“As the leader, even if it’s not my fault, it’s my responsibility. Let me do the job you hired me for.”
Rebel’s eyelashes flutter and, though her mouth opens, no sound comes out of it.
I leave my boss to collect herself and make eye contact with Jimmy. Jutting my finger out to the side of the bay with the ramp, I nod.
The older man springs into action. “Just tell me what to do. I’ll get everything done.”
“I’ll call the other mechanics. They should be here too,” Rebel grumbles. The knot between her eyebrows still hasn’t gone away. “Jimmy, you and I will have a conversation later.”
Jimmy gulps. “Yes, ma’am.”
While Rebel stomps out of the autoshop to make the call, I take stock of the large, open space. Exposed brick walls remindme of the trendy cafes back in the city. Except these walls don’t smell like cinnamon and expresso.
There’s an overwhelming amount of dust and grease stains everywhere. Bottles of engine oil, car lubricants and brake fluid crowd unorganized half-tilted shelves. Empty oil barrels that have seen better days sit in the wide, open spaces where cars should be. A quick glance above shows several missing ceiling tiles and at least two lights that have no bulbs.
“Jimmy, who owned this place before Rebel inherited it?” I ask, picking up one of the oil barrels.
Jimmy hustles over and takes the barrel from me. His wiry fingers grip the mouth as he turns it in a circle. “Stewart Kinsey. But he’s in the slammer right now.”
My eyes widen. “The previous owner’s in jail?”
“Yeah.” Jimmy grunts as he spins the barrel toward the back door. “It was a big deal around town. When people found out the Kinseys were stealing from—whoa!”
His juicy gossip meets an abrupt end when he slips and slides across the floor. The oil barrel slams to the ground as the old man windmills both hands to catch his balance.
“Jimmy!” I scream, running over to help him.
On my way, I step into an oil spill of my own. My work boots lose traction and gravity pulls me forward, moving me without my consent.
Jimmy falls backward, landing hard on his rear-end while I manage a much safer, but just as unsightly stop by bending forward and balancing on my hands.
Rebel’s boots thud as she streaks into the shop. “Riley! Jimmy! Are you okay?”
Jimmy groans, a perfect communication of his not-okayness.
I push up to my full height, my heart racing. “These floors are a safety hazard! Our lead technician would have a fit if we ever left the repair bay?—”
I bite my bottom lip to seal my rant. This isn’t an airplane repair station and, technically, it’s not my job to complain about the state of things. I’m here to turn it around.
“I’m so sorry,” Rebel says, carefully skirting the oil patches on the floor as she approaches me. “I’ve been so busy with work at The Pink Garage that I haven’t been able to oversee Stewart’s old shop.”
Jimmy waddles past us, a hand on his back. His wiry face is creased in a grimace. “I’m gonna take a breather.”
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Rebel asks, worrying her bottom lip.
Jimmy shakes his head. “Some rubbing alcohol and a smoke will fix me right up.”
While the old mechanic makes his exit, I brush away the sweat from my forehead. “When are the other mechanics getting here? This place needs more work than I imagined.”
Rebel’s lips tighten.
“What’s wrong?”
“Unfortunately, they won’t be coming in.”
I check my watch. “It’s working hours. On a weekday.”
“One said they took their mom to the hospital. And the other is at a job interview.”
