While driving to pick up lunch, you accidentally bump into the car in front of you—a light fender bender—that pops open the other car’s trunk. When you get out to assess the damage, you notice that the driver of the other car is none other than your favorite actor. More important, you notice a dead body in the trunk. Who is the actor and what elaborate excuse does he give you to explain the dead body in his trunk?
(500 words or fewer)
As I eased up to the red light, my mind was elsewhere, and I ended up bumping into the car in front of me. It couldn’t have been that bad; I was going slow, but the impact was enough to pop open his trunk. Nonetheless, I cursed myself as I exited my car.
The driver slid out slowly with his back to me. He was an older guy with brown hair and wearing a dark brown leather jacket. My breath caught in my throat when he turned around. It was Liam Neeson. As he slowly walked towards me, I grew extremely nervous. My eyes darted away from him and—unfortunately—focused on the open trunk. What I saw there made me even more nervous: it was a dead body.
I looked back up at him as he kept approaching, never taking his eyes off me. He ran his hand along the side of the back window and over the trunk, closing it with his hand.
“Mr. Neeson, I’m really sorry for bumping into you,” I said, hoping to take any focus off of the trunk—and the body inside. He continued to stare at me. “I’m willing to pay for any damages, Mr. Neeson.”
He leaned his upper body towards me and asked, “Why do you keep calling me Mr. Neeson?”
“Because you’re Liam Neeson.”
He leaned in farther. “I don’t know who this Neeson fellow is, but I am not him.”
“Um, okay. Then who are you?”
“Who I am is not important. But who you are is very important to me.”
“Oh, right … because I bumped into you. You need my information for the accident.”
He relaxed his stance. “Yes, exactly.”
I handed him my license so he could write down my information. Instead, he pulled out a micro-camera and snapped a picture of it and gave it back to me.
“So,” I said, “should I call the police or you?” His eyes widened. “You know, for the accident report.”
He leaned in again, his hand firmly on the trunk lid. “I think it’s best if we left the police out of this, don’t you agree?” He drummed his fingers one time on the trunk lid.
I barely managed not to look; I held his stare. “Um, yeah, sure. That’s fine,” I stammered.
He leaned in once again, his eyes boring holes into my skull. “And if you have second thoughts about that—“ he said my full name and address from memory “—I just want you to remember something: I have a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. I can easily make a person disappear and never be found. Are we clear on this?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
“Good.” He turned, got into his car, and left.
I never told anyone, except for just now.
Damn, I hope he doesn’t see this!