Blackburn

by Bradley Denton

Earl shook his head as he crossed the items off the yellow form. “You’re the boss,” he said. He punched the calculator buttons again. “That leaves us at three hundred ninety-four dollars and thirty-one cents.”

  It was still too much. “Look,” Blackburn said, “all I want is a tune-up and an oil change. No radiator cap, no coolant change, no transmission fluid, no spark plug wires, no belts, no hoses.”

  “Gotta have a new distributor cap for the tune-up,” Earl said. “And the rotor, plugs, and points.”

  “Okay. How much will that come to?”

  Earl punched the buttons. “One hundred seventy-six dollars and twenty-three cents. Tax included.”

  “The tune-up’s supposed to be twenty-nine ninety-five,” Blackburn said. “You don’t charge a hundred and fifty for an oil change, do you?”

  Earl gave him a stern look. “Twenty-nine ninety-five is the cost of our labor. We have to pass the cost of the parts on to the customer, or we’d go broke. And you’re getting the premium oil change, which includes a crankcase flush and a Fram filter.”

  Blackburn gave up. “Do it,” he said.

  Earl wrote the final total on the form. “You need to initial this,” he said, pushing the clipboard across the counter.

  Blackburn initialed the form. “When will it be ready?”

  Earl replaced the clipboard on its nail. “An hour or two.”

  Blackburn looked through the glass door into the garage. The same cars were still there. The two younger mechanics were leaning over the engine of the car on the floor. Ed was nowhere in sight.

  “I’ll wait here,” Blackburn said. He sat down on a folding chair. “I want to watch you work.”

  Earl went into the garage and pressed a button on the wall. The nearer bay door opened. Ed appeared beside Earl then, and the two men talked for a while. Ed scowled through the door at Blackburn. Blackburn waved.

  Ed pressed another button, this one on a metal box hanging on a cable from the ceiling, and the hydraulic lift brought its car down to floor level. Earl got into the car and backed it out. Then he drove Blackburn’s Fury inside and gestured to one of the younger mechanics. That mechanic came into the waiting room, took the clipboard from the wall, and returned to the garage. Ed and Earl spoke to him and then headed toward the back of the garage, out of Blackburn’s view. The young mechanic opened the hood of the Fury and got to work.

  Blackburn bought a Dr. Pepper from the pop machine, picked up an old copy of Motor Trend from the table beside his chair, and alternated between reading and watching the activity in the garage. Metal clanked and pneumatic wrenches whirred. The air compressor chunked on and off. There was an occasional shouted cuss word.

  As Blackburn finished his soda, he heard a car pull into Ed and Earl’s lot. A minute later a small, elderly woman came in through the Customer Entrance. She paused inside the door, looked at Blackburn, and smiled. Blackburn smiled back. The woman went to the counter and waited. She stood there for eleven minutes, and then Blackburn went to the door to the garage and pushed it open.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “You got another customer!” He returned to his chair and smiled at the woman again.

  Ed came into the room and stepped behind the counter, his dark brow looking darker than ever. “What can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked, ignoring Blackburn. He brought out another clipboard and yellow form from under the counter.

  “It’s my Chevy,” the woman said. Her voice was thin and fragile. “It shoots black smoke out the tailpipe. My son fixed it last time, but he’s in Florida now.”

  “What’s the model year?” Ed asked.

  “1962.”

  “How long since the belts and hoses were changed?”

  “I think my son did that at Christmas. Not this past Christmas, but the one before.”

  Ed wrote on the form and turned the clipboard around. “Fill this out. We’ll get to it in an hour or two and give you a call.”

  The woman filled out and signed the form. “I’ll be at home. I only live a few blocks from here.”

  “Don’t forget to listen for the phone,” Ed said. He hung up the clipboard and returned to the garage.

  The woman stood there looking bewildered for a moment, then started for the door. She paused beside Blackburn. “Thank you for announcing me,” she said. “I thought I’d take root.” She held out her hand. “I’m Mrs. Stopes.”

  Blackburn took her hand. It felt like ash. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m Don Wayne.”

  “Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Wayne.” She looked outside. “That’s my Chevy. My husband bought it brand new. It was the first new thing we ever owned.”

  Blackburn looked. The Chevy was robin’s-egg blue, and immaculate. “That’s a good car,” he said.

  “Well, I’d sell it if I had any other way to get around,” Mrs. Stopes said. “If the buses were safe. But you’re right, it is a good car. It just needs to be fixed up now and then.” She smiled again. “Just like people.”

  Blackburn watched Mrs. Stopes walk past her Chevy and down the street. She walked as if her hips hurt. When she was out of sight, he returned to his magazine. He didn’t think that Ed had been nice enough to Mrs. Stopes, but that was none of his business. As long as Ed and Earl did what they were supposed to do with his Fury, they could deal with others however they liked.

  Thirty minutes later, he looked up and saw green water pouring from under the Fury’s front end. He went into the garage and tapped the mechanic on the shoulder. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  The mechanic gave him a dull stare. “What’s it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re draining the radiator.”

  “Good guess, man.”

  “You weren’t supposed to drain the radiator.”

  The mechanic picked up the clipboard from the Fury’s fender. “Says here: Drain, flush, and refill cooling system.” He showed Blackburn. Earl had not crossed it out, but underlined it.

  Earl appeared beside them. “What’s the problem?”

  Blackburn took the clipboard from the mechanic and showed Earl the problem. Earl turned to the mechanic.

  “Can’t you goddamn see?” Earl asked. “I crossed that out. You keep on screwing up and you can go look for a job on the South Side. Now get over there and help Sonny with that starter. I’ll finish this myself.”

  The young mechanic went to the other car, muttering. Earl got down on the floor to replace the Fury’s radiator drain plug.

  “It wasn’t his fault, Earl,” Blackburn said. “Your cross-out looks like an underline.”

  “Customers aren’t allowed out here,” Earl said.

  Blackburn returned to the waiting room and picked up a seven-month-old issue of Newsweek. At three-thirty, Ed came into the room, went behind the counter, and made a phone call. “Mrs. Stopes?” he said. “Yeah, this is Ed down at Ed & Earl’s Auto Service. You brought your Chevy in around lunchtime? Well, I’m afraid you have some problems.”

  Ed seemed to be implying that he or one of the other mechanics had examined the Chevy. But Blackburn was sure that no one had gone near it. He hadn’t kept a close eye on it, but he would have heard if anyone had opened its hood or started its engine.

  “Well, ma’am, your belts and hoses are old,” Ed said, “and your radiator cap’s not sealing right. Your coolant’s worn out and should be replaced, and your air cleaner’s dirty. Your distributor cap’s cracked, and you need new plugs, points, and a rotor. I’d also suggest new spark plug wires, because your insulation’s brittle. You should also have a new fuel pump, and your transmission fluid and seals need to be changed. And for your safety, we strongly recommend that you replace your shock absorbers and have a complete brake job. When Earl drove it, he noticed some bounce and said that the brakes were mushy. As far as basic maintenance goes, you need an oil change and a new oil filter, and a tune-up. And frankly, ma’am, you should be getting all four tires replaced; they’re just about running on cord. Probably due to underinflatio
n.”

  Blackburn went to the pop machine and bought another Dr. Pepper. He spilled some of the soda and then stared at the can until it was steady.

  “I’ll have to add it up for an exact figure,” Ed was saying, “but it’s going to be around a thousand dollars. Yes, ma’am, but how much is your safety worth? Well, with that much work, we need a deposit of two hundred dollars. If you could have that to us before six, we might be able to get started today. No, ma’am, we can’t give you a ride. We only have four mechanics, and they’re all hip deep in work. Well, yes, you could bring the deposit in the morning, but we couldn’t start work until then.”

  Blackburn went to the counter. “I’ll pay the deposit,” he said.

  Ed waved a hand at Blackburn. “Just a minute, buddy, I’m on the phone.”

  “I said I’ll pay the two hundred dollars for Mrs. Stopes,” Blackburn said. “Let me talk to her.”

  Ed, scowling, looked from the phone to Blackburn and back at the phone. Then he handed the receiver to Blackburn.

  “Mrs. Stopes,” Blackburn said. “This is Donald Wayne. We met here this afternoon. I’m going to pay your deposit money so you don’t have to make an extra trip. You can pay me back tomorrow, when your car’s done.”

  Mrs. Stopes protested, but Blackburn insisted. Then he put the receiver on the counter and turned away. He took a long drink of Dr. Pepper and felt the coldness of it behind his eyes. He heard Ed say a few more words to Mrs. Stopes, but he didn’t pay attention to them. Out in the garage, Earl was installing the Fury’s new distributor cap. Blackburn sat down and picked up a ripped copy of Sports Illustrated.

  Ed came around the counter. “Well,” he said. His voice was murderous.

  Blackburn unbuttoned his jacket pocket and took out his cash. He handed it to Ed.

  Ed counted it. “There’s three hundred here.”

  “The extra hundred’s a gift,” Blackburn said. “If both my car and the old lady’s are done by six, you can keep it.”

  Ed locked the money into a drawer under the counter and went back into the garage. Blackburn watched him open the far bay door and speak to the two young mechanics. A moment later the two were pushing the car they’d been working on out of the garage. One of them drove Mrs. Stopes’s car inside. They closed the bay door, opened the Chevy’s hood, and got to work.

  At twenty minutes after six, the mechanics closed the Chevy’s hood, and one of them opened the bay door while the other one backed the car out. Then they both got into the car that had been on the hydraulic lift that morning and drove off. Earl slammed the hood on the Fury a few minutes later and closed the bay door that the young mechanics had left open. He wiped his hands on his coveralls and came into the waiting room with his clipboard.

  “Gotcha all set,” Earl said.

  Blackburn dropped his magazine beside the two crushed Dr. Pepper cans. “Glad to hear it,” he said, standing.

  Earl went behind the counter and punched buttons on the calculator. He scribbled on the work order. “And the damage comes to two hundred twenty-seven dollars and eighteen cents,” he said.

  Blackburn went to the counter. “What happened to the hundred and seventy-six you quoted this afternoon?”

  “Well, things got more complicated than we expected,” Earl said. “And we did flush your radiator.”

  “I told you not to do that.”

  “Yes sir, but our boy misread the work order, and the work did get done. It wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t charge for work that got done.”

  “So why’d you have me initial the one seventy-six?”

  “That figure was an estimate. Your initials just authorized us to start working.”

  “Then what was my signature for?”

  “That was to authorize us to look at the car in the first place. We have to be careful.”

  Blackburn laughed. These guys were hilarious. They should be dressed up in polka dots and milk-white makeup, tumbling out of a car in a center ring somewhere. Their belief in gullibility was so absolute, so crystalline, that it would be childlike if it had to do with, say, the existence of the Easter Bunny rather than with ripping off old ladies.

  “What’s so funny?” Earl asked. He sounded pissed.

  Even the question was hilarious. Blackburn laughed so hard that his stomach hurt. He pounded his fists on the counter. His eyes blurred. Earl was a ruddy blob. Blackburn howled.

  He heard the door to the garage open, and another blob, bigger and darker, joined Earl behind the counter.

  “What’s so funny?” Ed asked. He sounded pissed too.

  Blackburn dropped to his knees and leaned his head against the counter. His body shook. He had never laughed like this before. It was as miraculous as an orgasm.

  “I said, what’s so funny?”

  Blackburn looked up and saw two smears that he knew were Ed and Earl’s heads. They were looking over the counter at him. He allowed himself one last burst of laughter, then wiped his face on his jacket sleeve. “I’m not going to pay you,” he said.

  Ed and Earl glanced at each other. Then they glared down at Blackburn.

  “You sure as hell are,” Ed said.

  “Bet me,” Blackburn said, and then reached up and whacked their heads together.

  Ed and Earl bellowed, and Blackburn jumped up and ran into the garage. He grabbed the metal box hanging from the ceiling and punched the green button marked UP. The Fury began to rise beside him. Ed came into the garage then, shoving the glass door so hard that it shattered against the wall. Earl came in behind Ed, cursing.

  Blackburn released the UP button, and the hydraulic lift stopped. He ran around the Fury, which had risen about three feet, and put his thumbs in his ears. He waggled his fingers and stuck out his tongue at Ed and Earl.

  Ed took a crescent wrench from a tool cabinet. He came stomping around the Fury holding the wrench like a club. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” he said.

  “Sure I do,” Blackburn said. “It says ‘Ed’ right on your chest.” He backed away, keeping ten feet between him and Ed, until he bumped against the parts rack along the far wall. The rack wobbled, and packaged spark plugs rained down on Blackburn’s head. Blackburn looked to his left and right and saw that the rack’s shelves sagged with mufflers, starters, alternators, brake shoes, bearings, and assorted other parts. The rack was bolted to the wall, but some of the brackets meant to hold it there had torn.

  Blackburn spread his arms wide and grasped two of the rack’s vertical supports. Earl had stayed on the far side of the Fury, blocking the way back into the waiting room, but Ed was now almost close enough to strike. The wrench was rising.

  “You don’t know who you’re fucking with, either,” Blackburn said. “Ever hear of Samson?” He strained forward, and the parts rack shrieked. A starter, a muffler, a box of clamps, and several hoses hit the floor. Then more spark plugs rained down, mixed with distributor caps, plug wires, and rolls of electrical tape.

  “Son of a bitch!” Ed yelled, and lunged for Blackburn.

  Blackburn let go of the rack, ducked Ed’s wrench, and sprinted for the Fury. He dove under the car, coming to a stop in the trough below the hydraulic lift’s right brace. He saw his warped reflection in the lift’s silver post.

  He heard crashes and curses, and turned his head to see what had happened. The parts rack had not fallen, but it had tilted forward enough that most of the parts had slid off their shelves. Ed was down on one knee. Something had conked him, and his scalp was bleeding. When the parts stopped falling, he stood up and looked around until he saw Blackburn. Then he started for the Fury. He looked sluggish and dizzy, but he still held the wrench.

  Blackburn scrambled past the silver post as Ed crawled underneath the car after him, and Ed’s wrench only glanced off the sole of his shoe. But as Blackburn came out from under the left side of the Fury, Earl yelled and lumbered toward him. So Blackburn rolled onto his back and kicked Earl in the crotch. As Earl doubled over, Blackburn got to h
is feet and jabbed his thumb into Earl’s throat. Earl dropped to his knees, and Blackburn grabbed the dangling control box again. He pressed the red button marked DOWN.

  Ed had crawled halfway out from under the Fury when the hydraulic lift’s left brace came down across his back. He gurgled, looking angrier than ever, and then spat a red glob at Blackburn. It missed. The hydraulic lift whined and settled.

  Blackburn released the button. Earl was on his hands and knees against the broken waiting-room door, coughing. There was a puddle of drool on the floor under his mouth.

  “You sound underinflated,” Blackburn said. “Keep that up and you’ll be running on cord.” He grasped the collar of Earl’s coveralls and began dragging him to the rear of the garage. As they passed Ed, Earl grunted and grabbed Blackburn around the knees, bringing him to a halt. Blackburn became irritated. These guys had wasted his day, and now Earl was trying to draw things out even longer. Blackburn kicked free, knocked Earl’s head against the floor, and resumed dragging him.

  Blackburn propped Earl in a sitting position against the back wall, then pulled the valve from the end of the air-compressor hose. The hose hissed, and the compressor kicked on. Blackburn put the hose into Earl’s mouth and shoved it down as far as it would go. Then he sealed Earl’s mouth and nose with electrical tape, wrapping the tape around and around Earl’s head.

  When he ran out of tape, Blackburn went to the front of the garage, opened the left bay door, and got into the Fury. The key was in the ignition, and the car started on the first try. He backed it out, then turned it off and came back inside to close the bay door. He took a ring of keys from Ed’s pocket, went into the waiting room, and unlocked the cash drawer. In addition to Blackburn’s three hundred, the drawer contained two hundred and forty-two dollars in cash and over fifteen hundred in checks. Blackburn took the cash. Then he pocketed the yellow forms for the Fury and for Mrs. Stopes’s Chevy.

  Something out in the garage went pow. Blackburn didn’t bother to go see what it was.

  He drove Mrs. Stopes’s Chevy to the small house at the address on her yellow form. He parked it in the driveway and left the two hundred and forty-two dollars in an envelope on the dash. He enclosed a note that read, “You are our thousandth customer. Here is your prize. Your car is fixed. You do not need to come back. Best, E. & E.”