Breakdown (17 page)

“I did tell you ten minutes, Jack, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

I grumbled at my old man as I pushed through his garage doors. The walk had actually helped, clearing away some of the come-filled pus-cracks. The need was there to scrub it off my hands, make them bleed until I’d pull the skin off and—“Dad,” I said, tugging off my jacket. “Nineteen’s a long way off to keep the keys to my ride. Like, eleven months, two days, three hours and sixteen seconds.”

I just got a laugh off him and a shake of head. The price of getting out of juvy over four months ago had been that I lost my motor. The only times I was supposed to touch these beauties was here. But what went down after dark wouldn’t harm my old man. Although not having a car while I was with him, it poked a stick up my ass every time I was forced to walk.

“Morning, Jack,” said Paul. My old man’s manager was already at work in one pit, and Steve was stripping off the paint to the Beetle, getting it ready up for the spray job. As Paul saw me, he eyed up the customer key rack, no doubt counting each one, and I snorted a smile. The look was in his eyes to say something about letting me loose among the candy, he even opened his mouth, but I made damn sure a steady look stopped anything he had to offer.

“Pulled you in too, huh?” I said over to Steve, ignoring Paul now, and Steve flashed a smile as I headed over.

“Need the cash.”

“You always need the cash,” I mumbled, then seeing his latest artwork, I quickly took the grinder he held off him. “Christ, you’re not supposed to grind into the metal, Ste,” I said quietly, flicking a look at my old man. He was in deep conversation with one of his mechs, the chatter and clatter of work tools and compressors already in full swing. I’d been stripping down cars and re-spraying since before I could peel off a nappy and go feral in the bushes. Steve had come into this a little later, late teens, and sometimes it showed. Kicking the grinder into life, I put my back to my old man and gave Steve a quick re-go over what my old man would expect him to know by now. My old man didn’t mind cock-ups on cars he’d buy to re-build, but when it came to clients’ cars, stripping paint down, then scoring into metal would come with a serious ball-busting bollocking.

“Jack, metal. For godssake.”

I turned off the grinder as my old man came over, running his hand over Steve’s touch so silver metal ran under his fingers, and I got a hard glare.

“I taught you better than that. Get your head out of bed and keep it on the shop floor.” Easing off the paintwork, he softened his look and I dodged the ruffle I got to my hair. Steve had the grinder handed back once my old man moved off, and I was left wincing at the—“Keep an eye on him, yeah, Ste?”

“Thanks.” Steve was grinning as he watched my old man drift over to Paul. “I’d mean that, but I don’t think you actually meant to step in and take that bollocking then.”

“Fuck you.” I mumbled, then hit his stomach as I passed. “Speaking of which.” I stopped by his shoulder and made damn sure my old man wasn’t looking over. “What the hell are you playing at with Cutter?”

Steve half-looked at me.

“Backing out of the job tonight, you put me right in the shi—”

“Jack, Carole...” Steve looked down at the grinder. “With the second nipper on the way—”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re getting a boring bastard.”

Steve looked away, and watching him for a moment, I gave a hard sigh. “Okay, I’ll sort it. Rowan can get off his ass for a chance. Pain in the ass that he is: you’re a damn sight faster on your feet.”

He frowned as he flicked a look over. “Listen, you get into trouble tonight, my back door’s open.”

I choked a laugh and Steve instantly held a warning finger up. “That’s naff-all to do with any reference to my ass—”

“Never said a word, mate.”

“Good, because—”

“You brought in back passage escape routes.”

“Doors,” choked Steve. “I said door, and it’s open.”

“That back one?”

“Yeah—” Steve stopped himself and gave up. My raised brow didn’t help as he groaned. Throwing him a wink, I left him to it and made my way over to my old man and Paul. “You two want a coffee?”

“You know how to make a coffee?” said Paul.

“He knows how to skive,” said my old man.

I tried a scowl, one that usually had most blokes scurrying back into the shadows, but it didn’t phase my old man, and he just gave me a smile back, with Paul adding a smirk to it now my old man was by him. Brave of the fuck.

“Somebody made me walk this morning without having one,” I mumbled. “And considering you’re not paying my ass for this, the least you could do is let me have a coffee before I start. Now, do you want one or not?”

“Yeah,” said my old man, trying not to smile and chase away that skive look in his eyes. “Do the coffee rounds with the mechs—”

“That wasn’t an open invitation to water the wildlife.”

“—because even though we pay their wages, you look after the people who keep bringing money back into your pocket. Clear? Then you get your skinny ass over to the paint shop and set-up ready for the re-spray. Make sure the shop’s dust free. The paints for mixing are set out under the main shelf. Guide Ste through the mixing process, then watch him with the re-spray. He fucks up, it’s the supervisor’s fault.”

“You’ve got no other monkey-wrench free to do that? The ones you actually pay to supervise?”

“Awww, first early morning in over a week, and it’s getting to you, son. If you need to go sit down in the pink princess chair, I can get Steve to go get an extra cushion, just especially for your tender, workless ass cheeks. Maybe I can even get a few of my mechanics to kneel and let you tread on them to get to it. Wouldn’t want you breaking a sweat as you sit down, now would we?”

I didn’t care much for the chuckle that came from Paul, I swear even Steve’s was in there somewhere too. My answer would have come in the form of flipping my old man the finger, but I didn’t. Ever. Instead, I opted for moping off towards the backroom to put the kettle on. Christ, fucking garage life. There had to be something better in life than this greased-up monkey shit.

“Jack.”

I stopped, half-in, half-out of the back room. My old lady was over by the sink, washing up the mugs left over from clocking-in time, and she smiled.

“Hey there, love.” My old lady waved me over to the sink. “I’m in doing the accounts this morning and wanted a tea. Typical there wouldn’t be any mugs washed up after this morning. Come dry these up for me.”

I didn’t move for a minute.

“Jack.”

Grabbing a tea towel off the clothes horse by the door, I went over and started on the rows of cups. My old man’s was an easy spot, some collectable from a place called Chase Water that he’d visited a few years back. They had a railway station, with steam engines and gift shop to boot. Didn’t matter what form an engine came in, my old man loved them all. It showed with the picture of the huge steam train on the front of his mug.

“I’m gonna have to get you upstairs to look at working the accounts,” said my old lady, and a long strand of hair slipped free from a tight plait, showing off her full Italian beauty and class. Always in a suit, smart jacket, tailored around her body so well she always turned heads, which in a garage environment seemed to suit her well. She loved all the attention she got from mechs and clients. But that strand of hair that had fallen out of place, it scratched at something inside, and I found I’d swept it away from her face and back behind her ear before I’d registered the movement. Just shifting perfection back into place, hating how it was disturbed.

Jumping a little, she smiled over. “You okay, love?”

“Yeah.” I finished drying the last cup. Steve’s. Christ, he’d earned his place here if my old man had let him bring his own cup in. Good on you, mate. I was still on plastic disposable ones. Not that I minded. Meant no one else had touched them, shared the love and—“I’m on coffee rounds,” I mumbled. “You want one?”

“Tea, please,” she said, nodding. “I’ll be in the office. Can you bring it up?”

She was drying her hands, and I watched how the towel slipped between each slender finger cleaning this way, that.

In the distance, the click of a hazard switch came.

I looked towards the door, frowning. “Sure. Upstairs, right?”

“Thanks, luv.” My old lady grabbed her black carry case and headed on out. Ten minutes later, I was handing out coffee on a tray, Steve only groaning when I bypassed his open hands and gave him nothing but the finger. “Get your own, lazy fucker.”

“Tosser,” he said, grinning back. “You know I spat in your plastic cups?”

My finger fell and Steve just chuckled. “Joke, mate. But worth it seeing that look.”

“Might fuck your Carole tonight just for a change,” I said coldly and Steve’s smile fell a touch. “Joke. Mate.” I winked. “Maybe. She looks damn good pregnant. I haven’t slag tagged her yet, have I? Wonder if she’d say no, what with you saying you keep that door open of yours. I mean, is that comment from you, or her? I’ve noticed how close she likes to get to me even when you’re around.”

Steve went to say something, bite back, but thought better of it. Damn smart. Real damn fucking smart.

“Jack.” My old man pulled a look over from under the hood of a Ford. “Steve’s already stripped half of the Beetle, what the hell are you doing?”

Giving a last look at Steve, I held up a mug of tea for my old man to inspect.

“Her upstairs?” said my old man, grinning. “Then make it quick. And don’t let her drag you into doing the accounts, not when there’s work down here to be done.”

Nodding over, I headed for the stairs, meaning to take a sip from my own cup on my travels. I stopped before it touched my lips, glancing down at the steaming liquid in the brown cup. Thoughts of Steve.... Tipping the coffee in a plant pot, the cup went in the reception bin before I took the stairs.

“Here you go,” I said to my old lady, letting the main office door close behind me, then taking a coaster from off the shelf. I got a glance, a smile, as I put the mug down.

“Are you out tonight, honey?” she said just as I turned away.

“Yeah.”

“Steve’s?”

My hands went in my back pockets. “Yeah. Carole’s due soon so he’s not up for wandering too far from home.” Boring fuck.

“Be good to have a baby around again.” My old lady eased back and took a sip of tea. “Your dad’s trying to find him as much work as possible.”

“Yeah.” I dropped my smile to the floor. “I know,” I added before heading for the door again.

“Just pass over the Linderson account, love.” My old lady picked up the phone as it rang, and she waved a hand over at the safe. The code for the sodding thing always slipped my mind and I was about to ask when my old lady gave the “5, 6, 3” with her fingers. The file came out and I locked everything back up. Linderson was a known pain in the arse as far as non-payment went. My old man seemed to let him, frustrating the hell out of me and not exactly going down too well with my old lady. She kept things oiled and moving, but my old man had a habit of forgetting collecting on certain jobs when it came to families who couldn’t afford it.

The phone call had been dealt with by the time I let the file fall on the desk and my old lady smiled up. “Thanks, luv.” She’d picked up the mail and was running the thin blade of the letter opener. It caught the light, blinding me for a moment, and breathing became a little heavy seeing it was a new letter opener, the blade being used for the first time.

My old lady glanced up. “You alright?”

In the distance, the click of a hazard switch went
, but it was lost to the blade, how it sliced with just the lightest of sound across the paper, cutting it so finely.

Giving a slight frown, my old lady stopped slicing the letter open, put the mail to one side, then—

Again the hazard switch flicked in the distance. Once, twice. Fucking switch...

—black eyes were on mine, and then she started to dig the blade into the softness of her wrist, just away from the main artery. A drop of blood topped the point, then the blade was pulled slowly across the skin, and the line of blood followed playfully in its path. There was no pain in her black eyes, just a kind of release. And smile. As blood dripped onto the table. All she did was smile up at me.

“Everything okay, honey?”

I blinked at her, then blinked at the knife as it cut a second path alongside the other on such delicate and smooth skin.

Two more clicks of a hazard switch went in the distance and for a moment, just a moment, I glanced back towards the door. Fucking switch. Sounded like it was just outside.
The touch of fingers against my cheek pulled me back, and I blinked again, not understanding how or when my old lady had moved. Features were hazy, some time warp effect that made her eyes stand out more. Her other hand came into play on my cheek, and I jerked back feeling wetness left behind. Blood lined her fingers, ran nice and orderly into her white sleeve, soaking it up. Shivering, I went to lift a hand, brush the blood off my cheek, touch, but her hands slipped into mine, slippery fingers interlocking.

“It’s good, Jack,” she said quietly, “Feel it... S’good.”

I glanced down, at her hand in mine, how the two lines of blood had changed their mind about hiding in the whiteness of her shirt and now opted for shaping the line where hands met.

“St-st-stop,” I mumbled. “Tuh-touchin’—”

A kiss brushed my cheek. “Oh, love, don’t be silly.” Her perfume had always brought with it thoughts of wild heather, purple flowers that ran for miles over a common. Now blood seemed to run for miles, slippery under touch, under—“Tuh-tuh-touchin muh-me.”

“Shush, shush-shush, baby.” A cheek rested against mine, so gentle, but the hold on my hands stopped me from wiping the blood off me, off my hands.

“Jack. Boys...” I could feel her smile. “Real boys get dirty, don’t—”

Four clicks went in quick succession, but I couldn’t look towards the door.

“What do they do, Jack? What do boys d—”