Dead Kid Driving

By Daniel Donovan Farrow

Jenna is a teenage driver who is about to run out of luck - until she meets a stranger who is determined to save her life. They are on the road to learn the art and science of precision driving, but the side roads are full of lessons about life and love in suburban Atlanta.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Donovan Farrow
• Release date: Mar 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311785121

Daniel Donovan Farrow

I began working on my new novel "Dead Kid Driving" after I miraculously survived a car accident in 2003. I finished it twelve years later. As an aviator, Master Captain, and instructor, I wanted to see if I could write an entertaining novel that might someday save a life. When I finally got it done, I immediately e-published it. If it garners enough attention, I'd love to see it in print. I would entertain a conversation with any qualified agent. In the meantime, I hope you'll consider downloading it and telling your friends about it. I see the book as something that parents would read and then pass it on to their teenaged drivers.

Book preview

DEAD KID DRIVING

By

Daniel Donovan Farrow

Dead Kid Driving

Daniel Donovan Farrow

Published by Captain Farrow at Smashwords

(C) Copyright 2015 Daniel Donovan Farrow

ISBN 9781311785121

To the angels who ride with me:

I promised to show my appreciation for the miracle of my survival.

Please accept this effort as partial payment.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Author

Chapter 1

Larry Wilson stood at the end of his driveway with a cup of coffee in his hand. He bent over to pick up the carcass of a free newspaper that was baked into the asphalt. It didn’t come away cleanly, leaving a ragged and reverse image of a headline, unreadable and surely, by now, unimportant.

As he stood up he noticed the smudge, about three inches long, on the side of the boat that occupied the right half of the driveway. The boat was a fiberglass runabout, not much larger than a jet ski. As boats go, it was a modest investment, including the trailer that it sat on. Larry hoped that its summer-long appearance in front of his house would not adversely affect his neighbor’s property values, or that they would think so. The DiSalvo’s down the street had a camper set up in their driveway off and on all season, after all. His little boat was only a couple of years old and looked good, but now he couldn’t take his eyes off the unmistakable evidence of a fresh collision. It had been more than two weeks since he’d moved it.

The mark was about three feet from the ground, and he knew what to do next. He punched in the code for the garage door and went into the dark coolness of the garage. There would be no mystery, he expected, as he stood a few feet away from the side of the tan Maxima. It took only a moment. There, on the right mirror, was the matching blue smear. Jenna strikes again, he thought.

He took a slow sip as he looked back toward the street, and then absent-mindedly tossed the soggy newspaper into a garbage can. Jenna was inside, he knew, watching TV with Chrissy; she could be cornered, he thought, but with Chrissy watching, he’d have to be careful. He thought for a moment more, and with a plan in mind, he went inside, leaving the garage door open.

He took a deep breath as he came up behind them. He felt a whisper of anger rising, and he tried to slowly breathe it out.

Jenna, he said.

Yes, dad, she answered, turning.

Is there something wrong with Max’s mirror?

Chrissy faced him now, the remote in her hand aimed back at the TV as she muted the sound. She noted the controlled tone, and knew what it usually meant.

What mirror? Jenna asked, cautiously.

Come here and take a look, he invited as he turned and walked back toward the garage. Jenna looked at her mom and rolled her eyes; Chrissy ignored the gesture and shot her eyes towards the garage door, urging the teenager to move quickly.

Sipping his coffee, Larry stood by and pointed at the blue trace on the outside of the mirror housing. And?

Jenna bent over and looked at it closely, as if it held some microscopic clue. She played it for time, studying it from different angles. Larry was still coldly in control, and he consciously refused to react to her measured pace. He’d been a teenager, and it didn’t seem like that long ago.

Don’t know, Dad.

You didn’t hit anything?

Nope. Coulda happened at school, she added hopefully.

Okay, then, he said with a sigh as he walked out to the boat. Jenna didn’t need an invitation; she automatically came out behind him.

This time, he didn’t point, but just stared at the side of the boat. It took her a moment to find it, but there it was. As her eyes steadied on the spot, he crouched down and sighted along the side of the hull all the way back to the car.

She understood that the marks matched. It looked like there was even a bit of Maxima brown on the boat. No need to point that out, she thought.

Nolo contendre, she said.

What?

The evidence is incriminating, but I’m not pleading guilty. Nolo contendre, no contest.

Once again, he was struck by the contrast within his daughter. She was still his little girl, of course, and she acted it sometimes. Sweet, so beautiful, vulnerable and trusting; but now, inevitably, she was coming up with stuff like this. It was happening a little more often, he noted. A delicate time, he remembered, thinking of the when he began arguing with his father.

Nolo contendre, he chuckled.

"Law and Order, she said. His glance was questioning. You know, on TV."

As he smiled, Jenna thought about Plan B for a moment – the ‘maybe Mom did it’ ploy – but quickly dismissed the idea. Trying to blame it on Mom could easily backfire.

Larry wondered if she could really have hit the boat without knowing it; probably not. That meant she was lying, or refusing to take responsibility, at the very least. It was the dreaded teachable moment, with a teenager, a car, and even a boat thrown in for good measure. A smart teenager, too; she was throwing Latin at him, for crying out loud.

She stood quietly, running her finger around the plastic edge of the mirror. Her willingness to just stand there - without a concocted story and patiently waiting for him to proceed – might be a subtle admission of guilt, but short of an incriminating apology.

I was thinking about the time when I was working at the airport, he said. We had a big hangar full of small planes. We were always moving them around, by hand.

By hand? she asked, eager to encourage a promising digression.

Without using a tow truck. One guy on the nosewheel with a tow bar, sometimes, or another guy pushing or pulling on a wing strut. The second guy was supposed to pay close attention to the wing tips and the tail, not let me bump into another plane.

And?

It still happened, he laughed, feeling some of his tension slipping away. We called it hangar rash. Not serious damage, really, just a little spot here or a bump there. Drove the owners a little crazy, of course, especially the picky ones. ‘Get a hangar’ we’d say, but not to their faces. We still felt bad about it, though.

And we covered for each other, he remembered. It was an unspoken agreement; sometimes the boss didn't get the exact truth from the linemen, but we kept each other out of trouble. We always promised to be more careful, and we meant it. We were teenagers with airplanes. Hangar rash. Still, he was worried. The problem was back again, apparently; Jenna was still not getting it. She had survived, against considerable odds, one big one. He could see another one coming. He had a sudden insight.

Well, I need a favor, he said evenly. In return for letting you use Max.

Okay…

I’ll get you the proper kind of rag and some polish. It would be great if you could rub this out. I think we can get rid of these spots. He went to a cluttered shelf at the back of the garage and reached up with familiarity.

I gotta pick up Chelsea and Megan in an hour, she replied.

Good, he thought. Then I’ll get it right now and you can get on it. There was a certainty in his voice. He could feel her tense up, and he smiled before turning around. If her departure was delayed a little, so be it; a little stress might be good for her. Making her late would certainly be good for him.

Let me know how it turns out… before you leave, he added. She stifled the urge to groan as he handed her the terry cloth and some rubbing compound. Start with this, but go easy. Finish with this, he said as he laid a can of wax on the floor. He headed into the living room.

Chrissy was still watching TV, looking up as he came in.

She did it, he said with a sigh. Of course.

How bad?

No big deal, but it’s bugging me. Not the car, not the boat… but even the littlest thing brings it all back.

Chrissy looked at him. She saw the man who loved their daughter, who had cried quietly and secretly in the stairwell, down the hall from the emergency room.

She’s going to need her own car again, she said quietly. For college.

I know. I don’t know what to do.

Me neither.

On the television, that Subaru commercial came on again. The little girl – maybe five years old – is sitting in the driver’s seat and Dad is handing her the keys, while telling her to be careful. Stay off the freeway, he says. Dad… she answers, and we see her as she really is, a teenager ready to ease out of the driveway in the trusty Subaru, while Dad still sees her – and will always see her, to some extent – as that innocent and lovely child.

Yeah, said Larry. He looked out to the driveway; she was out there, talking on her phone as she rubbed the boat with her free hand. ‘How about giving it your full attention?’ he muttered.

Chrissy reached over to the table and handed him a large manila envelope. This came today.

There was no return address, just the letters HJK with a Marietta postmark. He tore open the top of the envelope and pulled out a DVD in a thin plastic case. Written on the DVD was Jenna Wilson. A post-it note was attached; it read You need to watch this as soon as possible. HJK. Jenna's name, written with a marker, caught his attention.

What is this? he wondered, as he looked inside the envelope to see if there was anything else.

Jenna called from the garage. Leaving the DVD and the envelope on the couch, he went out to her.

Check this out, she beamed proudly. All gone. It was true – the effort had paid off; the blemishes had pretty much disappeared.

Nice job. With one hand, too, he said, still thinking about the mysterious DVD with her name on it.

Okay, then, she said. I’m gonna take off.

How long? he asked.

A couple of hours, she said as she pecked him on the cheek in passing. Thanks, Dad, she added, and they both knew what she meant. He took another quick look at the newly polished surfaces and put away the rag and the wax.

Jenna was already pulling away as he put the disc into the player. Chrissy had gone upstairs, apparently without looking further at the package.

The DVD began to play with a simple title that faded up from black.

Every year, 5000 teenagers die in their cars. The title faded and another appeared. Another 400,000 suffer serious injuries.

What the… said Larry, as that title faded.

Suddenly, a full screen image appeared. He instantly recognized the Maxima – their Maxima. The video was apparently shot from the back of a moving vehicle as the Nissan followed. He noticed the license plate; there was no doubt – it was their car. It was traveling down a sunny street and the glare from above made it hard to see the driver at first. As it entered a shaded section, he could see clearly now – it was definitely Jenna behind the wheel. She was on her phone. She was also tailgating. Larry caught his breath as she zoomed up and slammed on the brakes, the hood of the car lowering towards the ground. She must have been inches from the bumper of the camera car, and then she fell back, but only a few feet. It looked like they were going about thirty miles an hour, but she was way too close. He saw her hang up the phone and then hold it in front of her face as she dialed another number.

The image changed suddenly, to the interior of the camera car. On the left side of the screen, in the foreground, was an adult male, the driver. Over his shoulder, the steering wheel and dashboard were visible. In the lower left corner, there was a time-and-date stamp. Larry could read the speedometer clearly as it indicated thirty-five miles an hour. The road ahead was visible, and at that moment they passed a speed limit sign that read 35. In the upper right corner of the screen was a smaller image showing the view to the rear, where Jenna continued to follow closely. Larry became more nervous as he watched it. He had to remind himself that this – whatever this was – had already happened – both she and the Maxima were still intact.

He found himself getting angry, not only because of the way Jenna was driving, but because this stranger was shooting video of his daughter. 'Who is this guy?' he wondered.

The driver reached up to the steering column and put on his emergency flashers; they flashed three times. Jenna didn’t seem to pay attention. The driver gave her three more flashes, and she backed off about five feet, but she was still way too close. They continued on for about thirty seconds; despite the rolling terrain, Larry noticed that the speedometer never moved, like the driver was using cruise control. But, cruise controls don’t usually work below 45, thought Larry. Just then, the stranger pointed with his right hand to the speedometer as it slowly began to creep downward. He could see that the man had close-cropped hair, graying, almost a military cut. He’s slowing down, murmured Larry, as he focused his attention back to the Maxima.

Jenna wasn’t paying attention, of course, and she was once again edging closer as their speed decreased. Larry held his breath; the front view showed them to be approaching a straight piece of road. With her phone still to her ear, Jenna whipped the Maxima around and it appeared in the front view, accelerating away with a swerve that nearly left the pavement. She cut back in front of the mysterious driver and sped away. And with that, the image faded to black.

Another title appeared, displaying nothing more than a phone number and a name: John.

Chrissy came up behind Larry just as the DVD stopped and asked, What’s that? Startled, Larry dropped the remote, and as he bent over to pick it up, he could feel the tightness in his stomach and the anger growing again.

Sorry, said Chrissy. What’s wrong?

I’m not sure. Once again, he picked up the empty envelope and looked inside. He held up the note and looked at it closely. He pushed the Open / Close button on the DVD player and looked at the silver disc once again before returning it to the tray. Check this out, he said.

Together, they watched the video and then they watched it again. Chrissy could see for herself that it was Jenna, and that it was their car.

Great editing, observed Larry. I wonder what this guy wants.

So let me get this straight, said Chrissy, nervously. This John person – no last name – is videotaping Jenna.

Right. On a public street. Tailgating. Talking on a cell phone. Driving like an idiot.

How?

Well, he’s obviously put cameras in his car. I’m guessing he edited the footage down and burned a DVD. I haven’t figured out what he wants.

Maybe he’s taking other pictures of her. Maybe he’s been looking through her bedroom window, too. And how did he get her name and address? It’s creepy.

Maybe we should call the police.

You think? said Chrissy, testily.

I don’t know if he’s broken any laws. It looked like a public street. I think they were going down Robinson.

That’s close. She goes down that road a lot… we all do. And what’s he doing slowing down in front of her? He could have caused an accident.

Good point, admitted Larry. Maybe he’s a litigator… maybe he goes around suing people that run into him. I can almost see him falling out of his geek-mobile and rubbing his neck. The video makes it an open-and-shut case, a quick settlement. Nice scam. He paused. We are paid up on our car insurance?

Yes, she replied, even though we got hit with a big increase. And we’re one fender bender away from being canceled.

Can’t blame them, can we? he mused.

Chrissy sat silently, staring at the DVD icon that drifted lazily around the screen.

Maybe we should find out what he wants, ventured Larry.

Call the cops. We’ll show it to them. Let’s see what they say.

You sure you want a police officer to see Jenna driving like that? asked Larry. They could write her a ticket – make that a couple of tickets – from that video, maybe. That would be the end of her license for a while. You want to drive her around?

Don’t get snappy with me, said Chrissy.

Sorry. I’m just not sure what to do. Whoever this ‘John’ is, if he can make one copy, he can make two copies. He thought for a moment. He could be with the insurance company. Checking up on us, or something.

Chrissy shot that idea down quickly. There’s no return address, just a hand-written note, and a first name. And the letters ‘HJK’. Nothing more. Right, she said, he’s with Allstate.

Okay, okay, I’ll call the police. If Jenna gets in trouble... let’s find out what this is all about, concluded Larry.

Right now, said Chrissy.

Right now, sighed Larry.

Forty-five minutes later, Larry and Chrissy were walking into the police station to meet with Detective Ken Shipton. Chrissy insisted on carrying the envelope by its corner, laying it gingerly on the conference table as they shook hands and sat down. Detective Shipton didn’t look like much of a detective; his outfit of jeans, T-shirt, and athletic shoes was pretty casual. But, it was hard to overlook the black holster and badge hooked to his belt.

So this is the package, he said, as he stared at it on the table.

We probably got some fingerprints on it at first, said Chrissy, but then we started being careful with it.

‘Thank you, Special Agent Chrissy,’ thought Larry.

Shipton picked up the envelope and dumped the DVD out on the table. Without putting on gloves or taking any other precautions, he opened the case and popped the disc into the machine that sat in the corner of the room, then made some notes on a pad of paper.

Chrissy shot Larry a questioning glance just as Shipton spoke up and said, I’m going to get my boss. Be right back.

As the door closed behind him, Chrissy whispered, Now that’s a little more like it.

Larry couldn’t resist the urge to chuckle. I guess he doesn’t watch forensic television, he jibed. You can forget about fingerprints.

Don’t be so sure. There’s probably DNA, too.

Yup, agreed Larry. His, yours, mine, and John’s. Don’t forget the postman, either.

Don’t you think you need to take this a little more seriously? she said.

I do take it seriously, he softly replied. I just can’t wait to find out what’s going on. When they call this guy.

The door opened and Shipton returned with a tall black woman in office attire. This is my supervisor, Candace Huston.

Nice to meet you, folks, she said as she reached across the table and shook their hands. So what have we got here?

Detective Shipton showed her the manila envelope, the hand-written note, and the DVD case. The DVD has their daughter’s name on it.

Larry spoke up, And there’s no return address.

I wish he wouldn’t be so mysterious, said Huston.

What? said Larry. You know this guy?

Let’s take a look at the video, she answered as Shipton started the player with the remote.

I see he’s still using the ‘5000’ and the ‘400,000’ figures. I think there are new numbers, said Huston as the titles came up.

Oh, really, said Shipton. Higher or lower?

Lower, actually, she replied. Pause it. She turned to face Larry and Chrissy. The most recent stats show a slight decrease in traffic fatalities across the board, but it’s not because we’re getting better. There’s been a corresponding decrease in miles driven because of higher fuel prices. Instead of 5000 dead kids this year, we might drop down to 4900, even 4800… depending on the price of gas. She nodded to Shipton and the video continued. It’s not because they’re getting better, she added.

As it ended, Shipton asked Is this one pretty standard?

So far, she answered. Let’s see what he says.

Just a minute, said Chrissy, practically shouting. What do you know about this?

Take it easy, Mrs…. said Huston, glancing at Shipton’s notes, Mrs. Wilson. Your daughter is in no danger, at least not from Juan.

I thought his name was John, said Larry.

Huston looked at Shipton for a moment, and then back to the Wilsons.

How old is your daughter?

Seventeen. Senior in high school.

What did you see, Ken?

Shipton glanced at his notes. Well, you’ve got tailgating. Almost rear-ended the guy. She didn’t use her turn signal when she passed. She crossed the yellow no-passing line at the end there, with a move that would get even me pulled over. She almost ran off the road. Put it all together with the cell phone, and you’re looking at twenty years to life.

Candace rolled her eyes as Shipton quickly added, Just kidding. Oh, and the speeding.

Right, she said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Larry and Chrissy were speechless as Huston let it all sink in for a few seconds.

We are worried about Jenna, said Larry, finally.

You should be, said Huston. You’ve got a dead kid driving.

What?

She’s not dead yet, of course, thankfully, and I’m sorry the way it sounds, but your daughter is an accident waiting to happen. She may as well be dead, because it’s only a matter of time. She swept her arm towards the surrounding offices. We see a lot of that around here. There’s only one other question: how many will she take with her?

"You mean another accident waiting to happen," whispered Larry to Chrissy.

Candace picked up on it and asked, Let me guess, how many cars has she gone through? One, at least?

Just one, answered Larry. The Ford her grandma gave her.

Alright, said the supervisor, let’s get him on the phone. Mr. Wilson, just pretend you’re calling from home. Don’t say anything about us. We’ll jump in when it’s time, okay?

Okay, he agreed, and dialed the number on his cell phone.

The phone was answered on the second ring. Ahoy, said the man. I’m operating a motor vehicle. I’m going to pull over so that I can take your call. Call me back in one minute. The line went dead.

All right, said Shipton. As they sat there, he started up the video again. He has a better over-the-shoulder camera now, he pointed out.

Huston nodded in agreement; Put it on speakerphone, she said. Larry redialed the number.

This time he answered, John here. How can I help you?

This is Larry Wilson. I received your package. With the DVD in it. So I’m calling you.

There was a pause. Roger, he said. I read you loud and clear. I’ve been expecting your call.

Chapter 2

The speaker crackled softly. Am I on a speakerphone? said the disembodied voice.

Yes, answered Larry. My wife is here, too.

Good. It’s good that she’s here, and it’s good that I’m on your speakerphone. You can both hear this at the same time.

Okay, said Larry.

So here’s the deal. You’ve seen the video. You’ve got a big problem. I’ll assume, that like most parents, you love your daughter. And I’ll also assume that your daughter – Jenna, right? – is a good person, one who deserves a chance at a long and happy life. The voice was soft but clear, without accent. Definitely not a Georgia boy, thought Larry. Am I right so far?

Yes, said Larry, guardedly.

Well, she’s a dead kid driving. Do you know what I mean?

Larry glanced at Chrissy. We’re familiar with the phrase, he answered. ‘Now,’ he whispered.

Good. I can save her, and probably you, too, in the process. I teach people how to survive on the road. That’s what I do, and yes, I get paid for it.

Larry looked at Shipton, who mouthed the words and gestured ‘Keep going.’

How much?

"I use a simple but fair formula. Right now, you’re paying a certain amount of money for Jenna’s car insurance. If she has another accident, she’ll have to go into the high-risk pool, and that will cost you more – let’s say, $1000 more a year. We’ll use your insurance agent to