Where the hell could she have gone?
Eleven
Ryder
I needed to stop by the shop to change the oil on my bike. Sunday was the best day to work on it because Ortega’s Autos was closed and the regular guys were off riding or getting drunk or whatever the hell the other mechanics did on weekends.
Pulling up the driveway, I was relieved that no one was here. I’d just be able to get in, get the work done, and get back home in time for Cops.
I unlocked the thick padlock and dragged the heavy metal gate open. Ortega’s Autos did auto repair on all kinds of cars, but we specialized in American makes. This wasn’t the place to take your Porsche or Mercedes. It was where you went when your Chevy Cavalier needed a tune up and it was off warranty. Oh sure, we got the occasional T-bird or Camaro, but for the most part, this wasn’t the place to bring your muscle car or your high-end auto. Padre wanted to fly under the radar, and so Ortega’s was the kind of nondescript auto shop you’d see on street corners in every town.
My nose was hit with nostalgia as I walked in. The combination of motor oil, tire rubber, and electronic equipment reminded me of when I first started working here. I didn’t know a thing about cars, let alone bikes. This was the only job I’d ever had and I worked my way up from being an assistant mechanic to being the shop supervisor. The only one I answered to was Padre.
Twenty minutes later, I was finishing up my oil change when I heard Padre’s bike rumble up. I would be glad to talk to him, since we hadn’t really seen each other in awhile. He’d been acting so weird I figured maybe we could clear the air.
“Ryder,” he said, as he came through the side door. “I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”
I’d wanted to talk, too, but there was something in his tone that told me this wasn’t going to be a social conversation.
“Sure, I’ll be right in.” I wiped my hands off on a shop towel and put away the tools and then went over to the small office located at the back of the shop floor.
The door was closed so I knocked on the frosted window.
“Yeah,” he said through the door.
I opened the door and went in. Figuring we were alone, I left the door open as I came inside.
“Close the door, Ryder.”
Okay…not really sure why he wanted it closed, but I complied and then sat down on the bare metal folding chair opposite his desk.
The office looked like every shop owner’s office. A metal file cabinet was stuffed in the corner, with auto supplies in boxes everywhere. Our license was in a cheap frame and hanging crookedly on the wall. Padre’s desk was littered with invoices, bills, about a million pens, and a couple of half-drunk cups of coffee.
His tanned face had deepset lines and his brown eyes were starting to sink back in his face from age. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was thick and unruly, and broad, calloused hands from a lifetime of manual labor. He was frowning and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to ask?” He looked at me with those black eyes and there was no warmth or compassion coming from them at all.
I had no idea what he was talking about or why he was upset, but it was pretty clear he was. “I don’t know what you mean, Padre.”
“You don’t?” he reached for a half empty bottle of water on his desk. “You don’t have any idea why I would call you in here?” He took a swig and then licked his lips. “That’s how you’re going to play it?”
I wasn’t “playing” anything, and if any other person on the planet talked to me like this I would already be up in his face. But this was Padre. “What’s wrong, Padre?”
“What’s WRONG, Ryder is that you obviously thought I don’t know what’s going on around here and that you could get away with shit.”
I shook my head, as I was at a total loss. “What are you talking about?”
“The parts? The missing parts that you’re stealing from me. That’s what I’m talking about.”
I frowned and said, “Whoa! Padre! I’m not stealing anything. There are parts missing?” I was totally confused. I hadn’t noticed anything missing at all. I had zero knowledge of any of this. “What’s missing?”
Padre shook his head as if he didn’t believe me. “I’m not going to tell you what I know because then you’ll know what you got away with and what you didn’t. I just wanted to warn you that I know what you’re fucking doing and if it happens again you are going to be goddamn sorry. You remember what happened to Stryker.”
Stryker was a patch who’d been taking cash under the table for work he did for us and when Padre found out, he beat him so badly that the guy ended up in a wheelchair.
“Look, Padre. You know I wouldn’t steal from you. You know me. If there are parts missing, let me—”
“I don’t know shit, Ryder. You can’t trust anyone a hundred percent. No one. The only reason I’m talkin’ to you about this instead of kicking your ass first is because of our history. But that’s done and now I’m warning you. Any more parts go missing around here and it’s on you.”
