White Widow No More
By H Matthew D. Rodriguez Written by hand on March 25th, 2026
“That’s it for this one, kid,” he said, “you’re gonna have to buy another car, and fix this one little by little.”
Shit, I thought.
The car had been sitting in the parking lot next to the track and ballpark for around a week after I got news that my old Ford Taurus got its expiration date. I fell sick with some flu or something and was out of commission for three or four days and nights. Then I decided I was going to run the car as close as I could to the house before calling a tow. I was feeling religious, so I invoked the power of God to get the car to the house, but he said no. My car died in a narrow mountain road curve, ridden with potholes next to an old timer’s place who’s selling a blue tractor. The type farmers use. The Mr., whose name I could not learn also had a nice red Jeep parked next to the tractor. But his small house was built on the side of a cliff, as were many other people’s homes in the area.
I had to stand in the road to direct traffic, while my car smoked out. I took a picture with my trustee flip phone whose camera isn’t very good, but on this occasion, did a neat enough job. The car had been a company car for Panadol. A cousin of mine worked for that company, and somehow the car came into his property. He later sold it to my grandfather for who knows what amount, and then my old man bought it from the older man. Finally, it was entrusted to me at the old age of sixteen. Pop was sick a lot during my last two years of high school. I didn’t know it then, but those were also the last two years of my old man’s life.
The car meant a lot to me; it got me though my years of college too. Its AC was ice cold, perfect for keeping me cool in this tropical climate. A lot happened after eighteen too. Now the car died just when I had started running ops to make some cheese. Coffers empty too. Starting an empire from the ground up comes with its challenges. Now stranded in the mountains without White Widow. Now dependent on borrowing transport to make a couple of bucks at the track until I think of a better heist.
I finally had a few clients consuming what I produced. I got news that one of my clients described my product as quality, and that he was willing to pay for quality. That cheered me up a bit from my mourning.
Now I had to think of a new scheme, something more profitable and invest the little I earn on something worthwhile. Tools, equipment… something, and stay alert for the big score.
