Chapter 5: Mossion Accomplished

Max wasn't foolish. Surveying Harris and Martin, and recalling the lewd antics of the bear masquerading as Martin, drawing a conclusion was not a daunting task: "You framed me?" he questioned sternly 

"This is blackmail, kid, and it'll get you in trouble!" he asserted.

"You cause harm and then want to evade responsibility?" Naturally, Martin wouldn't own up to it. Instead, he reached for his phone, dialed 911, and inquired of Harris with sincerity, "Do you need my help contacting the police?"

Max's demeanor grew less affable. "You've messed with the wrong person, and you're in deep trouble!"

Martin appeared unperturbed and muttered to himself, "Driving under the influence, serious injury. I recall a similar case in the neighborhood where the unfortunate soul lost all his assets and got sentenced to...how many years?"

Max stepped back, leaning against the car.

Martin mused, "There's a live case today, and we'll find out soon."

Harris was unusually cooperative and cheerful. "Driving under the influence, my goodness, that's a jackpot!" He hastily added, "You must sell me that video! I'll pay you $1,000!"

Max fixed his gaze on Martin as if he'd spotted a venomous snake.

Martin spoke, "Mr. Max, you're a fine husband, a devoted father, with a beautiful wife and charming children. They must see you as their rock and hero. I greatly admire you and would never let you get entangled in a criminal case."

"You're the one orchestrating this criminal case!" Max angrily retorted. "You're shameless and hardly deserve to be called human!" Unfazed, Martin replied, "I'm a concerned citizen.

If I report this to the police and submit the video, I might even receive an Honorary Citizen Medal from Marietta." Max's defenses gradually crumbled. "Don't paint yourself as some noble figure, you lowlife!" he retorted. "Just name your price and hand over the video."

Martin believed in standing firm, momentarily upping the ante. "$5,000," he declared.

"Are you out of your mind?" Max jabbed a finger at him. "The fine for calling the police is only $5,000!" Without outright refusal, Max began to crunch the numbers. Sensing Max's imminent defeat, Martin pushed further, "My new employer has a friend who's a freelance reporter. Once I call the cops, Channel 3, known for covering Atlanta's social news, will get their hands on this."

He gestured toward Harris. "I'm not well-versed in the law. Mr. Max, what other consequences might he face? Regarding bail, lawyer fees—are those expenses he'll incur? The ATL Legal Aid Association offers free legal representation, but it'll take months."

Max's mind was on the brink of overload.

Martin relentlessly pursued his advantage. "You might still end up behind bars. If the sentence is lengthy, will your lovely wife divorce you? Will she take your assets and find a new partner? It could work out well; someone might protect your wife for you, raise your kids..."

"That's enough! Shut your foul mouth!" Max lashed out, delivering a swift kick to the Cadillac's wheel. "Martin Davis, you're so vicious, you don't deserve to be called human!"

He retrieved a pen and checkbook from the car. "$3,000! Only $3,000! Ask for a penny more, and I'll fight you! Give me back that damn videotape," Max demanded.

Martin intended to buy time for Elena to duplicate the video and handed over three $1,000 checks. "I'm not wealthy, and I've never seen such big checks. Come with me to the bank for the money transfer, and I'll hand you the video right after. There's a Bank of America nearby," he proposed. Max warned fiercely, "No tricks!"

Martin assured, "Honesty and trustworthiness are the cornerstones of my life."

Following the intersection, a bank branch was no more than a kilometer away. Harris rose, disregarded the bicycle, and walked beside Martin.

Max relocated the old bicycle, mounted his car, and tailed them.

Holding the sizable check in his hand, Harris momentarily forgot the pain in his broken arm. He couldn't help but jest, "How was my performance? If this were a film festival, I'd have an 80% shot at Best Actor."

Martin swiftly disagreed, "That would be overly exaggerated and superficial." He phoned Elena, "Is the video ready? Good! Once it's done, deliver the original tape to the Bank of America." Upon reaching the bank, Martin and Harris opened their respective accounts at the counter.

Martin stepped out to retrieve the camera.

After the checks were transferred, Max briefly reviewed the video on the cassette camera's small LCD screen.

He extracted the cassette and tucked it into his bag.

The video had captured the moment when the bike entered the frame and the subsequent collision with the Cadillac. The angles were meticulously chosen.

Max inquired, "Have you made a copy of it?"

Martin reclaimed the camera and queried in astonishment, "Can you even duplicate this thing?"

Max stared at him, oblivious to anything amiss, and rose to his feet. "I hope I never see you again."

Martin concurred, "Likewise."

Max exited the bank branch, entered his car, and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. "Dammit!"

Those two rascals would pay for this sooner or later.

The Cadillac veered onto a secluded road. Max exited the vehicle, retrieved the cassette strap, lit it with a lighter, and reduced it to ashes.

Starting tomorrow, he'd hire a temporary driver to avoid a repeat.

Given that rascal's audacity, it was entirely plausible.

Martin and Harris pocketed some change, applied for a credit card, and rejoined the car.

Elena inquired, "Do your arms and legs still hurt?"

Martin settled into the passenger seat and remarked, "I've noticed your legs only hurt when you're short on cash; suddenly, you feel so comfortable when you've got money."

Harris reclined in his seat, the adrenaline rush wearing off. He urged, "Get me to the hospital pronto; I'm hurting bad."

Elena ignited the engine, "The car barely scratched you, this minor injury won't kill you."

As they passed by the accident scene, the bicycle was conspicuously absent.

None of them gave it a second thought.

The old bike that had caused such a commotion now seemed utterly insignificant.

With the money in hand, they could tend to Harris's arm without fretting about vet bills.

Elena had a sudden notion, "After finally breaking my arm, should we do it again? There are plenty of gullible folks out there."

Harris protested, "My odds of survival are like 99%!"

Martin had contemplated this, "Max has a content family, a son and a daughter. He wouldn't want to become a criminal. What if he encounters a belligerent old man next time? What if he shoots Harris's blockhead off?"

Elena focused on driving and remained silent.

At the hospital, Martin accompanied Harris for diagnosis and treatment while Elena returned the car and teddy bear.

Martin inquired, "Whose car was it?"

Elena replied, "Monica's, she's a nice person."

Martin reminded softly, "Remember to fill up the gas."

Elena scrutinized him for a moment, "Did the idiot lose his head?"

Martin spotted Harris emerging from the CT room and hurried over.

Harris's condition wasn't too severe; he didn't require surgery with screws and plates. After resetting his arm, the doctor applied a cast. The only prescription was medication and rest.

Elena, who had rushed back from the hospital, suggested, "Let's celebrate tonight."

"Celebrating a fool who broke his arm, count me in!" Martin offered generously. "I'll treat, let's grab some beer!"

Harris, nursing his injured arm, chimed in, "I want funnel cakes and Monte Cristo sandwiches!"

Elena beamed, "It's a rare treat for a pauper like me. I'll have sweet beer and oxtail rice!"

The trio enjoyed a feast at a roadside restaurant and convenience store, picking up supplies for a celebration at home.