Joy Ride(8)

Mike runs a hand over the hood, stroking the metal with reverence. “How does she look?”

“Like a fucking dream girl,” I say, admiring the beauty that we’ve worked on the last few weeks.

“Girl?” Sam shoots me a skeptical stare, dragging his hand through dark floppy hair. “Why are cars always feminine?”

Mike answers with a thrust of his hips. “Because when they’re this hot we want to fuck them.”

Okay, maybe my guys aren’t civilized all the time. Maybe not even most of the time, given the way Mike continues to practice his dry hump routine, as if he’s going for a master’s degree in thrusting.

Sam shakes his head. “Mike, I hate to break it to you, but this car is a dude.”

Mike sneers. “No way. She’s too pretty.”

“Nope. This is a total man car. She had a sex change. Just check the lug nuts if you need to be sure.”

As much as their antics amuse me, it’s time to cut them off. I hold up a hand. “Let’s not play with the lug nuts, the dipstick, or the connecting rod on Livvy Sweetwater’s prized automobile, please. The woman trusted us with her baby over John Smith Rides. And I need to deliver this Rolls to her Connecticut estate on Thursday, in all its shining beauty,” I say, since I can only imagine what that sweet, classy dame with her pearl necklace and pillbox hat would say if she heard that Mike wanted to get busy with her vehicle, and that Sam pretended her car was a dude.

“Don’t look at me. I’m not the one trying to screw a car,” Sam says in his most innocent voice. “Also, why don’t you just put it in a trailer?”

I scoff. “You don’t know Livvy.”

“No. I don’t, man. That’s why I’m asking.”

And it’s my job to teach these guys what it takes to be the best. That’s what my mentor, Bob Galloway, did for me. Not only did he teach me how to restore a Bentley and perform surgery on a Bugatti, but he also taught me how to take care of clients, and how to better train the guys who work for me.

“You’re right to ask,” I say. “Let me tell you. Livvy is a long-time client, as you know. And she’s quite particular with her cars. She has a certain routine she follows every time I finish a car for her. She likes me to drive her cars to her. Then she invites me in for tea, and over tea I tell her everything about how it felt to drive the car.”

Mike narrows his eyes. “That sounds weird. Like a fetish.”

“Watch it. Don’t talk about the clients like that. It’s how Livvy likes to do things. She likes to know what to look for when she drives it.” I flick a speck of dust off the hood then swing my gaze to Mike. “You want to move up in the business, right?”

Mike nods, looking contrite.

I fix him with an intense stare. “Then rule number one is this: build the best cars possible and never cut corners. Rule number two is respect the client’s choices and wishes. Don’t impose your own.”

“Got it,” Mike says, his tone earnest.

Sam points at my shirt. “Didn’t know you owned a button-down.”

“You know I don’t meet with clients looking like anything but a businessman,” I tell him, peering at myself in the window of Livvy’s car. Damn, I look like a million bucks. Pressed gray slacks, a crisp navy-blue button-down, and a patterned tie that Mia bought for me last year. “For the rare occasions when you need to show off your business side,” she’d said, but those occasions aren’t entirely rare. As the owner of the shop, I’m both the guy who gets dirty under the hood, and the one who cleans up to seal the big, fat deals.

I have a potentially huge one in front of me this afternoon when I see David Winters of Back to the Future fanboy fame in about thirty minutes.

“Is Snow White going to be ready tomorrow?” I point to the fifty-year-old Rolls, using Livvy’s name for her baby, which she bought at auction a few months ago, with my input.

“Absolutely,” Sam says. “A few little details in the morning and we’re good.” He looks at his watch. “I’m outta here, too. No classes tonight, so I have a hot date with the new mechanic from John Smith’s.”

I scowl. “Seriously? You’re seeing someone from our biggest rival?”

“It’s just drinks, and I won’t tell Karen trade secrets over a pale ale,” Sam says.

“Drinks can loosen lips, so be careful,” I say, and that’s another lesson I learned from my mentor. Be careful and watch your back, Bob used to say.

I’m cautious as fuck when it comes to John Smith because we jockey for top billing in this city. Earlier this year, he won a hotly contested bid to build a custom car for a new late-night talk show host, one I was sure I had in the bag. That was a tough loss, but then I nabbed a new client in a banker who rolls the dice big time on upgrades to his fleet of sports cars. Win some, lose some. Even so, it’s best to be cautious when tangoing with the competition.