Dude, please. As if no one had enlightened him before today.
I maintained my hard stare. “I think you heard me just fine.”
“Listen, lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ll be telling your boss about this.” It was an effort not to laugh as Newman’s second chin trembled with rage, and his face turned the same shade as his car. I really hoped he didn’t have a coronary in the parking lot.
I held my palms up. “Hey, if you don’t like hearing the truth, that’s not my problem. But Tom will back me up on this.” I gestured to Newman’s car. “Your left cylinder head is cracked. There’s coolant leaking into the block, and if you keep driving it, you’ll destroy the engine.”
He froze and blinked a few times. “Thecylinderhead?”
“Yes, the cylinder head. What did you think I was talking about?”
“I just thought you meant…” Newman cleared his throat and shook his head. “Never mind.”
“Here are your options. You can leave the Chevelle here and I’ll get onto it next week, or you can take it around the corner to Sean’s garage. Of course, he’ll charge you twice the price for half as good a job. It’s your call.” I focused on picking grease from under my short-trimmed nails while he decided.
There wouldn’t be any negotiation. We were always busy because Tom’s shop was the best in town for classic cars.
“I guess I’ll leave my keys with you, then.”
“Hey, kiddo.” Tom’s voice boomed across the garage.
“Hey, old man.”
I grinned as my bearded and tatted-up boss approached with a bunch of red roses in one hand and a grease-stained paper bag in the other. What would his badass biker pals think of the kind-hearted man he’d become since giving up the MC life?
“Aww, you brought me flowers?”
He gave me a knowing smile. “Shelley’s been putting up with my shit for twelve years to the day. I’d say she deserves them. This is for you though.” He passed me the paper bag. “Got your favorite. Burger and fries from Marty’s.”
“Thanks, I owe you.” I placed my lunch on the tool cabinet, but even the smell of the best burger in town did little to spark my appetite.
Tom eyed the recent addition in the parking lot while I packed away a few tools.
“The Chevelle just came in,” I said. “Cracked head. I’ll book it in when I finish up with the Mustang. Owner was a real charmer.”
He picked up on my sarcasm and frowned with a concerned Dad expression that my own never had the care to use. “I keep telling you, you don’t need to put up with that shit. Send them on their way until they learn some respect.”
My lips twitched. “I handled it.”
“I bet you did.” Tom folded inked arms across his burly chest and nodded at my ignored food. “You feeling okay? Half those fries should’ve disappeared already.”
I shrugged, reluctant to pretend everything was peachy because my boss would see straight through me. Not that I wanted to burden him with my problems.
“Are you worried about Justin?” Tom asked. “Has he still not called?”
“Five days and not a word.” I sighed and returned a socket to its case. “But you know what he’s like. Probably avoiding me because he doesn’t want another lecture about getting his shit together.”
Tom grunted. “I think he needs more than a lecture.”
I suspected my boss held back his harsher thoughts as a kindness to me.
“You’re right.” I shifted on my feet. “Still, I can’t shake this feeling that he’s in more trouble than usual. How much longer should I wait before I file a missing person report?”
“When’s his next parole check-in?”
“Friday morning.” Two days from now.
Tom scratched his bearded chin. “I guess if you’re worried about causing a problem with his parole officer, you could hold off until then. He’s screwed if he misses check-in anyway, so you won’t be making things worse for him.”