Built (Saints of Denver #1)(36)
He didn’t look like he believed me, but he didn’t push. Instead he walked over to one of the windows in the room and picked up a plain white bag off the ledge. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that it was in his hands I couldn’t miss a heavenly and obviously greasy and bad-for-you smell coming from within.
“I was so behind today I didn’t get lunch, so I figured I would grab some brats from Home Depot while I was there getting the primer. I picked you up one if you’re hungry and not scared of hot-dog-cart food. There’s also some beer and a few sodas in the cooler in the kitchen.”
I’d never had hot-dog-cart food before, so I didn’t know if I was scared of it or not. Again it was not something pre–Denver Sayer even had on her radar. Whatever he had in that bag smelled better than any five-star dinner I had ever eaten, so I held out my hand and he plopped a warm, silver-wrapped concoction into it. He motioned to another white bucket and I gingerly sat down while unwrapping my food. Immediately sauerkraut and mustard slopped down on my lap, making me swear and causing Zeb to laugh at me. I narrowed my eyes at him but was surprised that his amusement at my expense didn’t make me immediately freeze up. I asked around a mouthful of food, “How come you don’t drive your cool truck during the week?”
Both his eyebrows shot up and I had to wait while he finished chewing to answer me. “My cool truck? The International? I know about a hundred sixteen-year-old boys that would disagree with you about the Jeep not being cool. Especially here in Colorado.”
I shrugged a little and gave up trying to be delicate with the messy sausage. I was sure I had yellow all over my face, but I didn’t care. The Brat was delicious. Seattle Sayer had no idea what gloriousness she had been missing hidden in a hot dog cart.
“I like the old truck. It’s pretty and it’s so neat to see something like that restored and well loved.”
“I do love it. That’s why I don’t drive it to jobsites. Too many nails and other stuff getting carelessly tossed around. I try and baby her.”
I made a face. “The truck is a her?”
He laughed again and cleanly polished off the rest of his brat. I was amazed he did it all without getting anything on his face fuzz. That was real talent right there, I thought begrudgingly as I continued to make a mess all over myself.
“Sure. She’s classy, elegant, made of sturdy stuff, expensive as hell to keep running and keep pretty. She’s only good to me if I’m good to her, so obviously she’s a girl.”
I rolled my eyes and then wiped my hands on the outside of my pants when I finished off my own dinner. Briefly I thought my dad would be horrified at the action but I shoved that thought down and instead focused on Zeb and only Zeb, “How long did it take you to restore her?”
He shrugged, got to his feet, and moved to pry open the massive bucket of white primer he had been using as a chair. “My buddy Wheeler sold the body to me for next to nothing when I got out of prison. We went to high school together and I think he knew I needed something to keep me busy because the only kind of work I could find right after being released was shit work for shit pay. Every week I would give him a few bucks here or there and he would find me a part or a piece of the motor and we slowly but surely got her all together. It was one of the reasons I knew I had to find a long-term way to support myself. Just because I had a record didn’t mean I wasn’t a valuable employee or a hard worker. I got really sick of being treated like a second-class citizen because of one mistake.”
His eyes cut to mine and all I could do was nod in sympathy as he poured the liquid into trays and fished a couple of roller brushes out of a plastic bag.
“I actually met Rowdy through Wheeler. He had done a bunch of Wheeler’s tattoo work, and when I told Wheeler I wanted something to remind me not to do stupid things that would cost me years of my life again, he recommended Rowdy and the Marked shop. Rowdy was the one that recommended me to the guys that own the tattoo shop when they decided to open and renovate the new location downtown. It all seemed very meant to be, ya know?”
I did know. Everything was tied together with thin threads of fate, and when one loosened or tightened it was surprising how impactful it could be. Kind of like how I had ended up here with Zeb now.
He motioned me over to the wall and showed me how to roll the primer onto the surface in a wide W pattern and then how to go back and fill in the spots. I must have looked as clueless as I felt because he was patient and calm while he went over his careful instructions with me a second time. After I felt like I got the hang of it all, I asked him, “So what tattoo did Rowdy give you to remind you to think first and act second?”
He held an arm out and pointed with the roller to a broken hourglass that covered the entirety of his forearm and hand, all the sand pouring out of it and falling into bricks that built up a wall that circled his wrist all in a seamless flow. He flipped his arm over and showed me the tipped-over birdcage on the back of his hand and the swarm of black crows that were lined up on a barren tree all inked in black on the opposite side. “All kinds of reminders of how hard it is to be locked up while life moves on for everyone else without you. He did a great job.”
I nodded and turned my attention back to the wall. “He’s very talented. I’m proud of him. I think it’s amazing that he found a way to make a living off of something he really loves. It’s amazing the way he gets to leave his mark on people for the better.”