The Imposter's Game

od on my face.

my '69 Camaro. She was a beauty, classic American muscle,

ed against the doorf

, grease

"Morning,

along the Camaro's fender.

way

ade an appointment for the Camaro at Sam's. Full perfo

igh-end. Pricey, but

s good

ning. Ten

ck. Nine-fifteen. "O

ng, even on a Saturday." She kissed my ch

prom

ghed an

I drove the Camaro to Sam's. The place was busy. Sam himself

eterson's expecting your car.

ck," I said, han

u when she's ready. Pr

good,

, tinkered with a new game concept on my laptop. Independent gam

phone rang. U

el

enner?" A man's

spea

to come down to the access road off Highway 101, near the Richardson

tened. "My car?

n accident, sir

But it's at

in a fatal hit-and-run approximately one

. "I... I don't understa

This had to be a mistake.

flashed everywhere, blocking the road. I parked, heart

I s

Or what was

rumpled like a tin can. The win

n, the

uch blood. Emergency crews were there, but it was too late f

crowd saw me. H

m! That's

es, filled with

another man yelled, jabbing a finger. "

ing! Laughing! After he hit them, they got out, looked at that poor baby, and he... he said the kid

ere they talking about

im-faced man in a rump

Bre

ped my car at Sam's Autoworks

ith Sam's. Your car never arrived. No

ossible! I gave t

license plate, speeding, driving erratically, and then... this." He gestured to the scene

ath hi

y. Her face was pale, eyes wide

, her gaze falling on the wreckage,

er pointed at me again. "He's a mons

mbling. Rourke said something to her, low and urgent.

ine again, were filled wi

nd arced thr

the sudden silenc

isper of disbelief and disgust. "How co

ds came. I was trapped in a n

face. But n

I was. T