The Immigrant: A Short Story

Marci loaded her overnight bag and purse into the passenger side of the Porsche. Every time she drove the SUV, she felt Javier 's presence. She climbed in, stepped on the brake and turned the ignition. A light came on, above the steering wheel -- 'Service Engine Soon '.
Hadn 't they just fixed that? She thought about it and dismissed it. Hell! The car was almost brand new. She would take it in to the dealer when she returned. She pulled out and headed for the I-15, south. Before she reached the freeway entrance, she pulled over to gas the SUV up. She was on empty; so she pumped eighty dollars in the tank. When she got on the freeway, SUV began to sputter; but she ignored it.
She was nearing Baker. Her eye on a car behind her

Now, as she thought about the will and the reasons Anderson might have wanted her to come to L.A., she wondered if Javier 's ex-wife had something to do with it. The woman defined the word, scumbag! Not only had she cheated on Javier several times, she had lied to his kids about it, leading them to believe he had simply up and abandoned his family one day. Beyond that, she had collected welfare behind his back, since the time she had her first child. Applying for Aid to Dependent Family benefits, claiming each one of his four children were 'fatherless ' and hiding her monthly welfare money, in preparation for when she would leave him. After the divorce, she used the money for a down payment on a house that she shared with the man she had cheated on Javier with. She was a real item! For the life of her, Marci never understood what Javier had seen in her, to begin with. The woman could have been the human model for Jabba the Hut.
These were some of the reasons Marci convinced Javier to move to Las Vegas, in addition to feeling sick of his grown kids and their entitlement issues. Clearly, they harbored ideas that dad was responsible for bailing them out of every poor choice they made, even if they treated him with less respect than bums on the streets. Mom and dad never taught them right from wrong. It was no secret that when it came to his kids, Javier was a permissive parent. And the ex-wife exploited that every chance she got. Marci now wondered if

“Well maym, your fuel filter is under the rear driver seat. Watch!” He lifted up the seat and there was be a faint cut on the carpet. He tugged at the piece and the top of the fuel filter became visible. He unplugged the connections and popped out the ring. Next, he pulled up the fuel filter and unplugged a couple of quick connections. He inspected the filter and wrinkled his forehead. “It 's not that bad, but maybe we should head on down to pick up a new one. If you lock your car up and climb in, I 'll take you down there.”
“Oh gosh! Thanks so much! You really are God Sent!”

The blue Charger pulled over behind Marci 's Porsche. The man driving the Charger, looked perplexed. She was nowhere to be found and the car was empty. Had someone stopped and helped her? He sat in the seat, rubbing his chin and decided to leave. If they suddenly appeared and saw him parked there it would only arouse suspicions.

When Marci returned, the man had connected the new fuel filter and put the seat back. The car started up fine. Marci handed the man a hundred-dollar bill for his efforts. He tried to refuse it at first, but she insisted.