"Watch this," Finkie said while driving home from the Lizard's. "I can control my car telepathically."
"Yeah, right," Harry said. Finkie said a lot of stupid shit.
But this time he meant it. Finkie took his foot off the gas pedal and let the car cruise down Sherbrooke Street, through two stop signs and a red light. Harry freaked, then fought unsuccessfully for control of the steering wheel and gas pedal. The car crashed uneventfully into a soft snowbank.
No one was hurt. Lucky it was one in the morning on a Monday. Unlucky there were red flashing lights behind. A cop caught it all. A six hundred and fifty dollar ticket for burning the stops and the lights and enough demerit points for Finkie to get his license suspended for six months.
A little later:
Harry drove the car home, very slowly and carefully. Finkie wouldn't shut up.
"It's your fault, Harry! You're the dark prince, you willed this to happen!"
"Fucking Finkie man, get a grip on yourself. I don't think you're okay."
"You're the fucking dark prince, Harry Starr! They're broadcasting it on the radio now! Can't you hear it?!" This time Finkie wasn't trying to be funny.
Then Harry realized that there was no point in carrying on this conversation. Something was wrong with Funkie. Please God, Harry thought, don't let him be sick.
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