Off Limits(27)

"Remember, I didn't finish college," I said. "That must have been your frat buddies."

Chris had gotten out of the service soon after he'd gotten back from his Iraq rotation, just as the Army was starting to draw down some. He'd gone on to college and graduated six months before I'd gotten out of Leavenworth, just in time to bury his father. Now he was twenty-nine like me, and was half owner of the second largest chain of car dealerships in Georgia, along with his uncle, his father's younger brother.

"Frats wouldn't have me," Chris said with a laugh, "probably because I ended up with enough ladies to start my own sorority. But seriously, though, let me unpack and you chill, then go get washed up. Then we'll get dressed and go out on the town, my treat. I'm sure there's some woman out there with your name on her lips, just waiting for you to give it to her.”

The idea of cruising bars with Chris wasn't exactly appealing, but I couldn't exactly say no. I had no idea how to explain Abby to him, after all, and if I refused his offer, he'd want to know why. "All right, man, but don't be too mad if I don't exactly hit a home run tonight. All that time in the exclusive company of men does make your game weak as hell."

Chris laughed and got up out of the chair. "I doubt that, Dane my man. The biggest thing standing in your way is that you just have that damned inconvenient noble streak about you. And you always were pickier than you needed to be. Just remember, a pair of sevens beats a ten every day."

I snorted at the bad joke, causing Chris's smile to broaden. "Besides, we need to go out and celebrate."

"Celebrate what? You not breaking your leg in the Alps?"

"Fuck no. Your new job. Starting Monday, you're going to be the new shop assistant down at Lake Ford-Lincoln-Mercury. That is, unless you have another opportunity knocking.”

I sat there, stunned. "Chris, you didn't need to do that. Really."

"It's not charity. Trust me on that. I may be half owner, but other than getting my Uncle Hank to agree to hire you, I've got very little to do on the day-to-day operations of that place. You're going to be working your ass off for your paycheck."

"And just what will you be doing?" I asked, feeling the first smile in a while creep out on my face. "Selling used F-150s?"

“No," Chris said with a laugh. "I've got my own job. Don't you know? You're looking at one of the managing partners in Lake-Crawford Real Estate. Starting tomorrow, I've got to start actually putting all that shit I learned in college to work. Use it or lose it, you know?”



* * *



Hank Lake was the epitome of a Southern good old boy. With sun-pinked skin and a slightly piggish look to his face, he could have done justice to a remake of The Dukes of Hazzard as a double for Boss Hogg. That being said, he was a lot gentler than his outer expression put off. In fact, he was a pretty good guy.

"Bell," Hank said one evening as I was sweeping up the mechanics’ bay. It was one of the duties of my job, along with fetching tools, unloading and sorting parts deliveries, and a lot of go-fer work in general. I couldn't complain though. Chris had arranged that I was getting twelve bucks an hour, and each of the two weeks I'd been there so far, there'd been the chance to catch a few hours of overtime. "Come by my office when you're done with the bay."

"Yes sir, Mr. Lake," I said, putting my broom aside. I still had two more steps to clean the floor, since it was a Friday. After the initial sweep, I had to scatter absorbent material over any obvious oil spots, let it dry, and then sweep those up before mopping the whole bay with a strong detergent that was supposed to break up any thin layers of oil. If there were a lot of spots for the absorbent stuff, it could take upwards of an hour and a half to do the whole thing. Thankfully, that night there were only two, both of them small and in bay four, the left-most bay. By the time I finished the first three repair bays, I was able to sweep up the absorbent material, which now looked a lot like wet kitty litter, and get bay four done without too much delay.

I found Hank in his office, located inside the sales area. He wasn't a salesman. He'd let his brother deal with that side while he concerned himself with the mechanical side of things, but as the now operations owner of the whole chain—four dealerships throughout central and southern Georgia—he'd had to leave the greasy coveralls behind. In the little bit of time I'd worked there, it seemed to me that he wished he was back in the garages instead of wearing a white duck, cotton button-down shirt. I knocked on his door frame, a habit from my military days I hadn't yet lost. "Mr. Lake? I just finished bay four. Sorry if you were waiting."

He looked up from his desk, which was covered in paperwork and invoices, so much so I had no idea how he kept it organized. He must have had one hell of an assistant. "Not at all, Bell. Trust me, there's always more work to do with keeping this place going. Have a seat."

I looked down at my stained and spotted coveralls, and shook my head. "No offense, sir, but I'd mess up your office. If it's all the same to you, I'll stand."

Hank nodded, looking my clothes over. "Suit yourself. I just wanted to give you your first paycheck personally, so here you are." He handed over the envelope, which I glanced at before putting it in my back pocket. "You're not going to open it?"