Hell, nobody'd give this dump a second look, what's to make me think they'd have any jobs?
Half the damn bulbs were busted. The rest flickered around a faded sign that read, "Fast Eddie's Fantastic Autos."
Still, maybe they'll toss me a buck so's I can hit that burger joint down the highway. Beats digging in the dumpster behind the all-night diner again.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed up the gravel drive. It must have been eight, nine o'clock in the morning, but I'd hocked my watch months ago. If I don't have any place to be, it makes no difference when I get there.
Lights swung on lines strung between lamp poles surrounding the parking lot. Jeeze, guy's got more junkers than a salvage yard. Yeah, like I'll score a handout here...
The guy coming at me wore a plaid sport coat over a blue, western style shirt. He had one of those string ties. His slick, jet-black hair stood up in a shaggy crew cut. The sunglasses were way too big for his skinny face. Blackened sores festered on one of his cheeks.
"Looking to buy a car? We have hundreds to choose from." He swept his hand across the lot. "One of these gems just might have your name on it."
Right, like I had any dough. I rubbed my unshaven chin and stared down at my worn shoes. Sure could use a drink...
I looked up. The guy smiled. He motioned to the rusted trailer in the corner of the lot. "How's 'bout a cup of joe?"
The aroma of coffee percolated from the dented pot on the hot plate. He picked up a mug, blew out the dust, then poured a cup. "You use cream and sugar?"
The guy handed me the cup then sat behind a small metal desk and kicked up his feet. "So, what brings you to Fast Eddie's?" He pointed. "Go on, sit."
The only other chair was a chrome number with a red plastic seat. He must have lifted it from some school cafeteria. I pulled it over. "I...I'm looking for a job."
Yes, dammit, a job. I closed my eyes and rubbed my face. How long had it been, two, three years? "I...I can sweep, clean up, you know, odd jobs..."
He leaned forward, pushing up his sunglasses. The guy gave me the once over then sat back and stuck his feet up on the desk again. "Can you sell cars?"
"What? You're kidding, right?"
The guy pulled a folder out of a drawer, then hesitated before he laid the folder open on his desk. He stabbed at the papers with his finger. "Says here you worked as a mechanic in high school--good references too."
I sat up. "What the...What're you looking at?" I reached for the folder.
He pulled it away, then flipped through the pages. "College boy, huh? Says you had a wife, couple of kids too." He lifted a photo from the folder. "Nice looking family."
"Where'd you get that?" I jumped up, snatching the folder.
"Just your job application, mister. Sit on down. You're doing fine, just fine. Good interview..."
"I didn't fill out any damned application..." I waved the folder in front of me.
He grabbed it back. "Mister, you been filling out this here application for nigh on thirty years--and you come highly recommended." He closed the folder. "It don't pay well, but you get all the coffee you can handle, donuts too."
God, this is insane...The mug in my hand trembled.
He pointed at my hands. "DT's won't last long around here, least they didn't for me. Come on, we have a customer." He stood and walked to the door. "Let me show you the ropes."
I hadn't heard a thing, but I got up and followed. He dropped his sunglasses down on his nose and stepped outside.
"Good morning, friend! Looking to buy a car?"
The sun nearly blinded me. I squinted. A gray haired gentleman in a business suit helped an elderly woman out of one of those European models--Mercedes, I think. It looked new.
The gentleman looked around, shaking his head. "Not exactly certain what I'm looking for, not even sure why I'm here..."
"Frank," Eddie looked at me. "It's Frank, right? Get key number twenty-three from the hook on the wall, would you? Oh, and here, take Mr. McQueeney's mother to the office and make her comfortable." He turned to the man. "Jack, I've been expecting you." Out of the corner of my eye I saw him place his arm around the man's shoulder. "I think we have just the model..."
I helped Mrs. McQueeney into the office. She sat in the cafeteria chair. On one wall, row after row of cup hooks held dozens of keys. I found number twenty-three and went back outside.
Eddie handed the key to the man, pointing to the far corner of the lot. "Light blue with a white top. You'll know her when you see her. Take her for a spin. She'll pretty much sell herself."
In a few moments an engine rumbled to life, then a rusted car came around the corner throwing gravel.
Eddie pointed. "'59 Chevy Impala. Gull wings, 348 V-8. Car like that sure brings back the memories..." He glanced at me and smiled. "This is the fun part. Close your eyes."
I looked at the guy like he was crazy.
I closed my eyes. The roar of the big block V-8 grew louder. There he was, the Mercedes guy, except he was a kid wearing a varsity jacket-red, with leather sleeves. Something playing on the radio--the Platters? He pulled the Chevy up in front of a one-story house on a street filled with one-story houses. He honked. A girl skipped out the door, her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore white socks and saddle shoes. Her red letterman's sweater looked to be three sizes too big. The girl laughed as she ran down the sidewalk to the car...
Eddie pointed out to the road. "They had thirty good years, but they should have caught that sooner." He shook his head.
"They always know the right car, they just don't know that they know. How's those tremors?" He pointed.
I held my hands out in front of me. Solid. Steady. I looked up at Eddie, shaking my head. "How...?"
"Why don't you go check on Mrs. McQueeney?" He motioned toward the trailer.
"Go on, go on." He shooed me away.
Mrs. McQueeney sat quietly, her hands folded on her lap. She looked up and smiled as I entered.
"How are you doing? Can I get you anything?" I looked around the tiny trailer. Magazines cluttered a small table. "Something to read?"
"No, I'm fine, but thank you."
I shrugged and started to leave.
"Maybe...maybe number fourteen?"
She glanced down at her hands. "If it isn't too much of a bother, maybe I could sit in number fourteen for a few minutes?"
Fourteen? The keys. I searched the pegs. "Here it is. Let me help you." I took Mrs. McQueeney by the arm and led her outside.
Fast Eddie winked as we walked past. The car sat up front, between two newer sedans. I unlocked the door and helped Mrs. McQueeney climb in on the passenger side. The car had a musty smell.
"Would you start it for me?" She smiled.
I climbed in on the driver's side and put the key in the ignition.
"1936 Chrysler. Have you ever driven one of these?"
I shook my head, searching the controls. Gearshift on the floor, clutch...
"Pull out the throttle, then push in the starter." She pointed to two buttons on the dash, one above the other.
After a few tries the engine kicked over. I put the car in neutral, set the hand brake, and got out.
Eddie motioned for me to join him. "Fourteen. Excellent choice, Frank. You'll enjoy this." He nodded, then closed his eyes.
Her flowered print dress showed off a slender figure. A white straw hat with a red ribbon around its wide brim perched on her short, curly blonde hair. The peaches and cream complexion didn't need makeup, but her lips showed a hint of color.
The car door opened. A young man slid in on the driver's side. A pinstriped suit hung on his skinny frame, his gray Fedora shoved back on his head. "Sorry, babe. I know your parents are waiting, but I thought Jack might want this. It'll make the trip easier." He handed a stuffed bear to the young boy in the back seat.
"First little Jack, now this one." She patted her tummy. "Daddy's going to question that medical discharge of yours."
He laughed, placing his hand on her stomach. "That torpedo messed up my knee, babe, that's all, just my knee. Look at it this way, I'm getting a head start on all those joes that'll be coming home when this war's over." He leaned over and kissed her.
I opened my eyes. Eddie nodded toward the idling car. "Shipyard worker. Four kids, Jack's the oldest. Heart gave out in '82."
I looked up when I heard the car grind into gear. It drove off the lot. Mrs. McQueeney waved from the passenger's seat.
"What the...?" I pointed at the cloud of blue exhaust.
"Easy there." He put his arm around my shoulder. "She put a down payment of tears on that car back in '42, paid it off through tribulations a hundred times over. All these years, it's just been sitting there, waiting.
"You done good, Frank. Real good." He slapped me on the back. "Wait here."
Eddie went inside. He returned waving a key. "Number thirty-one." He walked behind the trailer. In a moment, a motor kicked over, sputtered, then fired to life. Soon a black 1949 Ford pickup came around the corner and pulled up in front of the trailer.
"Hey, Frank." Eddie waved me over.
I leaned through the window on the passenger's side. It was Eddie, but much younger. He wore blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a white tee shirt. He sported a fresh crew cut. The blackened sores were gone from his face.
"Did I mention?" He glanced down, then looked up at me and chuckled. "No, guess I forgot. Boss says I can retire, soon as I finds me a replacement. Good luck, Frank." He tossed me the plaid sport coat.
"No. Eddie, wait..." I waved the coat at him as he began to pull away.
The truck screeched to a stop. Eddie leaned out the window. "Hey, Frankie, some day when things are slow, give old number seventeen a try. She's a beaut..." He winked. The truck kicked up gravel and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
The guy's nuts. He can't just take off, what do I know about running a car joint? I turned to go close the trailer door. Above, the lights flickered, and then came on around the faded sign over the trailer that read, "Frankie's Fantastic Autos."
© 2006 by Jeff Andrews. All rights reserved.