Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
GRAND THEFT AUTO
Jett
“Welp, son. We’ve got a long list on our hands.”
I’ve been sitting in the waiting room of the Grease Me Up Garage just off Main Street drinking coffee that tastes like it’s been rewarmed from last week.
Since I’ve consumed rations provided by Uncle Sam for a good part of my life, I do not consider myself picky, but this coffee resembles engine oil.
Fitting, given my surroundings. Even the waiting room is a corner with two chairs located next to the single lift.
Clive looks like he’s lived a long, hard life beneath an engine. He’s a few months past due for a haircut, his shirt that reads I Like Lube is dirty in more ways than one, and he’s almost as round as he is tall.
Still, when I pulled Lennon’s beater into the parking lot on a wing and prayer and explained that I hotwired her car because she needed new tires, his cackle echoed off the old metal walls and then off a mountain or two.
He looked up at me with a crazy-ass grin and exclaimed, “Well, hot damn. That’s the best thing I’ve heard since last Tuesday! ”
I have no idea what went down on Tuesday, but it doesn’t matter. He stopped tinkering around on a station wagon that might be older than Lennon’s sedan and went to work.
That was an hour ago.
I choke down the last of my coffee and toss the paper cup into the overflowing trashcan in the corner. “Give it to me straight, Clive. I can handle it.”
Nothing could look more out of place than the bright pink sticky note pinched between his grimy thumb and forefinger.
“Tires are a given. Those things are slicker than snot. I could smell an oil change the moment you rolled in. Brake pads ... what brake pads? She’s coastin’ around on rotors.
Lord almighty, don’t even get me started on the fluids.
We’ve got transmission, brake, radiator, differential, antifreeze, and if you want to get fancy, we can dump some windshield washer shit in there.
I’ve got the good stuff, none of that junk you’ll find at Wallyworld. ”
“That’s...” I pause and wonder if I should push it off a cliff and break open the trust fund for the first time for a new car, before finishing, “...a lot of fluids.”
“Fluids are my specialty,” he states. I wonder if he has the T-shirt to announce that to the world too. “Hold your horses, there, hero. I’m not done.”
I cross my arms and wonder how I’m going to explain to Lennon that I hotwired her car to put new tires on it, and I have no clue when she’ll get it back. “You’ve got a lot squeezed on that little sticky note.”
He gives it a flick. “My granddaughter leaves these here. I keep her after school for my daughter. If she asked me to paint the Grease Me Up pink, I’d do it. I turn into a pile of mush for that girl.”
“That’s great. I need to move this along so I can get Lennon’s car back to her. What else is on your list?”
His eyes widen and he lets out a low, long whistle. “I’m a one-man shop. There’s no way I can finish the front side of the list today, let alone the whole second sticky note.”
“There’s a second sticky note?”
He produces the second half of his list from his breast pocket.
“Damn right. I’m thorough. I haven’t even gotten to the plugs and belts.
She’s even got lights out. I’m surprised Chief Moretti hasn’t pulled her over for that alone.
Hell, I’m the farthest thing from the po-po, but I noticed those ‘Bama plates are expired. If I put her vehicle number into the system, it could flag the higher ups. Sometimes they look, sometimes they don’t. ”
“That’s a lot.” I turn to look at Lennon’s ride that’s already taken apart. It’s on the lift with nuts and bolts scattered beneath it on the greasy floor. I wanted a distraction. It seems I chose well. “Do it.”
Clive is taken aback and exclaims, “All of it?”
I motion toward the mess that I can’t make heads or tails of, and I can usually make my way around under the hood. “Why not? The snow is coming. Might as well do it up right while it’s here.”
Clive slaps me on the shoulder. “I like you. Heard about you from Winnie. She told me about your pets that she’s sittin’ for since you rolled into town. You’d better treat that kidney right. Everyone around these parts is a big fan of Harlow Madison.”
“I’m headed over to the Combover to see the hellions after this. I’ll have to find a ride back to the manor later.”
“You just call Donnelly. He’ll send a car your way. He’d probably send you a damn chopper if you asked for it. He’s fancy like that.”
“That he is,” I mutter. “How long do you think this project is going to take?”
He shakes his head, and his words come as slow and drawn out as it seems he works. “This is going to be something. You just can’t rush perfection. And my granddaughter has a piano recital tomorrow.”
I pluck the pink sticky note from his fingers and the pen from his breast pocket. “Here’s my number. I’ve got some explaining to do to Lennon on why she won’t have a car, but it needs to be done. Keep me up to date.”
“Yippee,” he states with about twenty percent enthusiasm. “I’ll give you a ring. Is there a budget? I’m going to have to order a shit ton of parts. I don’t get many dead-on-arrival projects like this one.”
I think about the trust fund I didn’t ask for. This won’t make a dent in one zero of the damn thing. “Nope. And throw in the good wiper fluid too.”
He whistles again and holds up a hand to high-five me. “Put her there, partner. I’ll do it up good for you. But if you could get me a key, that’d make my life easier. I haven’t hotwired a car in years. Promised the missus I’d stop.”
I need to get out of here before I become an accessory to something I have no clue about. “I’ll get you a key. Thanks again, Clive.”
As I leave the Grease Me Up, Clive doesn’t get to work. He goes straight to the fridge, grabs a bottle of beer, and cracks it open. He takes a long pull as he stares at the piece of shit I just left him to resuscitate. I’m not sure, but it looks like he’s meditating.
Who am I to question the way the man works?
I turn away from the mess, don’t look back, and head straight for the Combover Diner.
When Harlow convinced me to give Winslet a try and move into the manor, the only thing holding me back were strays who adopted me as their human.
Devon made a call and found them a place to stay in town.
His friends, Winnie and Carl, who own the diner on Main, jumped at the chance to keep Panther and Smoke.
From what I heard, it was Winnie who jumped, not Carl.
I try to visit them every day, because let’s be real, I do miss them and have nothing else to do.
I slide my sunglasses on, walk the three blocks to the diner, and think about how normal this is. Aside from the slew of meds I take daily to remind me of my new organ, there are moments I forget about the PK-fucking-D. Those moments are few and far between, but they’re there.
The bell jingles over the diner door. The smell of bacon and coffee hit my senses, all without the scent of gasoline mixed in.
Winnie is at the counter pouring coffee for the Chief of Police, Dean Moretti.
“Jett-man, it’s good to see ya’,” Winnie calls over the late breakfast chatter.
“Your fur-babies are gonna be excited to see you! Panther was ticked off this morning when I didn’t let her go outside with Shadow, but I had to get here to start the biscuits.
It’s not my fault the dang feline won’t come back when I call her. ”
The local diner is a hub for the community. When I sit at the counter, I’m open game for conversation. “I’m going to visit them after this. You spoil them. I doubt they’re going to want to come back to me after their extended vacation.”
Carl yells that an order’s up from the kitchen, and Winnie sets the coffeepot down. “Don’t you worry that handsome head of yours. I’m not gonna steal your pets. I don’t want Dean to throw me in the slammer.”
“Don’t tempt me. I can’t remember the last time we had a theft around here,” the chief says and lifts his chin in lieu of a greeting as he puts his mug to his lips for a sip.
I claim the barstool next to his. “What’s up?”
His mug hits the counter. “Not crime in Winslet, which means I have time for breakfast. How’s life at the fancy-ass manor?”
“Something I’ll never get used to,” I mutter.
“How long have you been in town now? Feels like a year,” Dean asks as he stands and reaches over the counter for a mug and the steaming pot of brew.
He pours me a cup, and the coffee almost sloshes out as he does.
“I know you’ve been here long enough for Winnie to memorize your order, though that doesn’t mean that’s what you’ll get if Carl gets a wild hair. ”
I take the mug. “Thanks. Feels like I’ve been here a year. And Carl knows there’s no fried food for me. I’ve got a working kidney. I’m not about to fuck up my body with high cholesterol.”
Dean holds up his mug to me. “Here’s to good health and old age. Hell, you and I have lived similar pasts. I think about it some days, and it’s a miracle I’m still around. You’ve had a double whammy.”
“I hope I don’t need as many lives as my irritable cat. I’ve already used up a couple.” I take a sip of coffee and lean on my forearms. “Tell me the truth. How hard was it to come back here after you left the army?”
“You struggling with life in Winslet?”
I shake my head. “Hardly. Hell, if fitting in here was all I had on my plate, it would be easy. But living at the manor is hardly small-town life. If I’m going to stay, I need a place to live.”
What I don’t tell him, because the last thing I need is for people to find out about my windfall, is that my job is so boring I feel like I’m on a high dive straight to hell. But I’m also not about to sit back and live off my new trust fund.
“I’ll nose around for you and see if anyone has a room for rent. The only time people around here sell is when they make a trip through the mortuary and land in a grave at Winslet Cemetery. Real estate doesn’t turn over much. Case in point, I’m living in the house I grew up in.”
“I was halfway there. I’m not wishing that on anyone.”
Dean is about to say something else, but his radio crackles and a voice comes across the comm. “Yo, Bigshot. You there?”
Dean shakes his head and sighs before he picks up the comm. “For the last time, you don’t need to ask if I’m here. I’m always here.”
“Man, you’re not going to believe this...” The voice sounds like a kid, but maybe I just feel that old these days.
Dean closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If Mrs. Miller’s cow got out again, I quit. It tried to kick me the last time I had to lasso her ass. I’m not a fucking ranch hand.”
“Fun times, but not today. We got a call from the manor. It seems Winslet hit a new threshold of crime.”
Dean isn’t pissed about cows anymore. He moves to his feet in a flash. “The last time you said that bullets were flying. What the hell happened?”
“Dude, from the sounds of the nine-one-one call, there’s a real drama going on. We’ve got ourselves a legit GTA on our hands. The owner is freaking the fuck out.”
The comm goes silent as Dean pauses with a look on his face that makes me think he thinks he’s being punked. Finally he puts the comm back to his lips. “GTA?”
“You heard me, Bigshot,” the kid says in a tone that sounds like he’s grinning from ear to ear. “This is way better than a hormonal heifer on the run. Grand theft fucking auto.”
Dean swipes his keys and cell from the counter. “I’m on my way.”
And before I have a chance to say anything else, Dean is out of the Combover and in a jog to his SUV.
“Winnie,” I call as I pull a bill from my money clip and toss it on the counter next to my mug. “I’ll be back to check on the animals later. Can I borrow your car? Mine’s in the shop.”
“They’re pets, Jett. Pets!” Winnie yells across the diner like I’m being chastised but digs through her purse behind the counter and tosses me a set of keys. “A bird crapped on it this morning. Give it a wash before you bring it back, yeah?”
I have no idea where there’s a car wash in town, but I’ll figure that out later. I need to get back to the manor.
Someone stole a car.
And since I hotwired a car today, I bet I know what this is about.