Free Chaser by Miasha

the driver’s seat. I listened intently to the next words to come out of the dispatcher’s mouth. My foot was already on the gas and gear shifted to drive. All I needed to hear was…
    “ Injuries from an accident.”
    Skirrrrrrrt, I pulled out of the gas station parking lot like I was in a race car. My tow truck skidded up Spruce Street, disrupting the peace for sure. I got to a red light and stopped. But when I noticed out my side mirror that another tow truck was fast approaching, I put my foot back on the gas and ran through the light without hesitation.
    The other tow truck followed right behind me, riding my ass, trying to get in front of me. I wasn’t letting it happen, though. At thenext red light, the same thing—I ran right through it. The chaser behind me didn’t give up. He was still on my ass.
    A line of early-morning rush-hour traffic was ahead of us, and it was a race to the front. I had two options: drive in the lane that was reserved for traffic going in the opposite direction and risk a head-on collision, or drive up on the curb and take the pavement to the light. I had to think fast because my competitor was right there on me.
    I quickly looked around, getting a glimpse of everything that surrounded me—pedestrians, traffic, and the green light ahead that caused a flow of traffic to pour in the lane to my left, which I was considering taking. The pavement it is, I thought, as I jumped my truck on the curb and rode it to the intersection, where I was able to make a right turn off the busy street.
    At that point my competitor was no longer in my rearview. I guessed he didn’t have the balls to jump the curb like I did. And with that my adrenaline pumped.
    “Yeah, nigga, you ain’t got that in ya!” I shouted, sitting up in the driver’s seat. Both of my hands were on the steering wheel, one maneuvering the big truck around small corners and the other on the horn ready to press down whenever the need came for me to run a stop sign or a light.
    I pulled up to the accident scene just seconds before the other chaser who had been racing me to it. I could see the jealousy all in this nigga’s face. He had to be sick. First of all, I beat him to the hit. Second, it was only one car. Apparently the driver lost control and ran into a light pole.
    I jumped out the truck, clipboard in hand, and walked over to the passengers who were standing on the pavement looking in disbelief at their crashed newer-model BMW X5. I did a quick assessment of the vehicle as I walked past it to get to the owner. It looked to me like a home run. I was wide awake then.
    I approached an older woman. She was just ending a call on hercell. Beside her stood a young bull, probably like thirteen, fourteen. He had to be her son. I thought about what I would say first to break the ice between the lady and me. I had to be sensitive to the fact that she had just been in an accident and was most likely fragile. Not to mention the fact that she was a white woman in a black neighborhood. And her posh demeanor gave me the impression that she was the type of white lady who would clutch her purse in the presence of a black man. Now here she was, forced to be out on the corner surrounded by a bunch of black people, bystanders and tow truck drivers alike. I didn’t necessarily take her as being prejudiced, just sheltered and misinformed.
    “Are you two all right?” I asked.
    The woman shook her head yes, but her eyes told me that she wasn’t. She looked like she was scared and shaken up all at once. Her son looked a little timid, too. He probably wasn’t used to being around black people, either. I gotta help make these people feel comfortable, I thought. The first thing I learned about how to put at ease people who were in distress, and in this case fearful, as well, was to say something that would make them feel safe right away.
    “The police are on their way,” I said. And before the woman could ask me how I knew, I explained to her