by Jamie Knight
The hot asphalt scraped under my boots as I got out. Unlike most of the guys I knew, I opted for the steel-toed variety. Cowboy boots had their appeal but were of little help with heavy, falling metal. I’d always been something of a rebel. Not in the sense of breaking the rules for the sake of it so much as questioning whether there were any rules at all. The practicality of a situation often outweighing what arbitrary social mores might demand.
Sugar. Fuck. Twisting the cap back onto my suddenly sweet gas tank, I set off walking in the general direction of work. Still having a hot dog’s chance in hell of getting there on time.
Walking was healthy. Waling was good. As my six-pack abs and 4% body fat would attest. My family was poor growing up, and if it wasn’t for my own two legs, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere. I had it down to an art if I did say so myself — looking casual while still covering up to five miles within an hour. The trick was to look like you didn’t care where going you were going. Though a bit of a swagger didn’t hurt either.
My calm amble was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a beer bottle smashing into the wall beside me.
“See you in hell motherfucker!” bellowed the front seat passenger as the hick in the back seat wasted even more Miller. The second bottle missed even worse than the first.
I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling at the sheer absurdity of the situation. A display of mirthful merriment that earned the death eyes of a passing dog walker as she tried to keep her pooch away from the shattered and frothy remnants. Taking a moment to be a good citizen, I picked up the broken bottles and threw them out in a nearby trash can, where they could pose no risk to man or beast.
It was a temptation on par with Job. The sign of the bar glowing like a beacon in the early morning dim. The local bakery was the only other business on the block that was open this early. Still, probably best not to get hammered before lunch, particularly on trainee day.
They were already there at the shop. Milling about like nerds waiting for the library to open after a long weekend. I should know. I was one. From what I could see, they were the usual gaggle of keeners. Not that I’d ever done trainees before, but I knew the type. It wasn’t my first choice, but circumstances will necessitate.
On paper, some might think my new plan looked like a scam, particularly in light of all the ethnically illegal internships — which was most of them — that had been exposed in the last few years. I did my best to work clean, though. These interns would be doing unpaid work needed for the shop but in a way in which they learned practical skills applicable to their further career. It was more like an apprenticeship or four-year medical practicum. I liked to think of it as a sort of boot camp for promising mechanics.
It was what was best for the shop, though the circumstances that brought this plan about had been less than ideal. Things had gotten real expensive real fast. Part of the reason most businesses failed in the first year. Long and depressing story short, I had to fire a couple of wonderful mechanics to save money. They were good guys and great mechanics, but I had a business to run and couldn’t afford their pay anymore. The trainees were at least partly a stopgap to my shop going under.
I got the kids to work and went back to the office, on the off chance that anyone came in that time of the morning. I would have brought my own motor in for the kids to have a crack at, but I couldn’t see myself calling a tow truck. There would be no end of razzing from everyone in town if that happened. I would become a near-mythic object of ridicule. Like the doctor’s son who got his girlfriend pregnant because the goober thought it didn’t count the first time. He was still known far and wide as “One-Shot Shane.” A name said in the same tones as Paul Bunyan or John Henry though without the usual undertone of respect.
There was a time the phone would be ringing off the hook from opening to closing. However, I had recently fallen somewhat in public estimation. Turned out those couple of ex-employees had a lot of friends, as well as the ability to really hold a grudge. I could have kept them on. Only then the garage would have had to shut down entirely. They would still be out of work, along with the rest of the mechanics and me. It really was amazing how blinded people could be sometimes.
It had been one such former friend who had tried to serve me free beer on my walk of shame. Things like that happened a lot. Considering some of them were Iraq Vets, I counted
myself lucky it only went as far as beer bottles. Still, I would prefer a solid punch to the face I could see coming to the drive-bys. Seemed more honest somehow.
I kept an eye on the trainee kids through the window between the office and the shop floor. Making sure no one did anything stupid. At least nothing that might leave a permanent scar, like not making sure the battery was disconnected before trying to change the distributor cap.
Wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles the phone actually rang. Its imitated jingle sounding like the choirs of heaven.
“Chad’s Auto, not a problem too big.”
“Shouldn’t that be no problem too big?” John asked.
“Probably, but I like to aim high,” I joked.
“Very admirable.”
“I do my best. Most of my DnD characters were Chaotic Good.”
“Oh, I remember,” John said. We had been close since high school.
I could almost hear him roll his eyes from the other end of the digitally facilitated conversation. Such was the deep and profound friendship we shared. There were times I wondered if we had been fraternal twins separated at birth.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Can’t complain. I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink later.”
“Sure, just one condition.”
“Name it,” John said amiably.
“We don’t go anywhere the mechanics go. I’m not really in the mood to get my nose broken again. I also can’t afford it.”
He chuckled. “I must say, they did a good job of straightening it.”
“Oh yeah, Doc. Emily is the best but also very expensive.”
“Isn’t that always just the way?” John said, with a theatrical sigh.
“In my experience, yeah.”
“Weird the cops should have been so hard on you,” John mused.
I shrugged even though he couldn’t see. The night my former employees attacked me had been crazy. “Jim and Hank are popular guys. More than I can say for myself at the moment.”
“I’m your Huckleberry,” John said, doing his best approximation of a Georgian, “I’ve also become a fan of the all-day happy hour at La Muerte Grande.”
“The big death?” I asked, translating quickly and scratching at my chin.
“Yeah, pretty sure it was a mistranslation,” John said quickly, “Google translate has a lot to answer for.”
“No argument there. Sounds good. See you there after closing.”
“Don’t do anything I would do,” John warned playfully.
“Never been a problem before,” I said, with a wink I was sure he could sense through the satellite link.
I hung up the phone and glanced out at the trainees. With no cars in the shop, one of the mechanics had them cleaning. It was busywork, but it would do. I sat down in my rolling chair with a sigh.
It was going to be a long, dull day.
Chapter Three - Nina
It was surprising how relaxing flying could be. Particularly for someone who’d never done it before. I like to go fast but tended to draw the line at vehicles that could achieve lift-off. The fastest I’d ever driven was on a restored 1971 Vincent Black Shadow. Dad gave Uncle Jake hell for that one.
Daddy had convinced Uncle Jake — a race car driver — to give me driving lessons, thought that wasn’t quite what he had in mind. It was daddy’s fault, really, he should have been more specific. It was still the most fun thing I’d ever done up to that point.
I hadn’t seen Auntie Blair in years. Apparently, there had been some unpleasantness I w
as too young to know about, and she had disappeared from the scene. It was a bit surprising then that Daddy would let me stay with her. Still, I had the feeling that had more to do with context, Auntie Blair being the only family we had in El Paso.
It was easy to spot Auntie Blair in the vast expanses of the airport parking lot. She was still driving the pumpkin—a classically beautiful VW bug with an orange body and green roof. No doubt a souvenir from one of her many crazy adventures. Auntie Blair’s wild indiscretions were the stuff of family legends. Though, as with all tales, I took it for granted that there would be a degree of exaggeration involved.
“Hey sweetie,” Auntie Blair greeted, giving me a great big bear hug.
“Hi,” I said, a bit too overwhelmed to think of anything better.
Some weird but great music blasted from the stereo as we roared up the freeway. I unconsciously took hold of the ‘oh shit’ bar above the door.
“What’s that?” I asked, having to yell to be heard.
“Motörhead,” Auntie Blair yelled back.
Of course. Of course, it was. The name was so perfect and the sound so awesome, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Go get changed, sweetheart,” auntie Blair said, as soon as we were through the door to her modest home.
“Changed for what?” I asked.
Auntie Blair just raised an eyebrow, as though to say we both knew exactly what she was talking about.
In the privacy of the guest room, I dug through the pretty dresses to the clothes I’d hidden at the bottom of the suitcase. Feeling like a smuggler as I had done so — personality contraband.
Awkwardly, I shed the adorable, if deplorable and obscenely expensive Donna Karen number I had worn to the airport in San Antonio. Left in the girlish cotton underthings, I took those off as well, instead opting for a pair of boxer briefs and a sports bra.
Eminently more comfortable, as well as covered, I slipped into the jeans and Longhorns home Jersey I had brought. Feeling almost elated as I gathered my hair up into a ponytail and pulled a cap down over it. I left my feet bare for the moment to recover from the heels.
Cautiously, I turned and looked at myself in the full-length mirror attached to the closet door. It came on slowly. Starting at the very corner of my lips, it crept ever upward until the smile had occupied my entire mouth. I looked fucking awesome. Still like a girl but the girl I wanted to be, instead of the one my daddy demanded.
As I walked into the kitchen, the smell nearly knocked me out, though in the best possible way. It had been years since I’d had green chili, and it only took one whiff to remind my tummy how hungry I was.
I’d been hungry for a while. Daddy put on what amounted to a wife training diet—repeatedly mentioning my girlish figure. Though I had no idea what he was talking about. I knew what he was thinking of, sure enough, but it was never a description that fit me.
I’d always been athletic as well as almost flat-chested up until a few years before. After my 17th birthday, breasts apparently decided to make up for lost time and came in with a vengeance. From 22A to 22C, seemingly overnight. Wasn’t that a cruel trick for nature to play? Though not getting my first period until I was 16 came in a close second.
“You look great,” auntie Blair said, turning from the pot.
“Thanks,” I beamed.
“Sports bra?” she asked secretively, as though Daddy might hear us from Terrell Hills.
“Um, yeah,”
“Good girl,” she winked.
Hearing her say that made me happy. Even more than when Daddy did. Probably because he wanted me to do things ‘right’ and Auntie Blair wanted me to do what was right for me. I could feel the tension release from my shoulders. It was relaxing to be somewhere I could openly be a tomboy.
“So, what’s with this marriage business?” Auntie Blair asked out of the clear blue.
“Sorry?” I asked, nearly dropping my spoon.
“Your daddy made it very clear that being a mechanic was just a hobby for you to do after you’re married.”
“I—”
“Please tell me that was a ruse,” she said.
“Yeah,” I confessed.
“Good, you are far too young for such a responsibility, even if it was someone you wanted to marry.”
“How did you know?”
“Intuition, darling. The suitor is the son of your dad’s business partner. It has marriage of convenience written all over it. Oh God, he didn’t get a dowry, did he?”
“No,” I giggled, “at least I don’t think so.”
“Let’s hope not. Either way, I think you should just focus on being a mechanic and not worry about relationships right now. Get a skill, get yourself settled, and then find a guy you can meet on even ground.”
“Like you and Uncle Bill?” I asked.
“Exactly,” she said, only the slightest twitch of pain in her eyes.
It seemed radical. At least according to everything I’d ever been taught. Yet, as we sat down to green chili stew, I wondered if my aunt might be right. What she’d suggested sounded a lot more appealing than what I had been doing.
“It would be nice not to marry Art,” I said, daubing the chili with a bun, “not only because he’s got a wandering eye, if you know what I mean.”
“All too well, and you shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of bullshit from any man. Least of all your husband. You should be able to count on him. He didn’t—” She looked me up and down with a raised eyebrow.
“No! I mean, no one has. I’m still a virgin.”
“Good. I don’t mean to be a prude, but you’re still a bit young. It’s best to really know yourself before you give yourself to someone else,” Auntie Blair advised.
She was right, of course. I thought I knew myself but had never really been able to explore it. The opportunity to be away from home could be just the opportunity I needed.
“You mustn’t do everything your daddy says,” she said, as though reading my mind, “in fact, you should do the opposite. He is a sweet man, don’t get me wrong, but he also has his head directly up his rear when it comes to most things outside of business.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at the image, but I also knew she was right. I was never going to grow, or indeed grow up, if I kept following the will of others.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Even after the program is done,” Auntie Blair said.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there seemed to be an implication in her voice. Like maybe I didn’t have to be beholden to my dad’s whims. He held total control over my trust fund until I was 25, but he couldn’t cut me off entirely. Even if he did, did it really matter that much? I had a place to stay and the possibility for a career. A life that was my own.
As I lay in bed that night, I seriously wondered if maybe I shouldn’t actually go home after the certification.
Chapter Four - Chad
The day didn’t go as bad as it could have. The trainees had been through some basic training from their families. Some of them had been working with cars since they were tall enough to see over the grill. There were no serious injuries, and that was always a plus. Some of them even seemed to have learned something, which was the icing on the cake.
The doors to the shop came down with a satisfying clatter, locking tight at the bottom. No sooner did the clicks sound than the familiar rumble of John’s wreck of a Chevy came around the corner. The best thing to be said about that Camaro motor being that you always knew when John was coming.
Having a car that didn’t work was the mechanic’s greatest shame. Being seen in one that really shouldn’t be running was a close second. Letting out a bemused sigh, I straightened up and stalked to the roaring beast, fighting a fierce head rush on the way.
The passenger door irked like the gates of hell, actually making me wince in genuine pain and concern.
“Been sucking lemons again?” John asked.
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“Oh, I think there is only one lemon around here,” I said, easing into the duct tape upholstered seat.
“Touché,” John conceded, roaring out of the lot.
La Murte Grande wasn’t a mistranslation so much as an attitude. The entire restaurant was decorated in a Day of the Dead theme, including the waitstaff dressed in appropriate costumes and makeup.
“Okay,” I said, after being seated by a gorgeous skeleton with a lovely chest.
“Impressive, no?” John asked rhetorically.
“Sorry?” To my embarrassment, I’d been distracted by the sexy skeleton’s ass as she bent to take an order.
“Back now?” John asked patiently.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, turning my attention back to my only remaining friend in the world.
“It’s okay, just part of who you are, right? Not really a problem for me anymore, of course.”
“Joining the priesthood?” I joked.
He leaned back and took a sip of his beer. “No, quite the opposite, in fact. Angie and I have set a date.”
“A date for what?”
“For the wedding silly,” John said, rolling his eyes.
Struck by disbelief, I raised my eyebrows. “You’re getting married?”
“That’s the plan, yeah,” John smirked.
I was well and truly gobsmacked. What he was saying seemed crazy to me. I couldn’t even settle on one woman, let alone stay with her for the rest of my life. No, thank you. As far as I was concerned, relationships took too much time. It wasn’t that I didn’t like women. Quite the opposite, in fact. Women were great. I just valued my autonomy more.
“You look like you just ate bad fish,” John said. He tended to speak bluntly.
“What, no. Do I—”
“Dick,” John teased.
“I’m still just trying to take this in,” I explained, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Lots of people do it, you know.” He gave me a skeptical look.