Chapter 7 #4
I glanced at the jet-black hair that was braided in cornrows atop his head, then smirked at him. “You’re as close to blond as I am, and if you ever set foot on a stage, I bet your acting would be shit. Means you better not quit your day job.”
“Just for that, you won’t get mentioned in my acceptance speech when I win an Oscar one day.”
“Can you mix the paint or not?” I asked, glancing at my watch. I needed to head home to shower before meeting Jackson.
“No prob,” he said, waving a hand at me. “What are we painting?”
“Don’t worry about that for now. Just get it mixed up for me? Do four gallons. I should only need three, but I want to be sure I have enough.” I thought about how big that car was. I was being overly cautious, but better safe than sorry.
Reggie’s smile faltered a bit, but he nodded. “All right. Can do. I’ll mix it in the morning. We should have all the stuff we need to get that color.”
“You’re the best,” I said, giving him a quick hug.
“I’ve been telling you and your old man that for years, but no one ever listens to me,” he said, shaking his head in bewilderment.
That was one of the big things done; now all we needed to do was steal the upholstery and get the side mirror.
Once we had it all, I could get the thing fixed by myself.
Over the years, I’d learned every job in the garage, and I wasn’t tooting my own horn when I said I was good enough to handle anything.
Afterward, I could tell myself that I’d done my duty and saved an innocent child…
er…Hatchling? Baby dragon? Dragonette? Whatever. An innocent person.
With the shop closed up, I got into my Jeep and drove home. Dad was sitting out on the porch, enjoying the warm afternoon.
“There she is,” he said, grimacing as he stood.
“You don’t have to get up,” I said, eyeing the swollen joints of his knees and fingers.
“Of course, I do. My daughter hasn’t been home in over twenty-four hours.”
He hugged me, and I was startled at how frail he felt.
Dad wasn’t that old, but the arthritis that had forced him into early retirement had sapped much of the muscle that had once corded his body.
Frowning, I wondered why I hadn’t truly noticed before.
Had spending the night in the company of a massive, powerful dragon shifter shown me how brittle and weak humans were in comparison?
Shaking the unpleasant thought away, I ended the hug and looked at him.
“I need to go get ready. I’m going out tonight,” I said.
“Hmmm?” He narrowed his eyes, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. “Another night out? Does this mean I was right? Is there a gentleman who’s caught your eye?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dad, stop. If there is, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know, okay?”
He patted my shoulder. “Fine, fine, keep your secrets. You’re an adult.
” His smile faded, and he reached up and cupped my cheek, something he hadn’t done since I was a little girl.
“It’s just that, if there is someone, make sure they treat you right.
I won’t always be here, and it would be nice if I knew there was someone to take care of you. ”
“I can take care of myself,” I said, though not unkindly.
“I know, conejita,” he said, taking my hands in his. “I only hope you don’t always have to.”
While I was braiding my hair after showering, I kept scrolling through the internet.
I poured over every story, legend, and hoax I could find when it came to dragons, werewolves, and sea monsters.
I even searched the word shifter and found a large underground message board community that discussed them.
Apparently, people sort of did know about them and discussed the possibility of shapeshifting people being real.
Half of what I read was either disputed by, or in conflict with, the other half. By the time I was done, I’d set aside a mental list of questions to ask Jackson the next time we were alone.
Outside, the sun had slipped to the horizon. My watch told me I had an hour to kill before meeting Jackson, and then Dusty. With nothing else to do, I flopped onto my bed, set my alarm, and drifted off almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
“Are you sure you can remember the name?” I asked, staring at Jackson.
“Alcantara,” he said. “High-end synthetic suede.”
“Yes, and you remember the color, correct?”
Nodding, Jackson pulled out his phone. “I took a photo of it last night. I’ve got this.”
I was sure he did, but I wasn’t used to running cons like this, not when I could end up in jail if it went wrong. There was no way I could keep Dusty occupied for long. Jackson would have to be quick, and to be quick he had to know exactly what he was looking for.
“Okay.” The nerves were making it hard to think. “I guess that’s it. Uhm, where are you going to wait?”
Jackson pointed at the skyline, Dusty’s shop was near downtown, shadowed by the massive skyscrapers that sprouted throughout the city like malignant concrete and steel growths. Following the line of his finger, I realized he was pointing at the JPMorgan Chase building, the tallest of all of them.
“Is that necessary?” I asked. “Or are you showing off?”
He shrugged. “Never perched there before. Thought it would be a cool spot to wait. I’ll fly up there, find a good spot, and shift back. I’ll wait for you to send me a message. Then? I break in. Easy.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I’ll text you when I see Dusty. That will be your message to go for it.”
“Got it. See you soon,” Jackson said, then shifted and flew upward. Within seconds, I couldn’t even make him out. His camouflage was so realistic and seamless that it was no wonder humans didn’t spot them all the time.
Getting back in my Jeep, I drove to Dusty Millew’s shop.
The place was huge and gaudy. Rather than the simple cinderblock building of our shop, this place was covered in glossy siding.
The rolling garage doors were painted a vibrant red, and the huge neon sign shone with candy-like color: MILLEW LUXURY INTERIORS.
The interior lights were still on, but the parking lot was empty save for a F-250 pickup truck with twenty-two-inch chrome rims. It was the exact car I could picture Dusty driving. A massive car, most likely to compensate for a tiny dick.
“And there’s the dick now,” I whispered to myself as I parked.
Dusty strode out the front door. I waited until the door closed behind him before sending Jackson the text and making sure he’d read it before I got out of my Jeep.
“Hello there, beautiful,” Dusty said.
The man was at least forty—probably closer to forty-five—but every time I saw him, he looked like he was trying to pull off the look of a man twenty years younger.
He wore tight jeans that might have looked attractive on someone like Jackson who had the thick thigh muscles to pull it off.
Instead, it only made Dusty’s gut more pronounced in comparison to the skinny chicken legs he actually had.
His hair, blond to the point that it might have been white, was parted down the middle in a bad imitation of a nineties teen heart throb.
His solid-white button-up shirt was only buttoned to his nipples, revealing curls of whitish-blond chest hair.
I almost gagged, but plastered on a fake smile.
“Good evening, Dustin,” I said.
He jerked his head back as if I’d slapped him. “Dustin? Dustin? Really? I thought we were better friends than that. You know you can call me Dusty. We’re friends, right, Shy?”
“Please don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”
“Bah.” He waved a hand at me. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” he said, rubbing his hands together like the caricature of the greedy bastard he was.
Inwardly, I cringed at the things I was about to say, but I had to make this good, and I needed to give Jackson at least ten minutes to be safe. As fast as he flew, he was probably already at the garage, and now he only needed a chance to get what we needed.
“Fine.” I crossed my arms, doing my best to look like the worried small business owner I was. “We aren’t doing well financially. You know that.”
“I do.” He put a hand to his hairy chest, his pinky ring glimmering.
“Word has gotten around over the last few years. The Torrence cash cow went off to pasture, and now you and your shop are in trouble. Let me take it off your hands, Shy. I’d be happy to make you a good offer.
You and your stepdad can spend time together. ”
“Dad,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not stepdad.”
Dusty went on as if talking to himself, ticking off assets. “Two-story building, twelve-spot paved lot, a hydraulic lift—”
“Two hydraulic lifts,” I corrected.
His face brightened. “Oh, good. Fine then. Two lifts, a fully outfitted body shop and paint room, and what? A half million dollars in supplies, tools, and equipment?”
I sighed, irritated that his figures were so spot-on.
“Roughly,” I said.
“I’ll give you a check for seven-fifty. How’s that sound?”
“You have to be fucking with me,” I said.
He shrugged and gave me a wink. “Remove the ‘with’ part, and maybe we’ll be on the same page.”
“Eww,” I said, grimacing in distaste. “Your offer is dogshit, Dusty, and you know it. You said yourself, we have half a million in supplies and tools. You’re telling me everything else is only worth another two-fifty?”
He didn’t look offended. If anything, he appeared apologetic. “You and I know how the economy is. Real estate is expensive. I have to protect myself. Can’t overextend.”
My eyes flicked to the neon sign above his shop. “Yeah,” I said dryly, “really looks like you’re struggling here.”
“Hey, if you want some business pointers for your next venture, I’d be happy to give some classes.”
“No, I’m not letting it go for fucking peanuts, Dusty. Do better. What else do you have?”
He sighed, resting his hands on his hips.
“You really don’t see this as a gift? I’m trying to help you here.
Take the money, pay your bills, and try something new.
” He rolled his eyes and gave me a pleading look.
“You and I both know you’re too hot to waste your life in that shithole.
Get out and find a job a woman like you would like. Secretary? Nurse? Teacher?”
“Misogynist fucking pig,” I muttered under my breath, unable to help myself, then, louder, said, “What else? Barefoot and pregnant?”
He put a finger to his chin as if thinking. “I mean…maybe. If you’re into that.”
“Even if I did want to do that, the garage means too much to me. It’s been in the community for over thirty years.
It’s one of the only family-owned shops around there anymore.
It’s…” I paused, suddenly afraid I might cry in front of this man, but I managed to hold it together.
“It’s my home. It’s my father’s home. If you want to buy it, you’ll need to do better than that. ”
We went back and forth for almost fifteen minutes, me giving him every fake scenario, story, and reason I could think of, and Dusty throwing out different options and offers to counter each one. Finally, I’d worn him down.
“Look.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you really don’t want to sell, why did you come here?”
“I never said I didn’t want to sell,” I said. “I only said I wanted fair compensation. That’s all.” A lie, but oh well.
His look of frustration faded, and he pointed at me. “No, no, I think I know what’s going on here.” A predatory smile sprang to his face. “You’re nervous. That’s what it is.”
“Nervous?” I frowned. “About what?”
“You want me, and you don’t know how to say it.”
“Holy shit, Dusty. It was annoying to begin with, but this ham-fisted attempt at flirting sucks ass. You don’t really think any woman would fall for this aggressive and crude shit, do you?”
“It works sometimes.”
Glancing back at the shop, I prayed Jackson had found what we needed and gotten out. I had to end this. I couldn’t handle this guy any longer. If I stuck around too long, I knew I’d end up slugging him.
Get your ass out of there, Jackson.