What would you know? Go back to Scotland and get out of my country!"
"I'm fuckin' Irish, you Yankee asshole!"
"I could squash you like a bug."
"I'd like to see ye fuckin' try."
The man took a threatening step towards Connor. The Saint tensed in anticipation, but stood his ground. Behind him, Murphy prepared himself for whatever his brother decided to do. They all locked eyes waiting for the other to make the first move. The cars on the highway whizzed by dangerously close, sending little puffs of air with each pass. Several tense minutes rolled by before the man diverted his eyes from Connor's.
"I don't want to fucking get sued, so just give me your insurance information so I can fucking leave."
Connor cringed inwardly as he realized his mistake too late. They didn't have insurance. And they couldn't afford to involve the police. He let out a Russian curse before running his hand through his hair. Throwing a look back to his brother, he saw him chewing the skin around his thumb; a nervous habit he carried all his life. Connor took a few deep breaths before turning back to the suit.
"Maybe we can settle this without involvin' the insurance companies."
"Of course! You don't have insurance! That's the problem with you immigrants. You come here expecting to be real treated like real Americans, but you refuse to follow our laws! I'm calling the police."
"Wait! How much do you want?"
"What?"
"To fix the dent. We can forget the police and insurance and settle this on our own."
"That dent is worth more than your car."
Murphy stepped forward reminding them both of his presence. "Well now it is. Look at it; it's still fuckin' smokin' after twenty minutes. I'm surprised it hasn't exploded."
Connor ignored his brother's comments and brought attention back to the matter at hand. "$500."
"It's a BMW."
"It's a small fuckin' dent."
"$700."
"$600"
"Deal."
"Murphy, pay the man."
Murphy rounded the car and popped open the truck. Riffling through one of the duffle bags, he counted out the money. He strolled back to the man and offered the money, which the suit violently snatched away and counted himself. "Can we have a ride to a gas station or somethin'?" The man scoffed at Murphy and turned on his heel, heading back to his car. He revved his engine several times before speeding off leaving them in a dust cloud.
"What a fuckin' douchebag. Ye should have thrown his ass into traffic, Con."
"Fuck this. I'm not fixin' this tonight. Let's get walkin', Murph. Hopefully there's an exit with a hotel close by."
Grabbing their essentials, they began their trek down the highway. The sunlight was quickly fading; their walk getting increasingly dangerous by the minute. They spied a sign ahead and graciously thanked God for it.
Exit 287 Camden 1 ¼ miles
---------------------------------
Camden, South Carolina wasn't a very large place, but it had a Best Western right off the exit. It was a historic town, where racial tension still ran high. It wasn't overtly shown of course. It was felt throughout the entire area. Daily interactions were rigidly done with high tension. Glares between races were common. If you watched the local news, you could see racially spurred crimes daily, though often under reported. It was something they obviously tried to hide from outsiders. They needed the tourist income.
So when Connor and Murphy strolled into the hotel, they were met with open arms and fake smiles. They quickly checked in and soon found themselves standing in the nicest room they've seen in a while. It appeared clean. They paint wasn't chipping off the walls, stains didn't litter the bed and floor and for once, they had plenty of hot water.
They threw themselves on to separate beds; the stresses of the day weighing heavily on each of them. That was the funny thing about driving – you never felt like you were doing much, yet it still left you drained by the end of the day. There wasn't anything left to do today. Tomorrow they would have their car towed here and with any luck they could fix it and set off to Miami once again. Maybe this time, they'd actually make it.
