Two Kings

‘Broken, did you say?’
‘Broken.’
Jasper blew out a plume of steam into the dark, frigid air and walked into the middle of the motorway. He turned and could see the illuminated stretch of road at the junction ahead, snow and ice glittering under the golden light.
‘Did you call?’
‘You heard me call. They said 2 hours. Minimum.’
Jasper pulled his black woollen glove off his wrist to check the glowing hands on the TAG Heuer wristwatch.
‘They won’t be here until nearly six.’
‘You’d better get out of the road,’ said his brother, who was standing, dressed in an identical black woollen Ulster, by the raised bonnet of the new Beamer.
‘What for?’ Jasper stamped his feet and blew more hot, humid breath into the night air. Looking both ways, he walked back to the car. ‘Anything left in the flask?’
His brother passed him the silver bottle with a sour expression. ‘Don’t drink it all.’
Jasper shrugged. ‘I’m not the designated driver.’ He tipped the flask to his lips and swallowed the bourbon, lighting a fire inside his gullet. ‘Whose idea was it to drive all this way on Christmas morning? Just to deliver some presents?’
‘Yours,’ said his brother.
‘Jesus Christ Almighty,’ said Jasper, stamping his feet.