Chapter 4
FOUR
Harry
“Oi, kid!” the grating voice bellows. “How long you gonna be?”
Sweat trickles from my hairline down my temple, dampening a few strands and sticking them to my forehead. I shake them out of my eyes as I turn the wrench against the underside of the BMW.
“Almost finished.”
The setting summer sun beats down as I reach my tenth work hour.
Despite this being one of three jobs I have on the go, I’m barely scraping by on minimum wage.
But Jimmy at the mechanic centre insists I’m working a cutting-edge role that requires my full time, attention, and ultimately my left kidney.
But it’s money. Money that leaves us with a roof over our heads. A home, even if it doesn’t feel like one, and something – however pathetic – for our evening meals.
“You jacking off under there, or what?”
One final tightening of the bolt and I’m pulling my way out from underneath the car.
As I get to my feet, I squint against the golden-hour sunset.
Sweat dampens my skin, and I wipe away the excess moisture with the hem of my T-shirt, the dirty fabric probably leaving more of a mess than I started with.
I reach for a cloth resting on the bonnet, and as I start to clean my hands, heavy footsteps round the vehicle.
Jimmy drops to the tattered sofa a couple metres from me, bouncing his foot on the concrete until I finally give him my full attention.
His vest does little to cover the rounding of his stomach as he lounges back into the cushions intended for waiting customers.
His legs are spread, though I imagine he looks extremely uninviting to any woman unlucky enough to find themselves in here.
I force a smile, directing my anger into fisting the cloth. “I did the trick with the brakes to have them tire quicker … just like you asked.”
Jim chuckles loudly and throws his head back. “Fucking ’ell, kid. Lighten up. You look like I just murdered your mother.”
I wince, fisting the fabric harder.
“That trick with the brakes is the only thing paying your wages.”
A slight nod – that’s the best I can give him. But my desire to hurt him is becoming a growing concern lately, niggling at me under the surface, ready to be unleashed with a slight, gentle push.
I crave to hurt him like I crave air.
“What you doin’ tonight?” he asks.
No. No. No.
Absolutely not.
It’s my first night off in weeks – months, even. I very rarely refuse overtime, but I can’t afford to not spend time with Greg. Not when I fear the elderly bloke down the street may be at risk of falling prey to his hit list.
I shake my head. “I can’t tonight.”
Jimmy stands, taking steps in my direction. Enclosed in his hand, he waves the wad of notes, close enough that it smacks my nose. I tilt my head away, gritting my teeth.
A molar cracks. “I—”
He waves the cash closer, purposely taunting me, until he smiles wickedly with his dismissal. “Customer.”
My jaw aches with the restraint of refusing to snarl. “On it, Jim.”
“Looks like a right freak.” He lowers his voice as I start to walk away, drawing my attention back to him.
“One of those expensive designer suits I’ve only ever seen in Hollywood crap—” He rushes towards me – the fastest I’ve ever seen him move.
“He’s probably loaded with cash. The suit alone could be worth thousands.
” He’s so close I can smell the stale cigarette smoke from his breath, and I fight to avoid cringing.
Though I’m a huge hypocrite, since they’ve been a much-needed stress relief since the moment Dad left. “Do double on his brakes.”
“Double?” I blink, turning my attention towards the silhouette of the customer positioned at the entrance. “Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?”
“Life is unfair, kid.” Jimmy gives me a shove. He bucks his chin in the direction of the mysterious man. “Now hurry. If you complete it during your overtime tonight, you can charge him for the faster service.”
I twirl the wrench, spinning it between a few fingers, if only to distract myself from sending it into his thick fucking skull. He beckons his hand at me, shooing me away. I turn with a sigh, throwing the cloth over my shoulder and pocketing the tool in the back of my jeans.
Approaching the garage entrance, I ask, “Can I help you?”
A few seconds pass before the man twists his head over his shoulder, regarding me with a cool smile. Then he turns his whole body in my direction.
There’s nothing overly special about him considering the immaculate state of his suit.
He looks to be at least fifty, if I’m not mistaken.
But I could have guessed that from his dark brown hair, a few odd streaks of grey running through it, highlighting his age.
Yet it’s his attire that makes me pause.
I find myself near cringing as he leans a little too close to the dirty bumper of a Mini.
“Harry.” The confidence with which he addresses me makes me pause. His lips turn up into a smile at my obvious confusion. “Your nametag.”
“I see.” I duck my chin, reading my name upside down where it’s pinned to the top of my shirt. “How can I help you?”
He pushes his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, nodding towards the car. “I was hoping you could give her a maintenance check – she’s been playing up a bit recently.”
I do a double-take as I turn my attention to the vehicle he’s talking about. To say it’s ancient would be putting it lightly. Condition seems fairly average, but the age alone will really test me, and I haven’t yet found a car I’ve struggled to fix.
“You say this is your car?”
His response is a mere smile at my hiked brow.
“That’s not yours.”
His head tilts sideways. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, for starters, you’d be lucky to get five hundred pounds for that at your local boot sale.
” I bring my attention to his outfit. “Your suit doesn’t have any obvious branding, but I can tell from the seams it’s hand-stitched.
” I squint as I look over the texture of the material.
“Even from a distance I can tell it’s tweed.
I’d estimate your suit alone is probably worth over ten grand, so it’s safe to assume that’s not your vehicle. ”
The slight twitch of the corner of his mouth is his only reaction. Slowly, he folds his arms across his chest, and although it may not be an invitation for me to continue, I can tell from his posture I’m on the right path to figuring him out.
“Or perhaps … you’re simply doing this to throw me off.
” I turn back to the vehicle, approaching the driver’s side door.
“You did say ‘she’, indicating you have a relationship with the car.” I climb into the front seat, bringing my attention to the steering wheel.
It’s expensive, not suitable for a car like this, but there’s a fault in the material.
I flex my hands before fitting them over the steering wheel, right over the worn grip marks.
They’re slightly smaller than my hands and in perfect proportion to his own.
“The position of the seat is telling enough for a man of your size, the worn leather, and not to mention …” A cigar sits in the driver’s side door.
I smile, picking it up before climbing back out of the car.
Palm up, I hand it out to him. “And I knew you smoked cigars.” I nod towards his jacket pocket, to the outline of an identical shape.
Slowly, the man dives his hand into his pocket and takes it out. He smiles, but it’s not like the expressions he wore before. This is far deeper. I cross my arms, if only to shake off the feeling from the man’s stare. As if he’s looking far closer than just at me; as if he’s looking further within.
I force a cough to clear the silence in the air.
“Can I pick it up tonight?” he asks. “I’ll be in the area around ten o’clock.”
As if I can feel Jim’s eyes staring daggers into the back of my head, I sigh, “We’ll have to charge you extra.”
“Money is no problem,” the man tells me. “You’ll probably find an old car like this has a lot of issues. I’d say you might struggle with where to start, but something tells me you’ll be just fine.”
He turns, walking off towards the exit.
“Wait,” I call out. “What’s your name?”
With his back to me, he stills for a moment before lighting that cigar from his pocket and bringing it to his mouth. “Richard,” he tells me, the cigar obstructing his words slightly. “But few people call me that.”
“I just don’t get it.”
I pull myself out from underneath the car, wrench still in hand, and shake my head as I look over the exterior. The utter shock of it all causes a smile to tilt my mouth.
The car is in immaculate condition, everything simply pristine, as though it only went for an inspection this morning. Tyres well within their legal limit, brake fluid topped up to the max, pads only recently changed.
Why would he even bother bringing it in?
That man, Richard, clearly had me fooled. I look at the clock on the wall. He’s due to pick up his motor in ten minutes. I’ve been working to triple-check my findings since he left.
Movement to my right has me turning in the direction of Jimmy, whose wonky footing makes him stumble into the side of one of the vehicles. The bitter, stale stench of alcohol is ingrained in my senses thanks to Dad, so I’m able to sense a drunk from a mile off.
Liquid sloshes over the top of the beer bottle as he nears. He takes a hefty swig from the top of the glass. “You did that shit with the brakes like I told you?”
For fuck’s sake.
“I can’t.” I bow my head, shaking it. “The car is in perfect condition. He’ll know, and then we’ll have a lot of shit on our hands.”
He scoffs, nearly toppling over from the exaggerated gesture. “That piece of shit?”
“It’ll be too obvious for me to tamper with anything.”
“Can’t leave you stupid kids to do anything.” He reaches forwards for the wrench. “I’ll fucking do it myself.”
“Jim, don’t.” I curl my fist. “Just leave it this time.”