After finishing up the dishes forty-five minutes later, I briefly consider leaving the Infinity until the morning, but end up heading back downstairs anyway.
The moment I flick on the bright overhead lights in the garage, I hear some noise out back.A metallic clang, like something bumping the lid of the garbage container out there.Maybe I startled something rummaging through the trash, it wouldn’t be the first time.It’s not unheard of for wildlife to venture into town, looking for an easy meal at this time of year.
Grabbing a large wrench from the tool bench—I’m not about to potentially face off with a hungry bear empty-handed—I head toward the regular back exit next to the large bay door.Unlocking it, I ease it open, poking my head out.
At first I don’t see anything.Nothing seems out of place in the back lot where we park vehicles still to be worked on and those waiting for owners to pick them up.In the light escaping from the glass panes at the top of the large rolling door, I spot no bears, or any other creatures for that matter, hanging out by the dumpster.
But when I step outside, letting the door fall shut behind me, I can hear the sound of something scraping the gravel surface to my left.Swinging my head around, I just catch a glimpse of a red sneaker disappearing under the frame of the Jeep Patriot Tim Saunders dropped off for an oil change and fluid top up earlier this afternoon.
I slip my hand in my pocket to pull out my cell phone and turn on its flashlight as I duck down, shining it under the vehicle.
“Get your ass out from under there,” I bark at the wide-eyed teenager looking back at me.“Trust me, kid, you don’t want my fucking help.”
Wisely, the boy crawls out and scrambles to his feet.It takes me only a second to realize who it is.
Well, shit.
Then I quickly scan the Jeep, noticing a hack saw as well as a familiar part lying on the ground beside the vehicle.
“Really, kid?Surely you can find better things to do than pulling catalytic converters from vehicles a stone’s throw away from the sheriff’s station.”
“I wasn’t…I didn’t…” the punk stammers before snapping his mouth shut.
He realizes there is no denying with the evidence basically lying at his feet.I can see his eyes dart left and right, looking for the fastest escape route.
“I’m thinking your mom won’t be too pleased when I call it in.”
His mother being the sheriff’s office most recent addition, Tessa Androtti.I recognize her boy from a cookout at Bess and Hugo’s place, at the end of the summer, they were at.
“Please don’t,” the kid pleads, and in that moment I see the vulnerable boy instead of the criminal teenager.
Fuck.Those big puppy dog eyes are getting to me, making me feel like a goddamn monster for even considering turning him in.
“How many?”I snap at him.
“What do you mean?”he returns, looking confused.
“Catalytic converters.How many did you drop?”
He indicates a white Ford F-150 a few spots down.
“That one too,” he admits.
Dammit.It’ll take up valuable time to install each of those again, adding to an already full workload for tomorrow.
“Do you know how much work it’s gonna be to fix those?”
It’s more of a rhetorical question, I don’t actually expect an answer, but the kid gives me one anyway.
“With the right tools, probably a couple of hours each.”
I regard him with a lifted eyebrow.“And you would know what the right tools are?”
This time he shrugs.“It’s not that hard.”
There’s something about his casual arrogance that reminds me of myself, thirty years ago.I decide to call his bluff.
“Well, in that case, I want your ass back here tomorrow morning at eight on the dot, and you can put your money where your mouth is.”
