Mickey hadn’t been out to the storage facility since Pops was killed. It didn’t feel right coming here by himself, and Duncan was understanding enough to keep the conversation to a minimum before dropping Mickey off there.
The Nova was there waiting for him, untouched and sleek as ever.
Standing in front of the open door, Mickey didn’t move for a long time. He was remembering how excited Pops used to get when they came out here and how his face would light up when that door rolled up. Pops loved talking about how important it was to take care of a lady, to make sure you showed her a good time and made her feel pretty.
The conversations seemed silly at the time since Pops was talking about a damn car, but Mickey’s gut felt heavy realizing he’d never have any of them again.
There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to hear his grandfather’s voice one last time waxing the values of a well-loved lady.
You take care of her, and she’ll take care of you.
He tentatively reached out to touch the hood of the car, and he frowned when he realized there was a thin veil of dust. It was barely anything at all, but he was already taking off his jacket and looking for a bucket.
Mickey spent hours washing and detailing the Nova. He scrubbed it down and dried it by hand, waxed every inch, polished all the chrome, and made sure the tires were gleaming. He dusted the inside, cleaning every dial and switch with the utmost care and attention. He even found a bottle of car leather conditioner to treat the upholstery with.
Only when he was done did he finally sit down behind the wheel, looking over his work with a small smile.
Pops would have been proud.
He took the keys out of his pocket and stared at them for several moments. It was a set of two with an acrylic rectangular keychain that read ‘Privacy is a real blessing when you fart in the bathtub.’
It made him smile again, and he cranked up the car.
As the engine roared to life, the radio came on at ear piercing levels. Lipps Inc.’s “Funky Town” was blaring away, and he instinctively smacked at the dash to silence it. After about the third round of the titular hook, the music finally cut off.
Ears ringing, Mickey slumped down in the seat with a haggard sigh.
That empty feeling in his chest was back full force, and it was hard to breathe. He wanted to find Salvatore and rip him into pieces with his bare hands, to take his time and make it hurt.
Wait, who was that walking up now?
Scowling, Mickey saw that it was none other than Roger Lorre.
Great.
Roger was wearing tight jeans and an even tighter t-shirt, and he appeared freshly showered.
Mickey turned off the car and stepped out to cut him off from getting any closer to the car. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I live here, jackass.” Roger snorted. “Remember?”
“Thought you had a job.”
“Already done.” Roger pursed his lips. “You know, it’s kind of alarming how fast that Thirdsies kid can make a bomb. I blame the internet. It’s a terrible influence on today’s youth.”
“So, it’s all set?”
“The party is scheduled, yeah.”
“Good.” Mickey started to walk back to the car, but he noticed Roger was still standing there expectantly. “You can fuck off now.”
“I’m fuckin’ worried about you,” Roger blurted out. “You are a total dick mongrel, but you’re not… you’re not acting right.”
Mickey wasn’t sure what to do with that. “There is nothing to worry about. Now, go.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Fuck off.” Mickey’s pulse was rising, and he was getting angry. He was still trying to figure out what to do with all of his grief, and Roger’s very presence was irritating him.
