Page 18 of Expressionate
I pull up to a windowless, concrete building with big, bold letters mounted over the top of the garage doors displaying ‘Keith’s Garage’. The two sliding garage doors to the side are left open as a couple of guys work on a shitty Buick and a red truck with no bed. Keith pops out from under the Buick and spots me as I turn into the parking lot. He ambles out of the garage and over to the entryway of the office, wiping his hands on a rag he pulls from his back pocket. Keith waits for me to get out and unload the tire before greetingme.
"You fuck her yet?" he asks, knowing full well who I had been with. The motherfucker wouldn't give me a deal on the fucking tire until I told him who it wasfor.
I scowl and drop the flat tire next to the garage's open door. "None of your fucking business," Isnap.
"Hey, hey, hey!" he says, holding up his hands. They're still dirty despite his attempt to wipe them off. He'll probably have dirt and grease under his nails until the day he dies. "I got you a damn tire, why can't I get any information on this bitch you're sniffingaround."
"I paid you for the damn tire, asshole," I say. "And I'd watch your fucking tongue when you talk about women. If I don't fuck you up for that, you know your old ladywill."
He scratches his bristled chin. "Yeah, you may be right about that. Abigail don't like me cursinganyways."
"Does she make you hand over your balls when you walk through the door, too?" Isnort.
He scowls and slaps me with his dirty rag. "Good thing you didn't wear your pretty boy clothes," he says. "Now it's time for phase two of yourpayment."
I groan. "It was just a fuckingtire."
"And I gave you a damn good deal on it for this reason. I'm shorthanded today and I have a Ford Courier that needs a new set of breaks waiting outback."
"Why don't you just pull some guys from your other shop?" I ask, following him as he turns and heads back into thegarage.
"They're shorthanded too. Had a couple of guys get picked up for drug possession. They ain't coming to work for me for a while." He grunts as he bends over and hefts the tire under one arm, carrying it through the garage to the back. He drops it by a pile of other rubber scraps before leading me outback.
"You gonna let 'em come back to work after they get out?" I ask. It wouldn't surprise me if he did. They'll have to eat anyway, and drug dealers and druggies are a dime a dozen on this side of the tracks. It's not like he'll have a line of applicants wanting to work in this shop. The newer shop is much nicer. Settled between a breakfast buffet and grocery store near Tega Kay, it is prime real estate. Safe for customers and staffalike.
This shop is little more than a hovel, but when the opportunity to move everything to the new shop came, Keith hadn't been able to part with this shithole. It might have also had something to do with being a good guy under all the grease; half his staff would have had to find new employment. Many of the guys walked to work, and if Keith had picked up everything and moved to Tega Kay, they wouldn't have been able to get to work on time without waking up before the asscrack ofdawn.
I stop outside the garage, staring at the piles of scrap metal behind the building. Keith gestures me toward the Ford he had been talking about. "Goddamn, man," I swear, "that clunker is an antique. Why the fuck are you putting new brakes inthat?"
"It used to be Abigail's old man's. She won't drive anything else. I don't want her and her pregnant ass in a wreck if I can help it," Keith admits. "I'm trying to get her to let me buy her a van or something, but she won't fucking hearit."
I swear again, circling the bucket of chipped paint and scratches. "It's gonna take a shit load of work," Isay.
"You've worked for me before. I just need the brakes today and I'm swamped over there," he says, motioning back to the garage. "I can get the rest done myself tonight. She's off work tomorrow, but she'll need it thisweek."
I nod and move around to the front to pop the hood. I scratch my chin and sigh, glancing back at him. "You got an extra creeper aroundhere?"
"Yeah, give me a sec." Keith disappears back into the garage and quickly returns with a padded board on wheels and a toolbox. I take the creeper and lower myself to lay back on it. He puts the toolbox down and slides it under the Ford with the toe of hisboot.
"You want the brakes completely replaced?" I ask before I reach for a tool. “Or just checkedout?”
"Completely replaced," he says. "I'll be in the garage if you needsomething."
I nod before I realize he can't see me and grunt an acknowledgement before reaching for the toolbox. "See ya later, asshole," I say. He mumbles a curse toward me in response. Just like oldtimes.
* * *
Keith's garagecloses at 7pm. I finish what I manage to get done and move back into the garage where Keith waits with two cold beers and a cigarette in his mouth. I take the beer he offers but turn down the pack of cigs he turns my way. I half expect him to comment on that last bit, but hedoesn't.
Even at night, the southern air is hot as hell. Bugs swarm the flickering streetlight just outside the garage as Keith and I drag stools from the inside to the gravel parking lot. I sense there's something on his mind and I text Love and Ally, both, to let them know I won't be home for a few more hours. Love never replies, but I can see she's read my message. Ally texts me back a bunch of winky faces and some smiley emojis that I don't really understand, but it lets me know she's fine all thesame.
"You gonna spit it out?" I ask, tucking my phone back into my pocket as I angle my beer up to take a sip. Keith nurses his beer quietly, patiently, and I start to get worried. I turn to him. "You’re usually a talkative motherfucker. You okay,man?"
He gives a heavy sigh into the air between us. "No." His voice is shaky, unlikeearlier.
I frown, turning his way. "What'sup?"
"Abigail," he says. "The fucking boys. The fucking shop. It's all too much." I wait as he takes a moment to snort out a frustrated breath. "I'm fucking drowning under the debt, man," heconfesses.
