strange man in a small black car

So I'm working a job doing tiles for a new building. The drive is nearly an hour from my house but the money is decent so I don't mind too much. 

Work ends up going til midnight and I'm driving back, taking the back road because I figure there will be fewer cops this way and my brake lights aren't working. I drive a beatup 1983 Crown Victoria that I got for $500 and I've been repairing it in my spare time. Last weekend, I rewired the a/c and replaced half the transmission. This car is good to go. 

Fifteen minutes into the drive, I hear a sickening bang on the front passenger side and I nearly swerve into a ditch. The tire is blown and my spare is the wrong size for my car. I'm not going anywhere. 

I reach for my cellphone to call a tow truck and I remember that I leant it to one of the boys at work and forgot to get it back. I swear loudly, I make a note of my vehicle's location and start walking home. 

There are no traffic lights, no buildings, no payphones, and the road is illuminated solely by a quarter moon and starlight. The stars are gorgeous and I notice my favourite constellation, Cygnus the swan, and I imagine how nice it would be to fly home instead of walking the minimal four hours it will take to reach my apartment. 

I'm roughly an hour into the walk when a set of headlights comes from behind me, so I'm thinking: "sweet! A ride!" 

I move to the side of the road to make room for a small black Mazda 3, which for a moment, I think is going to zoom past, but it comes to an abrupt halt, skidding on the uneven road surface and nearly knocking me into the bush. 

The passenger window lowers, I look inside, and I can sort of make out the figure of a man in the driver seat. 

"You need a ride, son?" he asks in voice that sounds halfway between a grinding metal and a tea kettle whistle. 

"I'd love one," I reply cautiously. "I only have $20 on me. Is that ok?" 

"Don't worry about the money," he says. "Now get in." 

A ride into town definitely helps me out, so I think positive thoughts as I reach for the front passenger door. 

"Take the back seat," the driver says harshly. 

I enter through the back door, the car interior lights come on, and I notice a thick fully filled jagged black garbage bag occupying the passenger seat.

The driver turns to face me and he is the picture perfect image of a man you would avoid if you were in prison.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"Just into town," I reply. 

If I'm going to change my mind about sharing a ride with this dude, I have to do it now.  Do I walk for three extra hours, hoping another car will stop for me?  The odds of another car are low so I take my chances.

I hear the click of the doors locking automatically and we blast down the road at three times the speed limit before I've even done up my seatbelt.

This guy sucks at driving. He manages to hit every single pothole so that I'm constantly bouncing in the back seat. I don't say anything until he makes a wrong turn. 

"If you're going into town, you don't want this road," I say. 

"Are you sure?" asks the driver. 

"Yes," I reply. 

"Relax, kid. I f*****g know where I'm going," says the driver. 

"This road goes back in the direction we were headed before," I say, and the driver doesn't reply.

We sit in silence as I watch black tree silhouettes against a darker sky, driving in the wrong direction for at least ten minutes.

I don't have my cellphone, not that I could direct the cops to my location, anyway. I have a work knife in my pocket, but if this guy took a swing at me, I wouldn't be fast enough to grab it and I'd be knocked out cold. 

I want to casually remove the knife from my pocket and have it at the ready, just in case, but the driver keeps looking at me every five seconds. He locks eyes with me and asks more than ten times: "why are you looking at me?" 

He pays more attention to myself and his black garbage bag than he does to the road. He constantly misses stop signs and when we get to curves in the road, he only notices them at the last minute and he makes clumsy 90 degree turns without slowing down. 

Several minutes later, with zero conversation prompt on my end, the driver tells me: "There isn't really a hole in the ozone layer. That was a lie created by car companies to make us pay extra for their so called environmental s**t." 

My 1983 Crown Victoria is probably the leading cause of the hole in the ozone layer. I try for a second, to explain about chlorine and how it reacts with ozone, but he interrupts me. 

"No one likes a know-it-all, kid," he interrupts. "I'm sure you read that in a text book in school, or something, but who do you think wrote that text book? Think about it, kid. If there really was a hole in the ozone layer, why would it be in Antarctica instead of America?" 

I try to explain about Antarctica's' low temperature and polar stratospheric clouds, but he interrupts me again. 

"But let me ask you this, kid," he interrupts. "When was the last time you actually saw a single car in Antarctica?" 

I don't answer him, waiting to see if he'll say anything, only he doesn't, and he carries on with his driving, his garbage bag check, and looking at me. 

"911 was an inside job. It was the f*****g Jews," says the driver, minutes later, without prompting. "I'm not saying all Jews are evil, but every president ever elected has been a secret Jew, all the way back to George Washibgton. The evidence is in the Pope's secret library, you know, the one in the Vatican. All the proof is there but he's not allowed to come forward or the CIA will have him assassinated. F**k man, the Pope knows who really killed JFK, too." 

"He does?" I ask. 

"Educate yourself, kid. The Pope is f*****g Jewish. You commit a sin, like you kill JFK or cause 911, so you confess your sin to the Pope so you can go to heaven, only the Pope knows you did, so you have to threaten him so he'll keep his mouth shut," says the driver. The driver isn't watching the road and he swerves into oncoming traffic for a second before returning to the proper lane while all the other cars honk angrily. 

"It's fucked up, kid," he says. "It makes me want to crash this car and f**k the remains until my dick bleeds." 

The small black car accelerates again, the driver is looking at the black garbage bag instead of the road and I'm pretty sure I'm about to die. We nearly hit an ugly yellow vehicle and screech to a halt with an inch to spare between the two cars. The stop is jagged and bumpy at best and the garbage bag lurches from the passenger seat to the floor while I nearly break my ribs on my seatbelt. 

"F**K!" yells the driver. He puts whatever spilt out of the bag back in, but I can't see it from where I'm sitting. Then he rolls down his window and shouts to the car in front: "look what you made me do, a*****e!" 

The driver's long arm reaches the outside of the passenger window so he can flip off the yellow vehicle as we zoom past it while he goes on to tell me about his life failings and why they aren't his fault. 

Ten more minutes of driving, I recognize where we are. We're coming up to some familiar dimly lit buildings and it's the sketchiest end of town where you hear about muggings and drug related stabbings. It will take me at least an hour to walk home from here, but I'd rather walk than tell this guy where I actually live. 

"Could you let me out here, please?" I ask. 

The driver ignores me, he drives on, further and further away from where I live. 

"Could you let me out?" I ask again. "This is where I want to get out." 

"Here?" he asks, running red lights and looking for cops. 

"Yes," I reply. 

"Hold on," says the driver, who reverse accelerates over a sidewalk until he thinks he's at the right place. 

"Here?" he says. 

"Perfect," I say. 

"You got that 20 bucks, kid?" he asks. 

"You said not to worry about it," I say. 

"I know, but it was a long f*****g drive, and I'm low on gas," he says. 

I'm not in the mood to argue, so I give him my twenty. 

"You got any more, kid? It was a f*****g long drive," he asks. 

"That's all I got," I reply. 

He pokes his head from the front of the car to the rear so I can smell his coffee breath and he says: "Are you f*****g serious?! I probably spent like, fifty dollars of gas driving your sorry a*s!" 

I dive to the passenger side of the car and try to get out, but the childlocks are on. F**k. 

"Oh yeah, I gotta let you out from the outside," he says, and gets out of the car, so that I can only see up to his chest line from the window. He walks to the passenger front, opens the door, and grabs something from the garbage bag but I can't see what it is. 

He slams the passenger door and I'm wondering if it's a gun or drugs that he's gotten from the bag. He opens the rear passenger door and hands me a pink pamphlet from a church I've never heard of. 

"Remember, son," says the driver. "Jesus loves you."