Chapter 3
JOHNNY
I need an excuse to stop making paper clip chains in the office.
It is my only vice since I try to not have my Legos out at the office, especially at the dispatch desk where anyone can see them.
It is still early enough in the evening that the drunks shouldn’t be getting pulled over yet.
Plus, since rideshare became a thing, I usually get to deal with abandoned cars more than wrecked ones after holidays and party nights.
My first reaction to the call from the insurance company dispatch was Thank God. Checking the text from dispatch with the location, I frown.
Steve usually takes the calls around that area, but I gave him the night off because his wife just announced she’s pregnant.
Even though I don’t usually work in that area, I’m not completely unfamiliar with it.
I drive that stretch of road every time I make the trek to visit my nibling.
My sister lives on the other side of Forward Township while I have the shop on the edge of Wrenshaw and my little apartment above it.
Okay, so the space above the shop isn’t exactly supposed to be lived in, but my old landlord kind of sold my last place without giving me notice.
The new owners wanted to move in right away, not realizing that there was a tenant.
Technically, I could have forced the issue, but I’m not exactly a person who enjoys confrontations.
The family that bought the house were at least nice enough to let me keep some of my things in the garage until I could get a storage unit.
Last I heard, they are going after the previous owner for breach of contract for a few things that he lied about – not just the fact that I was still living there.
And yes, I have my house... But with all of the work I’ve done on gutting the place, there’s no working electrical or plumbing – at least none that I would feel safe enough to use during nights that dip below freezing.
Instead of doing a rush job, it’s easier to rent a cheap place to sleep and shower until I can get the things done the way I want them on the house.
I just haven’t had a chance to really find somewhere that is cheap enough while still being close enough to the shop to make the expense justifiable.
Making the left turn onto Route 51, I glance at the social club that popped up after that grocery store closed down.
With a name like The Devil’s Club it’s no wonder that the sphincterally challenged like my family would have an issue with it.
Personally, I’ve always wanted to check it out to see what it’s all about.
It’s difficult to find information on it online without having to sign up for a membership of some sort.
With a shake of my head, I put on my flashers and the light bar on top of my truck when the broken down vehicle comes into view.
As much as I need to come up with a better solution to my living arrangement quickly, right now I need to focus on the adorable little blue car and figure out what’s wrong with it.
The driver is still in the car, which tells me he’s either smart or cold – I’m leaning towards the latter because the temperature has dropped significantly since I had my microwaved turkey dinner a few hours ago.
Hopping out of my truck, I grab the bag of flares and the cones from behind my seat to set out just in case the huge ass truck with the flashing lights isn’t enough.
I made the right call and didn’t need to bring the flatbed for this one.
Hell, I think I could probably lift this without the winch.
I’m pretty sure I saw a few guys from the drum line in high school carry one of these across the field back in high school.
While I’m setting out the cones, another – much more sensible car – pulls up on the shoulder next to the island where the cute car has apparently claimed its territory in death.
I’m happy that the driver of the teeny mobile was smart enough to call for a ride.
Technically, I can take a person in the truck back to the shop, but I hate having strangers in my space.
They almost always make some sort of comment on my choice of music or the fact that I have my Lego creations hanging from the dash.
I mean, everyone needs a hobby. It’s better than smoking.
“Uncah Dex,” the driver whines like a child and I smirk to myself while grabbing my toolbox out of the lockbox on the back of the truck. “You here now. I no need be big.”
My head snaps up to look at the two men standing beside the other vehicle.
Did I really just hear that? I must have drifted off at the shop and this is some weird bad TV dinner food poisoning induced dream.
The one acting like a spoiled toddler is easily old enough to be at least the same age as my brother-in-law. The other one… Oh, Daddy.
Wait… what the fuck? Where did that come from?
“Fine, Buddy. Get in the backseat and color. I’ll talk to the nice tow truck driver and get the easter egg sorted.”
The soft command in his voice has something inside of me taking notice and I have to resist climbing in the car with the older man to do whatever this Dex guy tells me to.
But I’m the nice tow truck driver. I need to do my job, as much as I don’t wanna do it anymore. Why do the other guys get all the good stuff while I have to work in the snow and cold?
A chuckle from the direction of the other car makes me realize I stuck my lip out.
Did I seriously just pout? I hurriedly pull myself upright to be the adult I know I am – despite what my sister thinks.
The woman might be a piece of shit mother and sister, but at least she’s great at being the reminder I need to grow the fuck up and act like an adult.
“If you pop the hood, I can take a look to see if I’ll need to get this up on the truck or not,” I tell him after awkwardly clearing my throat when he closes the distance between us.
Slinking my way over to the front of the car, I’m glad it’s dark.
I don’t need the hottest guy I’ve seen in years to notice that I turn the color of cherry tomatoes on a regular basis. Damn my Irish ancestors.