Tex (Burnout) (5 page)

“It’ll become a big deal if we don’t-”

“Forget it,” Kessler insisted. “I’m not signing off on it. Burton doesn’t want any big repairs.” He crumpled the form and tossed it onto her desk.

Abby swept it into the trash can after he walked away. She shook her own head at his trailing form. Kessler clearly had no interest in managing a hotel. She wasn’t certain, though, that Burton wasn’t interested in maintaining his multi-million dollar property.

Resolving to take up the state of affairs of the Custer with the owner himself at her next opportunity, she went back to surfing the web. She found a promising lead and picked up her cell phone. A groggy voice answered the phone on the other end. Abby frowned at the clock on the wall. Who slept at one o’clock in the afternoon?

“ ‘Lo?” the voice on the other end rasped.

“Hi,” said Abby politely. “I’m calling about your ad online.” The caller perked up and Abby thought she may have found a winner.

She woke up late, for her, on Saturday at around 9 am, showered and threw on some jeans and an old t-shirt. She counted through the 4,500 dollars she’d gotten when she cashed the check for the panhead, stuffed it in an envelope, and put it in her purse. The she pulled out her Smith and Wesson Small Frame .38 loaded with .357 rounds and double checked the safety. She slung her purse onto her shoulder and headed out to the cab that had just pulled up on the curb.

It was a bright sunny day, if still a little chilly, and Abby thought that boded well. The cab turned into Burnout and she paid and tipped the driver appropriately and swung out of the back seat. The cab had barely left the turnaround before Shooter Sullivan came up next to her.

“Well, hey there, Vegas,” he said.

She turned to him and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Hey!”

He eyed the cab. “Car trouble?”

“No. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your place,” said Abby. Shooter looked puzzled. “I talked to this guy over the phone, but I don’t know him, and I’d rather meet up on neutral ground. I guess I should have asked before I told him to come here. But I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“What-” he began to say, but then he was drowned out by the loud sound of a motor rumbling toward them. They both turned to see a 1969 Chevy Camaro, or what used to be a 1969 Chevy Camaro, swinging into the turnaround. It was impossibly loud and Abby wasn’t sure it boded well that the owner hadn’t mentioned that it needed muffler work, too. She hoped the car would be the right fit.

It stopped in front of them and the door opened. A young kid, about 18 maybe 19, wearing cowboys boots and a pair of ripped jeans got out. He grinned when he saw Abby. Abby smiled back.

“Well, I guess you’re Abby, then,” the kid drawled.

“You must be Dave.”

“I sure am.” Then he scowled at Shooter. “Bring your boyfriend?”

“Nah,” Abby assured him. “He owns the place. Why don’t you pop the hood and let’s take a look?”

The kid hesitated then headed back to the car and released the hood latch. Abby lifted it up and rested it on the metal arm.

Yikes. It was a mess. Carburetor appeared to be jury rigged and the distributor cap had a small crack in it. It was a wonder the kid managed to put 111,000 miles on it because it looked like it had never had a tune up.

The kid came up beside her. “I’m asking 5,000,” he said.

Abby hid her smirk. “Uh huh. Except I’m only offering 2,500,” she replied, opening up negotiations. Everyone heard the crunch of gravel and looked over as Tex strode up, stopping beside his boss.

“Hi!” Abby said to him, and couldn’t help but smile.

“Vegas,” Tex said, eyeing the car.

The kid looked at Shooter and then back at Abby. “This here’s a classic car,” he told her.

Abby stood up and looked at him. “This here is a classic car that needs, for starters, a new clutch assembly, a new air intake system, a new muffler, which you didn’t mention over the phone, and I know you think I didn’t hear that grinding when you hit the brakes, but I sure as shit did and that means it needs new discs, too. And that’s just what I’ve been able to suss out in the 30 seconds you’ve been here. So, I’m offering 2,500.”

The kid stared at Abby and scratched his head. She leaned forward. “This is the part where you make me a counter offer,” she stage-whispered.

His eyebrows knitted together. “4,000.”

Abby tried very hard not to roll her eyes. “3,000.”

“3,800,” the kid snapped.

Shooter groaned, but Abby didn’t look at him. “3200. Cash. Right now,” she said.

At that the kid perked up considerably. “Yeah, okay, deal!” Abby took out the cash that she had bundled into stacks of a thousand each and handed him three of them. He pulled the title and the keys out of his pocket and handed them over.

Then he grinned at Abby. “I could use a ride home,” he said to her.

Tex answered from behind her. “Then take your 3,200 dollars in cash and get yourself a cab.”

The kid startled for a moment and nodded, tucking the stacks into his pants and pulling his shirt down over it. He took off for the sidewalk out front.

“A fool and his money are soon parted,” Tex said in a gravel tone.

Abby saw him looking right at her. “This is a classic car!” she insisted.

Shooter frowned. “Vegas, this is a classic piece of shit. And you overpaid by at least three hundred dollars.”

She laughed. “Some women waste their money on manicures. I really want this car. You lack vision, Sir. And I’m sorry for you.”

Shooter and Tex exchanged a look as Abby dug a list out of her purse and handed it to Shooter. “Do you think you could order me the parts on that list? That’ll get me started,” she asked, then took out the remaining thousand dollar stack and the leftover three hundred. “This should cover it.”

Shooter examined the list and the money in his hand. “Yeah, sure, Vegas. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks!” she said looking down at the keys. Attached was a skull with red paint that looked like blood on it. “Ugh.” She took it off the chain and handed it to Tex. “Here.”

She lowered the hood and headed to the driver’s side. She pushed in the clutch, noting it definitely needed a new one, at the kid hadn’t lied about that. She cranked the engine and eight cylinders of Detroit steel roared to life, extra loudly since the muffler was shot. She made a face at the faint smell of gas and noted that she needed a new fuel system, too. She waved goodbye to Tex and Shooter and rolled her version of a mani-pedi toward her condo.

CHAPTER FOUR

Tex watched Vegas take her piece of classic shit home and shook his head at the skull he was holding in his hands. Shooter grinned. “We just made 1,300 dollars without actually doing anything,” he laughed. Then he glanced down at the list. “Does she know what to with all this?”

Tex grinned. “I sure hope not.”

Shooter shook his head. “I don’t think she’s one of yours, Tex. She put that kid down
hard
. I’d say she doesn’t have a submissive bone in her body.”

Tex still smiled. “You’d be surprised.”

Shooter raised his eyebrows. “How can you tell?”

Tex shrugged. “I can’t, but just because she wouldn’t let a pissant take advantage of her doesn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t submit to the right man. If he asked her to.” Tex pocketed the skull and headed back toward the garage, taking a final note of the oil stain on the gravel. He shook his head, smiling. “Let me know when those parts come in,” he called over his shoulder. “Before you call
her.
”

Three days later, on Wednesday, Tex pulled his Hummer up outside Abby’s condo at a little after 6 pm. He picked up one of the boxes and headed to her garage, the door of which was one-third of the way up. He heard the faint sounds of Tom Petty.

“Vegas?” He ducked down and entered the garage.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, babe. Got a special delivery,” he replied. Then he kicked himself for sounding like every porno movie ever made. But Abby didn’t seem to notice. It gave him pause. Slick would have laughed. Maybe Abby was too young for him. She was just out of college and couldn’t be older than 23 or 24. Slick wasn’t much older than that, but still. For all of Abby’s professional suits, she was still just a young woman.

“Oh, thanks!” she said, taking the box from him. “You didn’t have to do this. I could have come by the garage.”

He smiled at her. “Delivery’s free.” He looked around the garage. “Whoa,” he said, as he looked off to his left and saw that Abby had laid out a tarp and had parts lined up in rows. He went over to investigate.

“Be careful,” she warned, setting the box down on the concrete in the corner. “I have a system.”

Tex eyed the tarp carefully. It wasn’t laid out in a typical 3-D pattern. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’m...not seeing it.”

She laughed and came up beside him. “It’s alphabetical.”

He stared at it again. “Oh, shit, okay. Now I’ve got it. But, Vegas, no one does it that way.”

“I do!” she insisted. “That’s just how my brain works.”

He chuckled. “You got all this done in just a few days?” he asked, impressed. “By yourself?” He was really hoping she hadn’t been in town long enough to meet anyone.

“Yeah. I work on it in the evenings. It’s kind of nice to just shut my brain off and work with my hands.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, I didn’t mean that you were...stupid...or anything. I’m sorry. I just meant-”

He laughed. “It’s okay. I didn’t take it that way.”

“I just meant that I know this stuff so well, I can do it without having to focus too much. Especially when it’s just taking apart the engine.”

“What are you working on right now?”

“Fuel line.”

“Want some help?”

She glanced at him. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean you do this all day. Don’t you want to go home and relax?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I mostly work on bikes at the shop while Hawk does the cars and trucks. It’ll be a nice change of pace.”

“Yeah, great,” she said smiling and Tex was pretty sure he’d do just about anything to keep that smile. She helped get the rest of the boxes out of the Hummer and then they set to work removing the fuel line. She was methodical and efficient, if not a little slow. But then Tex figured he was always used to working on a deadline and if you were going to this thing as a hobby you might as well take the time to enjoy it as much as she obviously did.

“So, where’d you learn to work on cars?” he asked, watching her set down the connecter in what he figured was the “F” column.

“My dad was the head mechanic for the fleet of cars and limos the Coral Canyon uses. When I was young I used to go to work with him after school. When I turned sixteen I officially made it to the payroll for about four years. Then I was in college and I turned 21. Casino Hosts make a lot more money than mechanics and I had books and tuition to pay for, so I did that for the last two years.”

Tex nodded. “What exactly is a Casino Host?”

She picked up a socket wrench and changed the head. “Well, it’s like a private concierge. A whale, sorry, a big spender, comes into town and he wants concert tickets, a 7 o’clock tee time at Aliante, his wife needs a spa day. I make all that happen for a fee plus a tip when they leave. I’m like their personal assistant slash entertainment director for their stay.”

“Have you ever done anything besides work at a hotel?” he asked.

Abby shook her head. “Nope. I’ve only ever worked at the Canyon. I love it. It’s like home to me, but my dad’s gone now, and things are just...different. I thought I’d check out life away from the Strip.”

They had finished up taking the fuel line apart and she invited him in to wash his hands. Tex looked around the empty apartment. “You unpacked fast,” he observed.

“I didn’t have much to unpack.”

He noted the different dispensers of soap at the kitchen sink. Antibacterial Dial and some kind of Orange Blossom stuff. “Vegas, do you have anything-”

She reached under the sink and handed him a Lava Bar. “Ah, thanks, babe.” When he put it back he noticed her cleaning supplies were in neat little rows. She caught him looking. “Control freak, huh?” he asked her.