Page 28 of Breakdown
“I kind of figured this was going to be easier.”
The corners of Peter’s mouth twitched up in spite of himself. “Well, at least your timing was perfect.”
He’d forgotten the sound of his mother’s laugh, brassy and braying in all the best ways.
“I was trying! I’ve been watching your shop on and off for a week now, kiddo. I’m no financial genius or anything, but you might want to try actually being open once in a while if you want to make some money.” She frowned, considering. “Or are you and your sister just using it as a front? If so, you might want to break it to your partner out there; it seems like he’s under the impression you’re running a legitimate business.”
“Iamrunning a legitimate business. Mostly,” he added, thinking about the chop job he’d just agreed to tomorrow night.
“It’s the ‘mostly’ that’ll cost you between a nickel and dime in the state pen.”
He shook his head, embarrassed, though he couldn’t quite say what for. Maybe that he wasn’t a better man, or that he wasn’t a better thief, or that he was stuck in some gray area between the two. “Six months at CEN was enough, thanks.” The time he served at Centinela State Prison felt like a lifetime ago. In a way he supposed it was. Circa BN. Before Nik.
“Hey, at least it wasn’t San Quen.” She grinned, but he caught the way her voice broke a little as she named the max-security prison. She must’ve known.
“Dad’s there, you know?”
Cynthia crossed herself quickly. “And may the devil stay there until he rots.”
“Or at least for the next twenty-four years.”
“Not that either of us are counting.” This time her smile was genuine, if a little sad. “What were you in for?”
“Misdemeanor Grand Theft Auto.” He raked his fingers back through his hair, the Volkov job hanging over him like a thundercloud. Even Stu wouldn’t be able to get him out of a felony charge if he got apprehended with Volkov’s Ferrari. California State law wasn’t kind to repeat offenders.
“Sorry to hear.” Cynthia looked down at her hands, still locked in a white-knuckle grip on the chair. “I always hoped you wouldn’t get caught up in this.”
It was said casually, but Peter couldn’t help but feel a sudden surge of defensiveness. If that was what his mother had wanted for him, why had she left?
His stomach see-sawed sickly. Peter was surprised to find the long-buried resentment within himself—it had never come up in his sessions with Dr. Kavazanjian—and he pushed it quickly down so as to not spoil the reunion. He couldn’t let Liv poison what was supposed to be a joyful occasion. He let out a slow breath. “So now I fix cars. Might not be the same kind of profit, but my percentage is a lot better.”
The laugh she gave seemed forced. “Might make even more if you didn’t tell potential clients to fuck off the second they walk through your front door. You’re lucky I was a motivated buyer.”
Maybe cracking weak jokes as a coping-mechanism was genetic. He noticed now that she was glancing over his shoulder.
Peter turned to follow her gaze as Nik’s laughter boomed from the doorway. “I have been asking him to be more polite to our customers since we first opened,” he confided, winking at Cynthia as he entered carrying two mugs.
Peter took a deep breath, the turmoil clearing inside of him. It was easier with Nik here. Nik made everything easier. “I’ll have you know I haven’t told a customer to fuck off for at least six months before this,” he said, keeping his voice breezy and a too-wide grin plastered on his face.
Nik saw through him in an instant, worry haunting his features. Peter shook his head once, tightly. It was barely a gesture at all, but Nik knew him well enough to know what it meant—Peter was alright, they could talk about it later when they were alone—and he dropped it for now. He matched Peter’s easy, joking tone. “I already updated the board. Zero days since our last profanity related incident.” Nik screwed his eyebrows together, thinking. “What about during Booth’s oil change last week?”
Peter aimed a real smile at him, small and immeasurably grateful. “That doesn’t count, it was a friendly ‘fuck off.’”
“Of course,” Nik replied, deadpan, “I am sure the better business bureau will take that into account.”
Cynthia peered out around Nik and into the garage. “Well, I’m glad my son has a gentleman like you to handle public relations.”
“Peter has many skills that make us a success. His people skills, we are still working on. He can be very charming if he sets his mind to it. But the will must be there,” Nik said with a smile.
“Peter could always do anything he set his mind to. The problem for him was always narrowing down from ‘anything.’ It’s good he has someone in his life to provide that direction.”
“We cover each other’s weaknesses. We are a good team.” Nik passed the first mug to Peter, the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, rich and dark, wafting up from its depths.
Cynthia took the second cup, cradling it appreciatively. “Íne polí evyenikó ek mérus sas,”she said to Nik.
Peter watched the unfiltered longing cross Nik’s face at hearing his native language. He’d forgotten too how good his mother was at that. It wasn’t just that Cynthia Bauer was skilled with languages, she was also skilled with people. Nik’s parents had shipped him half-way across the world to make way for some new child just because Nik wasn’t straight as a fucking arrow and Peter knew that Nik experienced the same yearning for a lost home that Peter did sometimes. Somehow, Cynthia had seen that in him, almost immediately.
Peter remembered now how talented she was at making people trust her, at putting a mark at ease and pulling herself in closer without them even realizing it. He wondered if Cynthia did it on purpose or if the wiles of a con-artist had just printed themselves indelibly on her personality. Perhaps he was just reading something into an innocent interaction because Liv had set him on edge.
