2019-07-23 - Irons In The Fire

It's nearly closing time, but it doesn't look like there's much business to close today. The lobby is empty, and Zoe's in the garage working on a solo blue BMW. Time for a tire rotation and oil change. Since there's not really anyone around, the radio is pumped up to a loud level and playing some 90's rock. Zoe is singing along to Zombie (by The Cranberries) with her head under the hood and sleeves rolled up to her elbows, coveralls and skin smudged with grease.

The car that rolls up is not Graham's car. Graham's car is cool - a '72 black Malibu, to be precise, very well-loved. This car is also black, but it's nondescript, a boring little sedan with tinted windows and low insurance premiums. But it's Graham that gets out of this uncool machine, swinging the door closed behind him and whistling through his teeth when he makes his way into the office. "Anyone home?" he calls, pitching his voice loud enough to carry over the zombie-ee-ee song. He'll just do what customers shouldn't and pop his head into the garage proper, adding, "Hey, I was just in here robbing the register and thought I'd say hi before I took off."

Zoe has to finish the line of the song first before she can answer. It's necessary. "Nope, no one here at all," she calls out to the recognizable voice. As the door cracks open, she leans back - careful not to smack her head on the hood - and smirks in amusement at Graham. "Good luck with that, because there's nothing but dust in there today." It's a slow, crickets chirping kinda day. "What's up Graham?" Her tone is friendly and familiar in the way of fond, drunken memories and no hard feelings. "You bring me a present?" There's a peek out the window as she tries to see what he rolled up in. Meanwhile, she reaches for a rag to try and wrangle some of the grease off her hands.

"Business is booming, I take it." Graham slouches in the doorway between the office and the garage, glancing back once over his shoulder at the register that has nothing in it, then drumming up one of his better smiles, the sorts that convince people to buy watches that they already know are worthless. "Sure, let's call it a present. That little car out there." He chin-tips to the ugly thing. "Has a bullet buried in the floorboard of the back-seat. Which isn't a big deal?" Ennh? "But I'd kinda like to know if you could get it out for me and maybe patch up the upholstery and what-not. Also, I picked up a nail in the rear passenger tire, so if you could patch that up while you're at it..."

"Waitlist a mile long," Zoe grumbles lowly, casting a frown toward the office. "Hard to drum up business when it's just me right now. Working on it." For a while. So far, still not a pretty picture. "Bullet, huh? What did you wander in this time?" There's no judgment in her tone, just curiosity. She's always been one to live on the edge of trouble. "That ain't your baby," she points out, now that she's had a better chance to get a good look. "You wanna spin it back out to someone else? I mean, I can make it look prettier than it's ever been," she notes, hands on her hips as she squints out the garage window.

"Me? Nothing, I wasn't even there when the bullet thing happened." Graham is very openly lying about that, hence the angelic quality to the smile he attaches to that bald-faced fib. "It's one of Felix's cars. Something something something, he doesn't want his cars full of bullet holes." Followed by a short, cynical laugh at the idea of dressing up this little sedan. "I'm sure you can, sweetheart, but let's just keep it to extracting bullets and changing tires, a'ight?"

"Uh-huh," Zoe's eyes roll. With the greased rag in one hand, she uses the one she has mostly cleaned off to press a button open and pop the garage door open. This way they can actually pull the car inside. "Guess the holes are not great for advertising. May take me a few days to get the new fabric in, but I should have it wrapped up by the end of the week," she decides, after circling around the vehicle in brief assessment. "I guess I'll just save the flames paint job for another time," she deadpans.

He still has the keys, so Graham could pull the car in for her, but he doesn't. Instead, he spins them around the end of his index finger, catches them in his palm, and tosses them toward Zoe in a nice little underhanded arc. "If you actually find the bullet, could I get that back? Otherwise, just - yeah, that." New fabric, wrapped up by the end of the week, he is a-okay with that whole plan. "Is shit really that slow around here?" He's all set to be sympathetic for Zoe's cash-flow situation, leaning back against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and a sad-for-her frown in place.

The keys jingle once they hit Zoe's cradled palms. Caught. "Yeah. I'll make a souvenir necklace out of it for you too," she jests. It doesn't take her more than a minute to turn the car on and pull it into an empty bay. "Fluctuates, but yeah, been pretty dead since dad's been stuck at home. Couldn't get help in time to deal with a flood of foot traffic so people went elsewhere. Getting 'em back one at a time. You have any cars for me to flip, you let me know." Desperate times, desperate measures, cash in pocket. "You been busy?"

Pulling down the collar of his t-shirt a little, pressing his fingertip into the hollow of this throat like he's imagining just where this awesome necklace is going to lay, Graham muses, "Thank you, that will really complete the look I've been going for all this time. Who doesn't look pretty with a bullet-necklace, yanno?" He maintains his earlier sympathy about the lack of business, eyes leaving Zoe and following the car that he's brought her - look what a good friend he is, with the business-bringing! But has he been busy? "Hit or miss. I got a few irons in the fire. But I heard something about some cars in Hoquiam," he makes some chop-chop gestures with his hand, "if you want me to see if a couple of 'em could come your way? Part 'em out, you take a piece, it's easy money." <-- Famous last words.

"Everyone should aspire to such class," Zoe laughs, plucking the keys out of the ignition after bringing the car to a complete stop. "Oh yeah?" Interest stirred, Zoe's eyebrows lift as her hands raise up too in a motion to fix her ponytail. "Send 'em on over," she says, so full of hope. Common sense tells her to say no, but the pile of medical bills tells her to say yes. "Got a few covered bays in the back to keep 'em stashed, and a guy that'll buy parts. So. Sign me the hell up."

"The decision is a few tiers above my pay grade." High enough that he leans his head back to look up at the ceiling, like the decision lives waaaay up there somewhere. "But I'll put a word in." Graham mulls things over for a minute, pushing his tongue against the back of his teeth inside his mouth while he looks back down from the ceiling and toward Zoe, squinting contemplatively. "If you just need a few bucks," is always the start of something that bodes well. "I mean, I can always find work for a friend in need."

"Yeah, yeah," Zoe knows enough to know how that goes. There's a wary nod as she tosses the car keys into the garage lockbox for later retrieval. "Thanks," she adds, sounding appreciative. As Graham goes on, she spins around on her heel and takes a few steps closer. Intrigue! "I could use a few bucks," she confirms, jerking a thumb toward the upstairs apartment. "I've got a damn stack of bills I gotta pay off, pronto."

Pushing off the door-frame right around the time another of those boring little sedans pulls up outside - he thought ahead, someone is picking him up! - Graham says, "A'ight, then. I'll text you later, and we'll see what shakes loose. In the meantime..." He slouches toward the car, peering in through the driver's side window for a second, making a face at whatever he sees there. "Don't forget about my bullet. I'm really looking forward to how purty that necklace is gonna make me feel." Eyelashes a-flutter, fingers a-wiggle, he peels open the passenger side door of the car.

"Sounds good," Zoe lifts her chin a few times in a casual headbob. "Later, Graham. I'll let you know when it's done. Hope you like pink." With a mischievous grin, she waves as he departs and closes up shop behind him. This time, there will be no others to pop in and hypothetically raid the (empty) register.

"I'mma look amazing in pink." And then Graham's getting in the boring black sedan and driving off~.