Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
RILEY
Finn, Finn, Finn. I can’t stop thinking about Finn, and it’s annoying as hell.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m at the garage bright and early. This should be a day off, but after I caught myself pacing in my apartment, I decided to come in and take care of some paperwork.
The only reason I’m in Buffalo is to get this place up and running, so that’s what I’ll focus my attention on.
The desk phone rings, and I pick it up. “Liberty Garage.”
“Good morning. I’m calling for the owner, Chase Couch?”
“Chase isn’t in yet. I’m the manager, Riley. Anything I can help you with?”
“I’m Belle Sanchez, calling from The Allentown Gayzette.
We’re doing a story about the impact your garage is having on the block and the rest of the gayborhood, and the controversial zoning laws that govern your establishment.
I’m wondering if there’s a good time I could come by and interview Mr. Couch and any employees who care to go on the record? ”
It takes me a moment to process. “You’re what?”
“It would be a chance to tell your side of the story, show the town what Liberty Garage is all about.”
I lower the phone for a moment. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Shit. Damn. Fuck.” When I pick it back up, I have to work to steady my voice. “You’re writing a story.”
“That’s right. For The Allentown Gayzette. We’ve been the local source for gayborhood news since 1971.”
This is exactly the kind of disaster I’ve been trying to avoid. Immediately, I sense Finn’s meddling influence in the background.
“And what tipped you off to this story?”
“We do our best to follow all the buzz around the neighborhood,” the reporter answers cheerfully, somewhat dodging the question and deepening my suspicions that Finn and his ice cream shop are behind this.
“We’re going to have to call you back on this one,” I say. “Can I get a number?”
I jot down her contact information and hang up. Cracking my knuckles, I try to think through the problem. Bad press can sink a business, especially one as new as ours. We probably need to take a stand for ourselves, argue our case to this reporter.
But I’m no expert at this kind of bullshit. I’m the nuts-and-bolts guy.
Maybe it’s exactly like Chase and the other mechanics claim. People are going to hate us because of their preconceived notions about bikers. We’re easy villains. It’s why we need a place of our own, why this garage is worth fighting for.
But it’s also true that this whole damn gayborhood is filled with misunderstood people.
Our neighbors are impacted by the noise, and despite the fact that we’re allowed to run our business as needed, we don’t want to cause anyone else a hassle.
I know that we’ll find more success if we aren’t alienating half the town.
The disruption we’re causing has reached the local newspaper, and that means it’s serious.
Thinking quickly, I pull up a new document on the computer and start typing.
Twenty minutes later, I print out a list of policy changes we can implement that might help mitigate the noise level.
It will be a pain in the ass and costly, too, but the mechanics and Chase will have to adjust. I deposit the printouts at everyone’s work stations right before the employees arrive for the day, then retreat back into the office.
Chase hired me to get the garage up and running, and that means facing any problems square-on when they arrive.
And I’m not doing this because Finn is right, either, I insist to myself. He’s every bit as unreasonable as he ever was. I’m just making some changes so that I don’t have to deal with his endless complaints anymore, and so that I can stop thinking about him and this mess.
He’s even started intruding into my pen pal situation. Last time I wrote a chapter, I kept picturing Lark, the fae prince, as Finn. When I should have been thinking about nothing but MorningEnthusiast and some hot and heavy faerie porn, I ended up picturing my ice-cream nemesis instead.
Ridiculous.
Big Jo saunters into the office. “Mornin’, Riley.” She raises the paper in her hand. “What’s this new policy about? We’re prioritizing the side entrance now?”
“And rolling the bikes,” I confirm with a nod. “Motors killed unless they need to be on.”
She frowns as she looks down at the paper. “Seems like it will slow us down. And you know these bikers are going to want to drive off the lot.”
I nod. “I know. Like the policy says, use the side entrance when possible, but if there’s any delay, the front will always be available. Hopefully, this will help us keep the garage doors down more often. Contain us a bit more to the space.”
Little Joe sticks his head in the office. “Hey, boss-o,” he says. “About this policy. Seems like it’s going to disrupt our workflow, no?”
“No,” I answer flatly. “Not if you follow it carefully.”
He scratches the back of his head. “But why wouldn’t we use those big doors? I like the sunlight when we leave them open.”
“Then go to the beach,” I shoot back. “I’m trying to make this place respectable. Stop pissing off the neighbors. But I guess the guy who likes showing off his scrawny ass in a jock strap wouldn’t know the first damn thing about that.”
Little Joe and Big Jo both hold up their hands in surrender.
“Got it,” Little Joe says.
“Sure thing,” Big Jo agrees before they both hurry away.
I huff and sit behind the desk. My mechanics should be focused on repairing bikes, not playing neighborhood politics. But any adjustment we can make, I decide, we need to make it.
Chase walks into the office, helmet under his arm. “Nope,” he says immediately. “Not allowed.”
“What?” I ask as I stand. “I haven’t even said a word.”
“Don’t need to. I can see the stress on your face, and today is your scheduled day off. I’m going to need you out of here. A burnt-out Riley is no good for the garage.”
I grunt. “Kicking me out won’t eliminate the source of my stress.”
“Don’t care. Isn’t that NiagaraCon thing this weekend? You said you wanted to check it out. Fine. As your boss, I’m ordering you to attend.”
I cough out a laugh, ready to argue because I don’t like being ordered around. But I do love a geeky convention, and he’s right that this should be my day off. Not to mention, the director of an old sci-fi show, Galaxy Demons, will be at this one, and I’ve got a bone to pick.
After a second’s hesitation, I frown. “If I go, it’s because I want to, not because you demanded it.”
“Cool.” He lifts up one of the papers with the new policy. “And I see you stopped by to lay down some new laws?”
“That, and to deliver bad news.” I reach out and grab my friend by the shoulder to show him I’m serious. “You’re going to have to hire some PR.”
By the time I’ve filled him in on the problem, Chase is riled up and ready to fight for his garage. I convince him, though, that this is a job for a professional and not for an angry biker dude with too many facial piercings. Changing things up at the garage will be our first step.
A couple hours later, I pull up to NiagaraCon.
It’s a small, regional convention, which means there won’t be any major movie announcements or A-list actors here.
But I’ll enjoy browsing all the booths and taking in a few panels, a low-stakes distraction from the headache that Chase’s garage has become.
And with any luck, I’ll finally get to tell the man behind Galaxy Demons exactly what I think of the second and final season, a major botch that ruined one of the best premises in sci-fi television history. I’m dying to know how he’ll justify those choices.
I hitch up my jeans and head into the small convention hall, ready to put Allentown, Liberty Garage, and Finn out of mind, at least for one afternoon.