Switcheroo Read Online Free PDF

ears stand
on end and her eyes locked on to the digital alarm clock before she got up to
run; three seventeen it said.  This unexpected roar of tires ended with a huge
wham as the mobile home shook on its cinder block foundation. She ran to the
door to see what drunk had slammed into their house, only to find her own
husband.  From the trailer’s tiny wooden porch she watched the dust settle and
saw two figures in her husband’s dirty black pick up truck.  The hood of the
Ranger was half way under the trailer, having smashed away the underpinning.
Tammy heard screaming and cussing coming from the cab of the truck.
    “How in the fuck!” Travis yelled,
holding his bleeding forehead. “Ow, where am I!?”
    A female voice that had also been
screaming, now whispered loudly, “Travis, we are at your house, you crashed
into your own house, you idiot.  Why would you drive here of all places?”
    Tammy did not recognize the slut
with her husband and did not want to know her. It didn’t matter.  She knew what
the girl was doing with her husband and that was all that counted.
    Tammy got even madder when Travis
staggered out of the truck and began explaining that the tramp in the halter
top and white leather skirt was actually Billy Joe’s girlfriend.  He was simply
driving her home because she was a ‘little drunk’ (at least the second part of
that statement was true).
    This was when Tammy knew it was
over and she told him so.  Mentally, Tammy retreated to the safety of her
mind.  She tuned out Travis and the bimbo, who were both yelling again.  She
already had an emergency plan in mind. She would grab clothes for tomorrow and
go to Grandma Tuttle’s, taking Hannah of course.  She had a few choice words
for Travis and his cheap whore, with the even cheaper boob job, that Tammy
suspected she still owed money on.  It was toward the end of this cussing
tirade that she realized there was a slight problem- her blue Ford Ranger was
nowhere to be found.  It had been parked in the little gravel pad in front of
the trailer.  It was not on the street either.  Time for plan B.
    Tammy really hated to wake up
Ellen Fairmont, the trailer park owner-operator. But Ms. Fairmont was the
closest ride available.  She was a kindly sort of woman, a little too kind
sometimes.  She often let her tenants run behind on lot rent.  She always threw
out the really bad ones eventually.  Tammy had rarely even used her grace
period, but now needed a huge favor.  Tammy asked Ms. Fairmont to give Hannah
and herself a ride to Straw Plains, a twenty minute drive, at 3:38 a.m. Sunday
morning.  Ms. Fairmont didn’t even dress; she walked out of her trailer in her
robe and slippers, equipped only with her cigarettes, keys and billfold.
    It was very rare to get stuck on
Highway 640 at four in the morning, especially on Sunday, but there the three
of them were.  Ms. Fairmont was complaining that if they didn’t start moving
soon her old ‘85 Regal would start running hot.
    As they inched around a bend Tammy
saw police lights and a tow truck ahead.  As they approached the front of the
line Tammy noticed a blue Ford pick up truck on the wrecker.  Tammy had Ms.
Fairmont pull over to the shoulder behind the flashing light.
    “That is my pick up. It must have
been stolen,” She frantically explained to the wrecker driver.
    It took several minutes of talking
to the wrecker man and two police officers to convince them that the truck was
indeed hers.  Tammy wanted to know what happened, how the car got there, and
why was it was being towed?  The wrecker driver told her it was parked in the
slow lane on Highway 640 and if it had been a different time of day, it would
have been quickly smashed by another vehicle.  Thankfully, a patrolman spied
the abandoned truck and stopped traffic until the wrecker got there.
    “Who was in the car?  The thief?”
Tammy had asked the wrecker driver.
    “No one, the truck was