I’d just gotten back from two weeks of shredding the slopes in Aspen with my best friend. Around midnight, my phone rang. Someone told me to move my car. Half-asleep, I figured it was a prank call, mumbled “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” and went back to sleep. A few minutes later, a man claiming to be a cop called. “Move your car immediately, or we’re having it towed.” All sleepiness vanished in an instant. But my car was parked in my own designated spot. Where was I supposed to move it to? 1 The man’s voice on the phone was a raw, angry bark. “You parked in the wrong spot. Move it, you hear me?” I frowned, my patience worn thin from two weeks of travel and being woken up in the middle of the night. “You must have the wrong number. I’m in my own parking spot. Where am I supposed to go?” “Your spot? I’ve been parking here since the day I moved in. You better move that piece of junk, or I’m not responsible for what happens to it.” His words sent a shiver of doubt through me. What if I really had parked in the wrong place? I threw on some clothes, grabbed my keys, and headed down to the parking garage. The moment I approached, a burly, menacing man pointed a thick finger in my face and started screaming. “You goddamn bitch! Shameless slut, you dare take my spot? You got a death wish or something?” The sudden torrent of abuse stunned me. Tears welled up in my eyes, hot and involuntary. But then I looked up and saw the number painted on the concrete wall: B3502. My spot. A wave of humiliation and rage washed over me. “Say that again,” I said, my voice shaking. “Whose spot is this?” The man’s fleshy jowls quivered with fury, his finger still aimed at me like a weapon. Spittle flew from his mouth, landing just inches from my feet. “Are you fucking stupid? Get your piece-of-shit car out of my spot, now! Don’t think I won’t hit you just because you’re a woman.” His sheer belligerence ignited my own anger. “Watch your mouth. And for the record, this is my spot. I’m parked here legally. Why should I move?” He sneered, his eyes bulging. “Screw you, you worthless cunt. I’ll say whatever I want. Now move the damn car before I smash it to pieces.” I clenched my jaw, tears blurring my vision. “I told you, this is my spot. You have no right to make me move.” He brought his heavy boot down on my car door. A sickening thud echoed through the garage, leaving a deep dent in the metal. “My right is that I’m your fucking boss right now. Are you moving it or not? The next kick lands on you.” I glanced up at the security camera mounted on the ceiling. “No,” I said, my voice dripping with fury. “Go ahead. Try it. I’ll make sure you rot in a cell.” He spat on the ground, a disgusting glob of yellow phlegm landing on my shoe. “Ooh, a tough little bitch, are we? Fine. I won’t kick you. I’ll just smash your car.” He stomped over to his own vehicle, a massive black Mercedes, and returned a moment later with a baseball bat in his hand. “Last chance. Are you moving the car?” “No.” He raised the bat with a savage grin. “It’s illegal to hit you. But it’s not illegal to smash a piece of junk parked in my spot.” CRUNCH. CRACK. SMASH. He brought the bat down again and again, caving in the front of my car. The thunderous noise set off a sickening chorus of car alarms throughout the garage. A security guard came running, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on? What are you two doing in the middle of the night?” 2 Seeing the guard, the tears I’d been holding back finally streamed down my face. The bully, Frank, beat me to it, smoothly offering the guard a cigarette. “Hey, man, sorry about the noise. It’s this little bitch here. Parked in my spot and refuses to move. Stubborn as a mule. You know how these young women are, think they’re princesses and the whole world has to bow down to them.” The guard saw the premium brand of the cigarette and a greedy grin spread across his face. He tucked it behind his ear for later. Then he turned to me, his expression all stern disapproval. “Miss, if you’re in someone else’s spot, just move. There’s no need to make a scene. You young girls are all the same, spoiled rotten. Not everyone in this world is going to coddle you just because you’re a woman. Now move your car and stop causing trouble.” I stared at him, a fire blazing in my chest. “One cigarette is all it takes for you to throw fairness out the window? This spot is mine. Why the hell should I move?” The guard hesitated for a second. Frank scoffed. “She’s a fucking liar. I’ve been parking here since I moved in. How come I’ve never heard it was your spot? Besides, you drive a cheap piece of junk like that, you think you can afford a parking spot that costs more than your car? You’ve gotta be kidding me.” The guard’s eyes flickered between my old, beat-up sedan and Frank’s gleaming Mercedes. It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. “Come on, lady, it’s the middle of the night. Just move it and be done with it. You’re keeping everyone awake over nothing. How can you be so selfish? Look, there are plenty of empty spots over there. Just park in one of those.” “I told you, this spot is mine. I bought it. I’m not moving.” “Oh, so you want to play it that way, huh?” Frank’s face turned purple with rage. He raised the baseball bat again. “You asked for this. I’m going to turn this heap of scrap metal into a fucking pancake.” With a roar, he began smashing my car with a terrifying, relentless fury. I just stood there and watched, my face a cold mask. He went on for a full half-hour, until there wasn’t a single panel on my car left undamaged. “Hello, I need to report an assault. Someone just destroyed my car and…” I had just raised my phone to my ear when the baseball bat swung through the air and connected with the side of my head. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. My world went silent, replaced by a high-pitched ringing. Something warm and wet trickled from my nose. I touched it. Bright red blood. Frank froze, his eyes wide with panic. He dropped the bat. “God damn it, my lucky day. Fine, don’t move it. Fucking bad luck, wasting my time.” The world swayed around me. I slowly crumpled to the ground. The sounds around me seemed muffled, trapped behind a thick wall of glass. The guard waved a hand in front of my face. “Miss? Miss, are you okay?” When I didn’t respond, he panicked and ran. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, then called for an ambulance. 3 When the police arrived, I vaguely remember trying to explain what happened. Then, I blacked out. When I woke up, it was noon the next day. The doctor told me I had a severely perforated eardrum. The tear was so large it would require surgery to repair. I also had a concussion and needed to rest. After the doctor left, two police officers came in to take my statement. “Didn’t I tell you everything last night?” I asked, confused. The officer shook his head. “You were mostly crying and just kept saying a big man hit you. We didn’t get any other useful information. And the security camera for that area was broken.” My heart sank. The management in my building was usually pretty good about maintenance. How could the camera just happen to be broken? “Was it just that one camera?” The officer nodded. “The property manager thought it was strange too, but that’s the situation. Do you know the man who attacked you?” I shook my head. “Wait. There was a black Mercedes parked next to my spot. It belongs to him. Maybe you can identify him through the car.” “Okay, we’ll look into it. Is there anything else?” I remembered the security guard. I told the police everything. 4 A few days later, the police informed me they couldn’t find the Mercedes in the garage. They couldn’t find the security guard, either. “Are you sure you remember correctly?” one of them asked. I shook my head. How could I forget? The events of that night were burned into my brain. They replayed in my nightmares, waking me up in a cold sweat. Two weeks later, I was discharged from the hospital. The first thing I did was go to the property management office. “Who was the security guard on duty for Building 7 on the night of July 8th?” A young woman with a bob cut helped me. She checked the records. “That was Leo. Do you need to see him?” “Yes,” I nodded. A few moments later, a slightly overweight man walked in. “You were looking for me, ma’am?” I looked at him, and my stomach dropped. It wasn’t him. The guard that night had been tall and skinny, with sly, calculating eyes. “Were you the only one on duty that night?” The man looked annoyed. “One guard for the night shift isn’t enough? What is this about, anyway? The cops have already asked me eight times.” I lowered my head and mumbled an apology. I walked out of the office, feeling completely defeated. Just as I was leaving the building, I saw him. The bully. The man I had been searching for. I calmly dialed the detective in charge of my case and began to follow him, keeping my distance. I waited for him to get on an elevator, then watched the numbers light up. Luckily, he was the only one inside. The elevator stopped on the 18th floor. Our building has two apartments per floor. It wouldn’t be hard to find him. The police arrived shortly after. We went up to the 18th floor and knocked on the first door. An elderly woman answered. After a few questions, she confirmed she was home alone. That meant he lived in the other apartment. My heart pounded as I pressed the doorbell. It rang and rang, but no one answered. My hope began to fade. Unwilling to give up, I held the button down, letting it buzz incessantly. Finally, there was a noise from inside. “Who the hell is it? In such a goddamn hurry to die? Ringing and ringing, you got a problem…” The door flew open. The man froze when he saw us. He recovered quickly, a greasy smile spreading across his face. “Officers. What can I do for you?” “Where were you at 3:30 AM on July 8th?” The man, Frank, scratched his head, putting on a look of simple-minded confusion. “I was at home, sleeping. Why? Did something go missing? Was there a murder?” The officer’s face was grim. “Can anyone verify that?” Frank was smug. “Sure. My wife.” He yelled into the apartment. “Honey, come out here! The police have some questions. We’re law-abiding citizens, gotta cooperate, right?” As he spoke, he shot me a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. “Coming.” A woman, just as large as Frank, emerged from the apartment. “What’s wrong? My husband was home with me all night.” “We haven’t even asked a question yet,” the officer pointed out. “How do you know what we’re here about?” 5 Frank’s wife froze for a second. The color drained from his face. Then she laughed, a little too loudly. “Oh, I heard you from the other room. Weren’t you asking where he was on the night of the 8th? What happened?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I pointed at Frank, my voice shaking with rage. “Stop pretending! You’re the one who called me in the middle of the night, and when I wouldn’t move my car, you smashed it to pieces and hit me with a baseball bat! You ruptured my eardrum!” Frank clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. Oh my, who would do such a terrible thing to a young lady? That’s just awful. I feel for you, really. Too bad we can’t find the guy who did it.” His wife was even worse, rolling her eyes at me with contempt. “Listen, girl, I’m not trying to be mean, but why did he hit you and not someone else? Maybe you should think about what you did wrong. Sometimes, if you’re not such a bitch, you don’t get hit.” She covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, sorry. I’m just a little too honest. No offense.” The officer glared at her. “Are you certain your husband was home at 3 AM on July 8th? This is an official inquiry, and we are recording. Lying to an officer is a crime.” Frank’s wife, clearly confident we had no proof, stood her ground. “Don’t worry, officer. We’re good, law-abiding citizens. We would never commit perjury.” “Alright then.” The officer sighed. “We’ll need to see your IDs for our report.” The couple reluctantly handed them over. After we left, the officer told me, “We’ll run a check on any vehicles registered to them. In the meantime, please be careful.” I nodded weakly, all hope draining away. Even if they found the car, what then? People like them would never admit to anything. But a bitter sense of injustice churned in my stomach. Was the victim supposed to just take it, while the attacker walked free? Agitated, I found myself walking down to the parking garage. I stared at the mangled wreck of my car sitting in its spot, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. It wasn’t an expensive car, and it was a few years old. But I could never bring myself to replace it. I had saved for so long to buy it after graduation. It was my first major purchase. Even later, when I had enough money for a house and a much better car, I couldn’t part with my old partner, the one that had been with me from the very beginning. I ran my hand over the dents and gashes, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. Suddenly, a small light on the dashboard flickered. It was as if my old friend, my silent companion of so many years, was trying to say hello. My mind exploded. How could I have been so stupid? My dashcam. It recorded 24/7. And I had cloud backup, with storage for up to 90 days of footage. 6 I practically flew back to my apartment, memory card in hand. Before I could even plug it in, I got a friend request on my phone. The profile picture was of Frank. The message read: “Accept. Urgent.” My hands trembled as I accepted. Was he here to apologize, knowing about the dashcam? I was wrong. He was here to gloat. “Sucker. You deserved it.” “That’s what you get for taking my spot.” “What’re you gonna do? Cry to the cops again? They can’t do shit without proof. Bet you’re pissed.” My fingers flew across the screen, my knuckles white. “The law has a long arm. You just wait.” He sent back a rolling-eyes emoji. Then came the final, infuriating message. “Hahaha, stay mad. Go on, try and get me arrested. I’ll be waiting. And I know that spot is yours now. Soon as you move that piece of junk, I’m parking there again. Thanks for buying me a parking spot, bitch!” He followed it up by spamming me with a dozen GIFs of a smirking man saying “Thank you!” Then, one last taunt. “Come on, little slut. Call the cops again. I’ll be right here at home, waiting for them to come get me. ;)” “Okay.” I sent the single word, a cold smile on my face, then blocked him. He was so brazen because he knew the number and the social media account were untraceable burners. Fine. I didn’t need trash like him cluttering up my phone anyway. I took a deep breath, plugged the memory card into my laptop, and found the video from that night. “You goddamn bitch! Shameless slut, you dare take my spot? You got a death wish or something?” “She’s a fucking liar. I’ve been parking here since I moved in… Besides, you drive a cheap piece of junk like that, you think you can afford a parking spot that costs more than your car? You’ve gotta be kidding me!” … “You asked for this. I’m going to turn this heap of scrap metal into a fucking pancake.” “God damn it, my lucky day. Fine, don’t move it. Fucking bad luck.” Every frame, every word was captured in crystal clear quality. The video and audio were perfect. I made a copy, grabbed the original memory card, and headed straight for the police station.
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