The Art of Almost Dying for Your Friends

Dan had a personal rule: if someone asked him for a favor, he felt entitled to complain about it for at least twice as long as it took to do it. That was just the way things were in his world.

So when Matt knocked on his door, looking like he was about to burst, Dan could already sense that his afternoon was about to take a turn for the worse.

“I need a ride.”

Dan let out a long sigh. “No way. Not happening.”

“You haven’t even heard where I’m going.”

“Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere today.”

Matt brushed that off. “It’s just downtown. A quick trip. In and out.”

Dan squinted at him. “What do you mean by ‘quick’?”

“Like, an hour.”

“That’s not quick. Quick is ‘Can you help me carry this bag inside?’ Quick is ‘Can you hold the elevator?’ An hour is a whole commitment.”

Matt’s face twisted into a desperate plea. “Come on, Dan. I’d do it for you.”

It was a blatant fib, but Dan couldn’t help but admire the way he said it with such conviction.

“You promise it’s just downtown?”

“Absolutely.”

“And I don’t have to carry anything?”

“No lifting. Just drive.”

Dan let out a groan, snatched his keys, and pointed a warning finger at Matt. “If this turns into a marathon of errands, I’m leaving you stranded.”

Matt flashed a grin, looking like a kid who just pulled off a successful prank.

The drive started smoothly. The sun was shining, traffic was manageable, and Matt had only mildly annoyed him twice—an impressive feat.

Then, with a suspiciously casual tone, Matt said, “So… there’s a slight change of plans.”

Dan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “You absolute liar.”

“No, no, it’s still downtown! Just… a tiny detour.”

“Define ‘tiny.’”

Matt hesitated, and Dan could feel the tension rising.

“Great, you’re about to drag me into something shady, aren’t you?”

“Nothing illegal! Probably.”

“Matt.”

“Alright, alright,” Matt said, raising his hands in surrender. “I just need to grab something. From a guy.”

“A guy?”

“It’s totally fine. He’s very professional.”

“That’s exactly what people say right before they wake up in a bathtub full of ice.”

But Matt had that pleading look again, the one that somehow short-circuited Dan’s brain and made him forget all about self-preservation.

“Fine,” Dan muttered. “But if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you for eternity.”

The ‘guy’ turned out to be a man named Rico, who looked exactly like someone named Rico should—shady, muscular, and the type who could bury a body and still make it home in time for dinner.

Dan stayed in the car, horrified, as he watched Matt approach Rico with the carefree confidence of someone who had never seen a true crime documentary in their life.

The exchange was quick. A small package changed hands, and Matt gave Rico a firm nod as if they were sealing a business deal. Then he practically sprinted back to the car.

Dan couldn’t take his eyes off the package.

“I don’t want to know what’s in there.”

Matt shot a grin at Dan. “Now that’s the spirit!”

They had hardly been driving for five minutes when Dan noticed the flashing red and blue lights in his rearview mirror.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Matt stiffened. “Maybe they’re after someone else.”

Dan pulled over, grumbling every curse word that came to mind.

A police officer approached. Dan rolled down the window, summoning every bit of innocence he could muster.

“License and registration, please.”

Dan handed them over. The officer glanced at him, then at Matt, who looked like he was about to pass out.

“What’s in the package?”

Dan turned slowly. Matt was making the worst attempt at acting casual.

“Just… uh, personal stuff,” Matt stuttered.

Dan closed his eyes. This was it. Not in a blaze of glory, not through some heroic act—just sitting in his car while Matt was being vague about who-knows-what.

The officer sighed. “You were going ten over. Just slow it down next time.”

Dan nearly cried tears of relief as the officer walked away.

Matt let out a breath. “That was close.”

Dan turned to him, his voice eerily calm. “I hope whatever’s in that package is worth your life.”

Matt beamed and ripped it open.

Inside was a stunningly expensive watch.

Dan was speechless.

Matt grinned. “I got a great deal!”

Dan counted to ten. Then to twenty. Then to fifty, because he knew if he opened his mouth, he might just strangle Matt right there on the side of the road.

Finally, he said, “You are never allowed to ask me for anything again.”

Matt just patted his shoulder. “We both know that’s not going to happen.”

And he was right. The next time Matt showed up with that same pleading look, Dan would sigh, complain for twice as long as necessary, and then grab his keys.

Because that’s just how friendship works.

No questions. No logic. Just a deep, unshakeable understanding that if one of you was going down, the other was probably behind the wheel.