Bad Day at Black Wall

The task is simple: get inspired by the photograph of a tire hanging from a rope and write a short story using this inspiration!

Your story must be:
Fiction.
Based on the photograph of a tire hanging from a rope.
Rated 18 or below: Any story that falls above this rating will be disqualified.
2000 words or less: Word count must be provided at the bottom of the item or your entry will be disqualified.
Newly written for this contest.  Submitted One Time Only: You may only enter this contest using one story, so make it a good one!
Edited Only Until the Deadline: Entries edited after the submission deadline may be disqualified from winning without notice.

The submission deadline is: 11:59 pm EST, October 31, 2010

******************************************************************************

Bad Day at Black Wall

By Indelibleink

He rolled into the town of Black Wall shortly after 8 AM on that fateful Friday. He was middle-aged, and slightly worn with chiseled features (a.k.a. “raised white letters”). He suffered from male pattern baldness, as would everyone in this town - even the women - eventually. He adjusted his belt – yes, it was the steel radial kind – and headed in the direction of the local filling station. He needed some answers, and a couple of belts of nitrogen after the long trip wouldn’t hurt, either.

It was a small town – one whose best days were clearly behind it. From the looks of things, it was fairly obvious that it had been quite some time since it had seen a Goodyear: Many of the buildings had been boarded up or simply abandoned, and the scarcity of tread marks in the dirt suggested that many residents had already succumbed to the pressure – or lack of same – and made tracks out of town. 

As he made his way through the town, he felt the icy stares and deflating expressions from every local he passed. Finally, he saw the sign that he had been looking for: “Dunlop’s Tire Stop.”

He pushed his way through the swinging doors. As he entered, he found it difficult for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, so he donned his pair of wide-rimmed ovals. Almost immediately, the noise level dropped from what had been near-bursting to that of a slow leak. He rested his weary rim on the nearest spin-balancer.

While awaiting service, it was difficult to not overhear a couple of elderly female patrons conversing.

One complained, “Well, I don’t know about that, but did you hear about the Firestones? After all these years, they just up and separated. I say there should be an investigation.”

The other nodded in agreement. “And did you see Lily Vogue the other day? What with the recaps and the retreads, I swear she doesn’t have one bit of original tread left. Yet she struts around like she’s some young thing…”

“Yes. Everybody knows old Lily’s been around the block more than a few times! And, it's so obvious that she had a tube-job. You tell me her front isn't 100% Fix-A-Flat!” With that, the two squealed and screeched with laughter.
 
Finally, the young barmaid, probably an R13 but no more than an R14 – max. – walked up and from behind the bar addressed the tired stranger (or “stranger tire”, if you prefer).

“Hello there, Big Guy, what’ll it be?”

He couldn’t help but notice her over-inflated tire rack. “Double nitrogen – straight up.”

“Whoa there, partner. Sure you don’t want me to dilute that with a little shot of regular air?”

“No – I can handle it. What’s your name, my dear?”

“Michelin Alignment.”

The stranger downed the double in one gulp. “Well, Miss Alignment, that’s an interesting first name. May I ask how you came upon a name like that?

The young looker smiled. “Well, Mom wanted to name me Michelle, but Dad was partial to Linda, so….they settled on Michelin. What’s your name, stranger?”

He put down his empty glass and laughed. “No…it’s not ‘Stranger’. It’s Tire-acy. Spencer Tire-acy. But, actually, I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me…”

Michelin paused, leaned over, and rested her ample “blemishes” on the bar. “Sure, Mr.Tire-acy. What is his – or her – name?”

Spencer reached into his (vulcanized rubber) pocket, withdrew his wallet, and removed a tattered, faded photo. “His name is Yokohama. This is the only photo I have of him, and it’s pretty old. If the light in here was better, perhaps…”

“There’s nobody who goes by that name in this town, Mister.” A large, imposing mass of a tire ripped the photo from Spencer’s treads, and took a seat in the spin-balancer next to Tire-acy. “ The name’s Cooper. Kelly Cooper. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never heard of him. Nobody else here has either. Isn’t that right, everyone?” Cooper spun around and eyed each of the customers in the establishment as they answered.

Although each one nodded in affirmation of Cooper’s statement, Spencer could see the obvious shaking and shimmying in their replies. Cooper was obviously hiding something – but what?

Clearly, he wasn’t going to find anything out with Cooper in here influencing the locals, so Tire-acy got up and took the photo back from Cooper. “Well, perhaps, I got the wrong town. Maybe it’s the next town over. I’ll go to the hotel, get a good night’s rest, and take off in the morning. No sense in wearing you good folks out with pointless questions.”

Cooper smiled. “Good luck. Hope you find your Chinese friend.” He quickly turned after saying that, so Tire-acy wouldn’t see his grimace.

Tire-acy nodded, tipped his wheel cover, and left. Of course he had noticed Cooper’s faux pas; no one had ever brought up Yokohama’s race earlier – so how did Cooper know it, if Yokohama had never lived there? Spencer had no plans on leaving any time soon – there were way too many questions to be answered – and he was confident that if he asked enough people, he’d find a leaky valve stem somewhere.

Spencer Tire-acy cruised on over to the only hotel in town, The Uniroyal Seal, and registered at the desk. While he was waiting for his credit card to be approved, he peripherally noticed that a tire - one he hadn't seen before - was staring at him. When Tire-acy picked up his belongings to go to his room, the stranger came over, took his bags, and said, "Let me help you with those."

Sensing that this could be informational blowout he was looking for, Tire-acy complied. As they waited for the hydraulic lift to take them up to the third floor, he looked at the Firestone standing next to him and said, "I don't recall meeting you, and I never forget a tread..."

In a hushed tone, the Firestone replied, "I'm in disguise." Sure enough, Tire-acy watched in amazement as the phony Firestone tore off ficticious lettering from multiple locations, revealing "Bridge" where "Fire" once was.

Immediately, Tire-acy recognized Bridgestone from the meeting earlier in the day at Dunlop's. "Wow! That's some disguise, young fella. What can I do for you?"

As the two boarded the hydraulic lift, Bridgestone reached into his (vulcanized rubber) pocket, and took out a photo, keeping it away from Tire-acy's view. "I was there when it happened. I have information on the guy you were looking for, Yokohama. But first, I have to forewarn you: The picture you're about to see - it's of your friend - is not pretty. Are you sure you want to proceed?"

Tire-acy laughed. "Son, I've seen it all: High speeds, erratic lane changes, snow, sleet, slush, speed bumps - you name it. There's nothing contained on that photo that can put this old bird out-of-balance."

With that, the young informant flipped the photo over, revealing a photo of a tire hanging - suspended from the branch of a solitary tree on the outskirts of town. Tire-acy's expression immediately changed to one of complete repulsion, and he quickly turned away - he handled sharp turns extremely well - and for a second he thought he would lose his lunch.

After taking a moment to compose himself, Tire-acy took another look at the photo. "Yeah, that's Yokohama, all right. Who would do such a thing - string up a poor old guy like that? Yokohama never hurt a soul..."

Bridgestone nodded in agreement. "Yeah. It was horrible. Cooper and three others - (which makes a complete set of P235/75R15's) - had recently lost their jobs at the GM plant. It was because they were producing inferior product, but...Well, I guess they needed a scapegoat. And, since Yokohama was Chinese, they decided to make him the scapegoat. So, a few days ago, after an entire afternoon of considerable nitrogen consumption, they went out to Yokohama's, and dragged him back to town, and they just went and strung him up." Bridgestone wiped the tears from his raised white letters. "The poor bastard...He left skid marks all the way from his place to here..."

Tire-acy was astounded, and smacked the photo. "How could you let them do this?"

"I was restrained by tire-irons and bungee cords," he sobbed. "You must believe me. Cooper and his cronies are very unbalanced. They were just too much - they have whole town scared to talk."

"What did they do with Yokohama's body?"

"Well, at first, they were going to burn it, but the last thing they wanted was the EPA coming around...those fines for tire-burning are really horrendous. Then they were going to just bury it. Again, fear of what the EPA might do quashed those ideas...It takes decades for a tire to naturally decompose, you know. Then they thought of leaving poor Yokohama hanging up on the tree branch, to serve as a reminder to other foreigners to stay out. That thought was rejected because, well, eventually it will start to dry rot, which doesn't smell too pretty, and like I said, it was just on the outskirts of town."

Tire-acy, enthralled by the entire story, was still perplexed. "So...what became of Yokohama?"

Bridgestone shook his raised white letters. "Not sure...Rumor has it that one night they smuggled him - or what was left of him - into a recycling facility a couple of counties away. But no one can say for sure."

The hydraulic lift stopped at the third floor (yes, it was very slow), and as the two began to disembark, they were surprised to see Kelly Cooper roll around the corner and confront the pair. He was not a happy camper.

"You've got a big yap, Bridgestone. One of these days, someone's going to fix your valve stem - for good! Now, give me that photo..." Cooper tried to yank the incriminating evidence from Bridgestone's grasp.

Tire-acy quickly interceded by rolling between the two. "You didn't really think you'd get away with it, now did you, Cooper? Too many loose ends; there are bits of rubber and bias ply all over this town...and they all point to you!"

From his (vulcanized rubber) pocket, Cooper withdrew  a sharp, pointy object - either a nail or small screwdriver - and leaped at Tire-acy, slashing at - and just missing - Tire-acy's tubular vein. Tire-acy deftly deflected (he had fought in the "big one" himself, you know) the direction of the weapon, which reversed its course and plunged deep into Cooper's sidewall, inflicting serious damage.

Tire-acy looked at Bridgestone. "Quick! call 9-1-1. Tell them we have a severe puncture wound, and to send help, a patch, and some Fix-A-Flat, ASAP!"

Bridgestone did as told, but to no avail. The slash in Cooper was too severe, and there was simply no stopping the rush of air coming from Cooper. Within a matter of seconds, Kelly Cooper exhaled his last gasp, and the leak was no more.

*********************************

THE NEXT MORNING

As Spencer Tire-acy bungee'd the last bit of luggage to his rim, Michelin Alignment rushed into the street.

"Must you leave so soon, Spencer?"

"There's nothing for me here, Miss Alignment. I was only here to deliver this to Yokohama..."

From his (vulcanized rubber) pocket, he produced and handed an official-looking document to Michelin. It was a Congressional Patch of Honor which had been awarded to Yokohama's son just after he was killed in the war.

"Yokohama's son wanted his father to have this - it was my only reason for being here. Now, there's no reason to stay."

Michelin protested, "If you gave this town a chance, I guarantee you'd like it here..."

Spencer Tire-acy smiled wryly and shook his raised white letters.

"When you're a tire, there are only three guarantees in life: tread wear, federal excise taxes, and recycling."

With that, he tipped his wheel cover and rolled - quickly - out of Black Wall.

***************************************************************************************

Words: 1997