L Akers - Fight Like a Man

Or good enough.

Larry sighed as though it was a huge inconvenience, ignoring the fact he’d also needed and had taken a pit stop. “Alright, but you girls better hurry,” he grumbled.

They piled back into the car and slowly drove to the other end, almost to the on-ramp to re-enter the interstate. Larry pulled over and the girls jumped out. Gabby grabbed her bag and seeing her map and picture had slid to the floor, she snatched those up too and slid them into her back pocket.

“Why are you taking all that just to go pee?” he asked.

“Toilet paper,” she snapped at him, and then turned to run behind her sisters to the nearby stand of trees. The truth was, she didn’t trust him.

The two women lying near the trees weren’t asleep after all. Clothes torn and dirty, and hair in knots, they were in terrible shape. They wore low-cut shirts and too-tight shorts with strappy, high heels. They both gripped their arms just below an angry-red mark on their shoulders, like a fresh burn, in the shape of the number “2.”

The women were clearly prostitutes, yet they cast narrowed and judging eyes upon Gabby and her sisters.

One of the ladies shook her head in disgust as they ran by, and Gabby wondered what that was all about, but it was too late. Her bladder had anticipated relief and she was on a countdown at the moment. She hurried to catch up with Olivia and Emma.

If only they’d heard the words thrown at them as they ran by, they might have stopped and avoided the disaster about to come their way.

“Ass, grass, or gas…” the woman called after them.

JAKE SKID to a stop at the closed gate to QualPro Auto & Marine, a local repair shop that shared property with a used car and marine dealership—both owned by the same guy. He jumped off the 4-wheeler, and made his way around the closed gate to the door. The shop was less than five miles from his house, and if he was going to be stuck out a Grayson’s for any period of time, he’d need something to do to keep busy, and he needed his own truck anyway. One more part and Ruby would be ready to roll.

He scanned the parking lot as he walked. What the heck? He took it all in as he reached for the door handle.

“Stop right there,” a female voice barked out.

Jake stopped abruptly and whipped around, looking for the voice.

Most of the cars from the front lines had been pulled into the middle of the lot into a haphazard cluster, barely seen behind the wall of boats that surrounded them. On top of an old Pontoon boat was a woman, laying prone on the sun deck behind a deer rifle mounted on a tripod, hair tucked beneath a camo-colored ball cap. Even from this distance, Jake could see one big blue eye opposite the other eye hovering behind the scope. He caught a glimpse of her jet-black pony-tail riding behind the cap.

It was Rena, Nick’s girlfriend and office manager.

“We’re closed! What do you need?”

“Where’s Nick?” Jake asked.

“Right here,” a deep voice boomed from a few boats over.

A hand waved from the cabin window in the belly of a cuddy cabin, long enough for Jake to see it, and then pulled back in. “Like she said, we’re closed, unless you’re trading. You looking to swap in that 4-wheeler?”

Jake squinted at the face in the window, seeing nothing but the short salt & pepper-colored beard and dark sunglasses, but it was definitely Nick. He shook his head. “Naw, man. I’m just here to pick up the part for my truck.”

“Unless you got something other than money to trade for it, I ain’t open for business. I’ll take food, ammo, gas or guns. Or the 4-wheeler, like I said.”

“Trade? I already paid for the part. It’s me… Jake. That part is for my ’57 Chevy. You said it’d be here a week ago. I just got around to getting here.”

There was a long pause during which Jake spotted one of Nick’s mechanics, sitting portside of another boat, still as a statue, with a long-gun pointed Jake’s way. A rustle of fabric drew his eye to yet another mechanic, who up until now had been quiet as a mouse standing in the back of a 4x4 truck, gun resting on the top of the cab—again, pointed at Jake.

Jake slowly raised his hands against the four guns pointing at him. “What’s going on here, Nick? Why you got all your cars and boats jammed in together like that? And what’s with the sniper patrol? You see some trouble already?”

Jake spoke to the boat he’d glimpsed Nick in, but the window was empty. A few thumps later and Nick jumped out onto the concrete, swinging his rifle to let it hang from the strap behind his shoulder. “Yeah dude, I’m sorry. I forgot all about you already having paid for that part. I got it for you. All hell has been breaking loose. This is the first break I’ve had from looky-loos, criminals and assholes trying to get a’ hold of one of my cars for nothing. Everybody needs gas and they’re hoping my cars and boats are all filled up. Their cars are broke down all over town.”

“They all running?” Jake asked.

“Hell yeah, they ran. Not many men will stand still with a woman pointing a rifle at ‘em!”

Jake laughed. “No, I meant the cars. They’re all gassed up?”

Nick shrugged. “They’re not all full, if that’s what you’re asking. If a person was to siphon all the gas, they’d probably get more than a few tanks out of it. But everybody seems to think I’m giving my shit away for free,” he grumbled as he approached the door, jumbling his keys around to find the right one. “They’d just as soon take one and drive it as far as it’ll go.”

He led Jake into the shop and walked behind the counter. Jake stepped up as he had dozens of times and there was his part, sitting right on top with ‘1957 Chevy Truck’ scribbled on the box; Nick was his go-to person for parts for just about anything, as well as who Jake himself used for car repairs and oil changes for Gabby’s car. He’d stopped doing it himself years ago when he and Gabby started making enough money to send it to the shop. The little bit of free time he got away from his own work as a mechanic, or time with Gabby, was better spent tinkering with Ruby or helping the family out on the farm. Both Grayson and Dusty brought their stuff to Nick too. Nick was pretty much the only mechanic the entire family trusted. He was downright cantankerous at times, but he was honest.

Just a few months ago, Grayson had mentioned Nick had finally sewed up a long battle of a divorce, which was the cause of most of his cantanker-isms. Twenty years with the she-devil had buried Nick under layers of stress and debt. Whoever had said it was cheaper to keep ‘er obviously hadn’t met Nick’s wife. As Nick ran his finger over the paperwork rack on the wall, Jake took stock of him. He’d lost a lot of weight. The divorce had dragged on for several years, leaving Nick wiry, weary and whiskery.

And then once that was buttoned up, he’d jumped right out of the fire and into the frying pan with Rena. At least five years younger and could be a howling hellcat, but at least this one had a heart of gold, ran the office like a well-oiled machine, and could also hunt, fish and turn a wrench, if she wanted or needed to. They were a good match.

The fact that Nick owned the place but more times than not wore a uniform and crawled up in and under things with or without his team earned him respect, with both his staff and his customers. He was a hell of a mechanic. Best in the state, the rumor was.

Jake’s eyes widened when he looked behind the counter. Four cardboard boxes crowded the space behind the register, stuffed with mostly canned goods; metal cans as well as glass jars of homemade preserved food. Colorful pickled vegetables, collard greens and jam and jellies caught his eye. Behind that row of boxes sat two more heaped high with miscellaneous things. Toilet paper, cigarettes and even a few bottles of liquor topped the heap.