Sportscenter was on TV, but Cody was focused on the car alarm blaring in the street. He looked at the clock. It was five minutes to midnight. He heard Breanne stir upstairs.
“I can’t take this,” said Breanne as she tromped down the stairs. “How many times has it gone off?”
Cody opened the front door and surveyed the street from the front porch.
“I dunno. Six. Eight. A million.”
“Which car is it?”
“The Honda parked on the street two doors down. Why would ya put an alarm of a piece a crap like that?”
“I’m going to call the police,” said Breanne.
“I’m gonna get a baseball bat. I’ve got a ton o’ meetings tomorrow.”
“Then why’d you stay up late?”
“Are you kidding me? I’d be more frustrated tryin’ to sleep with that stupid alarm goin’ off every five seconds.”
“I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, too. I’ve got a big meeting with clients.”
The alarm went silent.
“Do you think that’s the last of it?” asked Breanne. She stood next to Cody with laptop in hand.
“What’re ya doin’?”
“Looking up the number for the police.”
“It’s not an emergency.”
“It will be if it goes off one more time,” said Cody.
Their peace was shattered by yet another assault of the car alarm.
“That’s it,” said Cody. He stomped back in the house leaving Breanne on the porch, alone and in her nightgown.
“What’re you doing now?”
Cody remerged brandishing a baseball bat.
“What’s that for? Are you crazy?”
“I’m a desperate man, Brea. Desperate men do desperate things,” said Cody.
Breanne stared toward the street. “Wait. I think I see the owner of the car.”
Cody looked at the Honda. His eyes went wide. “He’s huge.”
“Don’t worry. You’re a desperate man with a baseball bat. He’s doomed,” said Breanne. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
“Shh. He’ll hear you,” said Cody, hiding the bat.
The Honda owner looked their way.
“Sorry. I can’t get it to stop,” called the man.
Cody waved. “No problem. Need a hand?”
Breanne shook her head. “You may be desperate, but thank God you’re not stupid,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek and went back inside.