Devils: Cutthroat 99 MC

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Devils: Cutthroat 99 MC Page 9

by Evelyn Glass


  “What’s plan B?”

  “We have several motors and transmission, freshly rebuilt by James or me, sitting on the shelf. There’s one hitch.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your car is an autostick, kind of an air-cooled Volkswagen automatic. We don’t have one of those, and even if we did, I wouldn’t put it back in because they suck. Can you drive a manual?”

  “You mean with a, what do you call it…a clutch?”

  Dix chuckled. “Never mind. That answers the question. I guess you’ll learn.”

  “Dix, please don’t do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, it’s too much. You have done too much already, so please don’t do this.”

  She looked so pitiful. “Is that the only reason?” She nodded her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Let someone do something nice for you for once,” he said quietly. “The speed shops are closed today anyway and James and I can finish this in a few hours.”

  “No…Please don’t ask him to help.”

  “Ask him to help?” he chuckled. “I won’t be able to keep him away.”

  ***

  Working together James and Dix had the motor and transmission out of the car in two hours. Dix hauled it away with a fork truck, then made two trips with the machine to retrieve the new motor and transmission.

  She made a trip to town in the yard truck for fluids, a carburetor rebuild kit, plugs and wires, and an alternator belt, then prepared lunch in James’s kitchen. Though slower going back together than coming apart, she couldn’t believe how much progress the men made in so short a time. Only six hours after Dix had hauled the car through the gate, the new transmission was back in, and they would finish fitting the engine after lunch.

  While Dix finished wrenching underneath, James removed the alternator, starter and carburetor from her old motor. He dropped off the alternator and starter for Dix and then began disassembling the carburetor with sure, practiced movements at a side table.

  “What can you tell me about Dix?” she asked, watching James work.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why is he doing this?”

  He smiled, but his hands never slowed. “Because he’s a good man.”

  “I can tell. But that doesn’t answer why he’s doing this.”

  “Because he likes you, and because you need the help. He told me a little about you and what you’ve been through.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. We had a beer before he went to bed.”

  “He lives with you?”

  “He lives here, but not with me. He has a little trailer out back.”

  She nodded. “Okay, but why does he want to help me? Nobody has ever wanted to help me, well, except my parents, of course.”

  James paused and looked at her. “Because I think he understands what you’re going through.” He went back to his task. “Dix hasn’t had it easy. I don’t know how much he told you about how he grew up.”

  “Not a lot. I get the feeling he isn’t close to his parents.”

  “No.” He paused so long she thought he wasn’t going to continue. “His parents, neither one of them, aren’t worth the bullet to put them in the ground. His dad used to work for me. They were both drunks and didn’t care about anything other than where their next drink was coming from. They certainly didn’t care about Dix. So long as he wasn’t bothering them, they didn’t care what he did.”

  He paused again as he looked over the parts she’d purchased, then began to clean and reassemble the carb. “I felt sorry for the boy, so I started showing him how to do things. Rebuild engines, run the milling machines, that sort of thing. He’s got a gift. He’s one of the finest engine builders I’ve seen. He should be working for a race team somewhere, not hanging around here with an old man, but he won’t leave.”

  She could feel herself tearing up as he spoke. This wasn’t an employee-employer relationship, more like grandfather and grandson, or even closer, perhaps father and son. The love and respect she heard in his voice as he talked about Dix was so clear and profound to be unmistakable. The more she found out about Dix, the more she liked what she heard. Here was a man who cared about something other than himself.

  “Where are his parents now?”

  “They still live in Douglas, on welfare no doubt. One day, when Dix as about twelve or thirteen, his dad nearly killed us both. Dix and I were parting out a car when his dad ran over it with the loader. Thank God I realized what was about to happen and we ran like hell before he did. He was drunk and I don’t think he even knew he hit it. I fired him on the spot. I don’t think he’s seen them since.”

  “Where did he go then? Dix I mean.”

  He smiled. “Dix used to get off the school bus here, then would ride home with his dad. The next day he got off as usual, and just…stayed. He’s been here ever since. He lived with me until he was eighteen, then bought the trailer and moved into it. Let’s see, I would guess he was seven or eight when he started getting off the bus, and he’s twenty-seven now, so almost twenty years he’s been here.”

  “You really care for him,” she said softly.

  “Like a son.”

  “Where’s my carb, old man? You’re holding up progress!” Dix roared from the other side of the garage.

  “You got the clutch pedal installed yet?” James yelled back with a grin.

  “No!”

  “Do that! I’m busy flirting with Daisy!”

  She giggled as Dix fussed and growled good-naturedly. She couldn’t make out all the words but they could make out what he wanted them to hear when he raised his voice, including “do all the work” and “pretty girl.”

  “He may not be your son, but I think you did a pretty good job raising him.”

  He grinned. “I think he came out okay in spite of me.” He held up the carburetor for her inspection. “What do you think?”

  “Uh…what is it?”

  He laughed. “It’s the carb. It’s what gets the gas into the engine so it will run.”

  “Oh. It looks perfect, then.”

  With another laugh, he nodded into the direction of the car. “Come on, let’s go see what Dix is doing.”

  ***

  It took another hour before Dix was done installing the clutch into the car. While he worked, James took all the wheels off and looked at the brakes, then the front end, making a list, then sending her back to the store for parts.

  When she returned the Beetle had been lowered, though it was still on the lift with the wheels off, and Dix and James were fussing around with the engine. She was walking up with three bags of brake and steering parts when Dix walked to the front of the car, reached through the window, and turned the key. The Bug whirred over as James fiddled with the carb, then it roared to life.

  It was already running better than she could remember, but as James tinkered, first with the carb, then with a rapidly blinking light flashing into the bowls of the engine, it smoothed out more and more. After a few moments he stood and revved the engine hard several times.

  Dix turned it off, then twisted the key again and the engine sprang immediately to life. He repeated the procedure a couple of more times before grinning at her. “Want to try it?”

  Grinning like a fool she hurried to the car and squeezed into the seat and started to pump the accelerator.

  “Ah-ah. Don’t do that,” he said with a grin. “You’ll flood it. Just turn the key.”

  She did. It took a moment longer to start than it did with Dix, but the engine caught, stumbled, then settled into a strong steady idle. She switched it off, then turned the key again and the engine thrummed immediately to life.

  “Thank you!” she said as she squeezed out of the car and hugged first Dix then James.

  James began to paw through the bags, pulling out parts and looked at them. “Now that it goes, it has to stop. Your brakes are shot. Steering, too. You’re lucky to still be alive driving this thing.”


  ***

  As she prepared dinner from what she could find in James’s pantry, freezer and refrigerator, Dix and James worked on the brakes and steering. She called them for dinner and they arrived, covered in grease and sweat, but smiling.

  “I’ve never built a car before in just one day, have you?” Dix asked after he stepped out of the bathroom. His hands were clean halfway to his elbow, but that was it.

  “No. There’s a first time for everything, I guess,” James chuckled as he took Dix’s place in the bathroom so he could wash his hands.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daisy doted on Dix and James, heaping their plates with roast beef, potatoes and carrots, and filling their glasses. She was so incredibly grateful to the men she couldn’t put it into words.

  “Are you almost finished?” she asked as the men ate.

  “Why? You in a hurry?” Dix asked.

  “No, but you’ve been working on it for almost twelve hours already. I feel guilty enough as it is.”

  Dix passed a look to James. “Almost. Just a few more things.”

  “Where did you learn to do this? Did you own a garage, James?” When Dix snickered, she glanced between the men. “What?”

  “Nothing,” James said.

  “I know you probably haven’t heard of him since you didn’t even know what a clutch is, but this is the James McGhee.”

  She looked at James. “I’m sorry to say I don’t know what that means.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Daisy. Don’t worry about it.”

  “James is one of the greatest race engine builders in the world. In the sixties and seventies there were more cars with his engines winning the SCCA Can-Am events than any other. His motors still fetch steep six figure money, even today, if you can find someone willing to sell one.”

  Daisy looked at James with new respect.

  “He exaggerates,” James said as he looked at his plate.

  “I don’t exaggerate,” Dix said firmly. “Who built more winning engines than you?”

  “Nobody,” James said softly.

  “When you get back home, you can honestly say your Bug has an engine built by McGhee Motor Sports. You’ll be the envy of all your friends,” Dix teased.

  “How did you end up here?” she asked, fascinated. What she knew about engines and cars wouldn’t fill a thimble, but she could hear the deep respect in Dix’s voice.

  “I bought the place when I retired.”

  “When was that?”

  “About 1976.”

  Daisy blinked, the math not adding up. “You couldn’t have been very old.”

  “About thirty-eight.”

  “Wow! Congratulations!” There was no way she could retire in ten years, and the fact James could amazed her. But then she noticed the livelihood had gone out of both of their eyes. “Wait, what happened?” She looked from Dix to James then back again.

  “I had a son,” James began. “He wasn’t like Dix. He was arrogant and spoiled. It was my fault I suppose, well, mine and Susan’s, my wife. We gave him everything he wanted. He wanted to race, drawn to the speed and the woman, I guess, but he didn’t have the talent. I talked to a buddy of mine and we got him into a car. He did okay, but he was never really competitive, and heroes don’t finish ninth out of fifteen. In his second season, he was pushing too hard, driving beyond his ability and crashed.”

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  James nodded. “He suffered a debilitating brain injury. He survived the crash but was brain dead, what do they call it now, a present vegetated state? We kept him on the machine for two years, hoping he’d wake up, but he never did, and we finally switched it off. He died three days later.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  James smiled at her. “It’s okay. That was a long time ago. Susan, she couldn’t accept it and blamed me for his death. I guess in a way it was. If I hadn’t pulled strings he’d have never been able to get a seat on his own. A year after Kyle died, Susan left me. I just didn’t have the passion for it anymore, so I sold my engine shop, packed up my equipment, and moved to Oregon. And, as they say, here I am.” They sat quietly for a long moment before James brightened. “But God gave me another chance, and I didn’t make the same mistakes with Dix I did with Kyle.”

  “I guess we both got a second chance,” Dix said and smiled at James.

  James pushed back from the table. “Speaking of second chances, that car isn’t fixing itself.”

  “I’ll clean this mess up,” she said, knowing she’d be no use to them in the garage.

  ***

  She checked on the progress of her car several times over the next four hours. Each time she walked into the garage, the car had changed as Dix and James cut and ground and welded. At first she couldn’t tell what they were doing until she had a chance to peek inside, swallowing hard at the fact she could see right through the bottom of the car.

  She was fixing coffee for the men when she heard the distinctive sounds of an air-cooled Volkswagen pull out in front of James’s house. She opened the door and her car was there. At six this morning it had been a faded powder blue. Now the roof was the same blue, while the two rear fenders were a different blue, and though they were close, they obviously weren’t the same color as the rest of the car, whatever color that was.

  The car looked like it has been inside a paint factory when it exploded. One door was yellow, as was one of the front fenders, but not on the same side as the door. The other door was red, and it matched the engine cover, while the trunk and other front fender were white. Mixed in with it all were splotches of black that looked like they came out of spray can. While the car might look like a crazy quilt of colors, she noticed immediately the rust holes and bent body panels were missing.

  Dix, sitting the driver’s seat raced the engine. “Want to go for a ride?” he called as he stuck his head out the window, racing the engine again.

  With a laugh she hurried down the two steps and jumped into the passenger seat.

  “Buckle up,” he said as he banged the car into reverse and raced backwards before slamming on the brakes. He jammed the car into first, raced the engine, and dumped the clutch, throwing them backwards as the little car scrabbled for traction on the hard packed gravel. They went racing down a line of cars before sliding around a corner as she shrieked in excitement and fear, holding onto the dash and door handle for dear life.

  He slid it around another corner, her little car roaring merrily as they picked up speed down another wide aisle. Never had her car pulled so hard or smoothly, or stopped so straight as he slammed on the brakes again and spun the wheel to the right, before they were rocketing away again.

  He grinned as Daisy shrieked again, laughing hysterically as her car belted along. The Beetle was abysmally slow compared to what he was used to, but probably felt ridiculously fast considering it barely ran before…assuming she could get it started.

  They skidded around the line of cars, and Dix buried the throttle, eking out every bit of speed the Bug could give him as they raced back to James’s house. When they slid to a stop, she couldn’t stop laughing.

  “What were you doing to her out there?” James asked as they climbed out of the car. “I could hear her screaming all the way over here.”

  She ran to James, throwing herself into his arms. He was covered in grease, and smelled of sweat and gasoline, but she didn’t care. “Thank you! Thank you so very much!” she exclaimed, holding him tight.

  “It’s okay, Daisy,” he said softly, his arms going around her. “Dix and I haven’t worked in the shop together in a long time. I enjoyed doing it.”

  She pulled back and kissed him on the cheek. “I think you are a wonderful man,” she whispered softly before letting him go.

  She then turned her attention to Dix. As she approached, he dropped the keys into her hand. “It needs paint, but most of the rust is gone. The tires are worn out and should be replaced, but we couldn’t do
anything about that, and we forgot new wiper blades. But it will start the first time, every time, and it stops without trying to jump into the ditch. Oh, and it drives straight now, too, and the heat even works.”

  As he went down the litany of improvements, tears began to roll down her cheek before she melted into him and put her arms around him.

  “I’m dirty.”

  “I don’t care,” she said softly.

  As his arms went around her and drew her in tight, she began to weep, her shoulders shaking as all the pain and frustration with her life poured out of her. Dix was so kind and thoughtful, willing to help her find Riley, and repair her car, and feed and shelter her, and asked for nothing in return. She could never repay his generosity, and the guilt of him giving so much and asking for nothing made her weep even harder.

 

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