Page 22 of Rest In Pink

It all evened out.

* * *

I pulled into the lot at Porters Garage and parked the Gladiator in front of the gate of Will and Patsy Porter’s gold mine: Acres of junked cars, carefully inventoried, ready to be mined for parts. Will brought in the cars and stripped out the requested parts when Patsy gave him an invoice. Patsy and Fedex then shipped the part to wherever in the world it had been ordered. Will was in charge of the old original three-bay garage where a couple of other mechanics worked for him. Patsy was in the office to the right, keeping track of everything on her computer and ruling the place with an iron fist. It was a slick operation.

Will came outside, his coveralls clean and ready for a day of work. “You’ve got to let me replace that bumper, Vince.” He’d been on me to do that ever since I used it to knock MaryLou Blue’s car into the ravine. The crash bumper also held the big winch which I loved to use. The bumper had prevented any damage to the Jeep itself. It would be an easy job to swap it out.

“It’s good,” I said, not willing to admit I kind of liked the dent and scraped paint. War wounds for the Gladiator.

“The town will pay,” Will said. “Now that you’re a detective and use the Gladiator as your work vehicle. You know you need to keep track of your work mileage to get reimbursed? Keep a daily log.”

“I didn’t know that.” I think George had been more concerned with the death of the town than the details of the promotion and the perks.

“That’s the only reason Marvin would get out of his chair,” Will said. “Rack up some miles.”

I had wondered about it when I’d seen our detective driving aimlessly about the countryside in his car. Since I knew Will wouldn’t charge me anything other than for parts even if the town didn’t pay, his info didn’t sway me. It wasn’t like he needed the work. Everyone for miles around brought their vehicles to Porter’s for any kind of repair or maintenance. Patsy scheduled that and they were booked weeks out.

I noticed young Jim Pitts lugging a tire out to the old pile by the dumpster that got picked up weekly. “I thought he was driving the bus at the old folk’s home?”

“He is,” Will said as Jim dropped the tire in the pile, gave me a guilty wave and went back inside the garage. “But he needed tires right away. Because some SOB shot two of his out,” he said with a grin. Meaning me, but I felt no guilt: Little bastard had been resisting arrest. “He didn’t have money for the new ones I put on his car, so he’s working them off in the morning. Then he goes and drives in the afternoon and evening.”

“That’s nice of you.” I watched Jim carry another one. “Does he know they roll?” I asked Will, who laughed.

“He’ll figure that out eventually,” Will said.

“How’s the project going?” I asked.

Will smiled. “Come on.” He led me through the gate into the lot. The ‘project’ was under a big tarp held up by long poles to protect it from the elements. There were two cars; one was Liz’s bent and twisted Camry, bent and twisted because it had gone into the ravine when I’d knocked MaryLou in. Collateral damage as we called it in the Army. The other was the same year, make, and model that had been sitting on the lot for a long time. I’d suggested to Will, after the incident at the ravine, that I get it running since Liz would need a car and she’d loved that old Camry. After all, I’d turned a wrench or two in my time.

He’d given me an odd look because he knew I thought it would be an easy job. But he hadn’t said anything. I began the project after work a couple days a week. It turned out the rebuild needed a lot more than a few turns of the wrench. It had become a time and money pit. You just don’t crank up a twenty-year-old car that’s been put in a junk yard. There’s a reason it’s in the junk yard, which I had not thought through before I became a detective. Now, of course, I would have known that since I have a gold badge. But I didn’t regret the decision because it was for Liz. It had become a challenge I would overcome.

Even though Will was nice enough to volunteer his time when he could, without which I’d have been lost, Patsy had to charge for the parts needed other than the ones we could strip off the remnants of Liz’s. Because she was Patsy, and she took running Porters Garage seriously.

“What the heck?” I said as I saw that he’d taken off various pieces and parts on the body that we’d put on. There was tape everywhere and the windshields were covered. Parts of the body were epoxied. I think the original color had been red but it was oxidized and even harder to tell now with all the work.

“Relax,” Will said. “Prepping it for painting. Just tell me what color you want. We’ll spray it as soon as you decide.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Have you told Liz about this?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

It was a good question. One I didn’t really know the answer to. Perhaps it was because I’d committed myself to an act which had turned out to be harder than I’d planned. Perhaps I was unsure how she would react. Perhaps I didn’t know what the hell I was doing in regard to Liz Danger. Perhaps I thought about perhaps too much. So, I shrugged. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“Right,” Will said, in a tone that indicated he thought that was a pretty stupid idea. “Hey, I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Cash came to us yesterday. Wanted us to sell the place to some company called Vermillion Inc. You know anything about that?”

“Not really.” I shook my head. “What are you going to do about it?”

Will laughed. “Why would we sell? Patsy and I love it here. Hell, Patsy talked to MaryBeth at the bank a couple of months ago and we’ve got a good loan at a really low rate to build another garage over there.” He pointed to the left where there was an old windmill on a metal tower. “Four bays. New, with all the bells and whistles my guys will love to work with. We’ll break ground as soon as we can find somebody to draw up the plans, and if I can wrestle some workers away from the new development. I know good mechanics who need a job and we’ve certainly got the work for them.

“After that, I want to do a specialty shop that restores classic cars. I’m tired of stripping them down if there’s a chance we can make them run again. I want to build.” He nodded at the Camry. “This got me thinking about it. I’m glad you suggested it. We keep getting inventory, we’ll have enough to rebuild things no one else can.” He nodded toward the back lot. “In fact, we bought the land behind us a couple years ago. I’m going to punch the fence out and double the size of the lot. And I’ve got twenty-five true classics under wrap I’ve been holding onto. They’re too special to cannibalize.”

---