“Thanks.” I gestured toward the car. “I should get started on this. Today’s my last day, and I don’t want to get stuck here late.”
I helped Stan get the car off the flatbed and then waved him off. He’d charged the battery enough that I could start the car and drive it onto the lift in my bay. I put the car on the computer and, sure enough, the alternator was shot. Luckily, the local parts store had one in stock, and they delivered.
I took the card out of my pocket and went into the front office to call the owner. A tiny shock went through me when I saw the name on the card. Robert Dalton. The name of my childhood best friend. I shook my head. It couldn’t be him. That would be too weird. I worked up the estimate for the parts and labor and called his number.
“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.
“Mr. Dalton, this is Zach from Jeff’s garage.”
There was a pause before he replied. “Zach?” Another pause. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit distracted.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Nobody likes it when their car breaks down.”
“It’s certainly inconvenient.” He sighed. “So, what’s the damage?”
I was getting a strange nagging sensation like I was missing something. I shrugged it off. I told him the total cost to replace the alternator. “I should have it ready in a couple of hours.”
He blew out a breath. “That’ll be a hit to my credit card. But it is what it is. Go ahead and do the repair. I have a meeting in twenty minutes that will take at least that long.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Should I call you or text you when it’s done?”
“You’d better text me. I don’t know when my meeting will be over.”
“Okay,” I replied. “It will be from a different number, but I’ll tell you it’s me.”
“Okay. Thank you again.”
After I hung up, I got to work on the car. It wasn’t a difficult repair. It just took time to get around all the belts and other engine parts to get to the alternator itself. By the time I was done, it was after two o’clock, and I was starving. I washed my hands, grabbed my lunch out of the cooler in my bay, and went to sit outside. There was a picnic table and benches on the side of the building that we used for eating lunch in the warmer weather.
I got myself settled and pulled out my phone to text the customer.
Me
Hi, Mr. Dalton. This is Zach from Jeff’s garage. Your car is ready.
I was halfway through my lunch when I got a reply.
732-555-6439
Great. I’m just about done here. I’m at the Asbury Ocean Club, so it won’t take me long to get there.
Me
Sounds good. See you then.
The Asbury Ocean Club was a high-end hotel and residence right on the ocean. Whoever he was meeting with had lots of money.
I finished my lunch and went back to the Honda to make sure it was free of grease and grime before backing it out of my bay.
I was putting my tools away when Craig came over and said, “Your Honda guy is here.”
I nodded. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right out.”
“You should have let me fix his car,” Craig said.
The way he said it got my hackles up. I turned to face him straight on. “Why?”
His lip curled up in a sneer. “Then there’d be one less faggot on the road.”
