The Roadblock : When rage meets restraint, karma takes the wheel.

By S A Spencer -

 


Story: S A Spencer

We were supposed to be heading to a supplier’s warehouse on the outskirts of the city — a routine drive for our business. Mick Donnelly, my business partner and former AFP officer, was behind the wheel. He’d left the force at 50, trading in his badge for spreadsheets and supplier calls. But his instincts hadn’t retired — they just wore a different uniform now.

The road was narrow, one lane each way, winding through semi-rural outskirts. It was the kind of route where patience mattered more than horsepower. But not everyone got that memo.

A silver sedan ahead of us was playing games. Every time an overtaking lane appeared, he’d speed up just enough to block us. Then, once the lane ended, he’d slow down again — crawling, taunting, daring us to react. It wasn’t just annoying. It was deliberate.

I glanced at Mick. His face was calm, unreadable. I knew that look. It was the same expression he wore when interrogating suspects — composed, calculating, never giving away his next move.

After several kilometres of this nonsense, an overtaking lane opened again. Mick didn’t hesitate. He downshifted, surged forward, and overtook the silver sedan with surgical precision. No drama. No eye contact. Just clean execution.

But the driver didn’t take it well.

He tailgated us aggressively, swerving left and right like a predator sizing up prey. I felt my pulse quicken. Mick didn’t flinch. He kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

Then, without warning, the silver sedan crossed the unbroken line, overtook us illegally, and slammed his brakes right in front of us. Mick had to brake hard to avoid a collision.

The man jumped out of his car, stormed toward us, fists clenched, face twisted in fury. He began banging on Mick’s window, shouting curses that echoed through the empty road.

I expected Mick to step out and assert himself. This was a man who’d faced armed criminals, led raids, and defused hostage situations. Surely, he’d put this road-raging lunatic in his place.

Instead, Mick did something that stunned me.

He opened the door, stepped out slowly, and folded his hands in front of the man — a gesture of apology.

“I’m sorry, mate,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

The man blinked, confused. His rage deflated like a punctured tyre. Without another word, he turned, got into his car, and sped off — easily double the speed limit.

I stared at Mick, speechless. “You let him go? Just like that?”

Mick smiled faintly. “He’s carrying garbage in his head. If I argue, I accept that garbage. I chose not to.”

“But he was reckless. He could’ve hurt someone.”

“I’m no longer a cop,” Mick said. “His karma will teach him. If not today, another day.”

We drove on in silence, the road stretching ahead like a ribbon of reflection. I kept replaying the scene in my head — the rage, the restraint, the unexpected surrender.

Then we saw it.

Flashing lights. A crumpled silver sedan. Skid marks veering off the road into a ditch.

Mick pulled over immediately. The man was trapped inside, conscious but shaken. His car was mangled, but he was lucky — no major injuries.

Mick sprang into action. He called emergency services, directed traffic, and coordinated with the arriving paramedics like he’d never left the force.

When the man was finally pulled out, he looked at Mick — the same man he’d cursed and threatened just minutes ago.

“I wasn’t drunk,” he muttered defensively.

Mick nodded. “Driving with a hot head is more dangerous than drink driving.”

The man looked down, ashamed. No words. Just silence.

As the ambulance drove off, I turned to Mick. “You were right. Karma didn’t wait.”

Mick shrugged. “Sometimes, life teaches louder than we ever could.”

Please send your funny or other life experiences to me, and I will make a story and publish, acknowledging your contribution. Or, if you can write your own story, I will publish the same with your name as a writer. Writing should be between  1000-1500 words.

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