Page 34 of Tormented
TEN
Abbey
“Pass me the wire brush, would you?”
“Sure.” I pick the tool up from the mess that is always Fingers’ worktable and hand it over.
He sighs, running his worn fingers over the weld where he’s fixed the dent in Sawyer’s tank. He’s been tinkering with it for the last two days, ever since pretty boy got knocked off, frustrated that he’s having trouble getting it to patch evenly.
“Did the new exhaust arrive?”
He looks up from his work, gesturing to the pile of boxes and bags lumped at the end of the table. “Came in yesterday.” His eyes soften, and he smiles. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?”
The guy’s pushing seventy—the Fallen Aces’ mechanic for close to thirty years—and these days his memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be, unless you’re talking about fixing bikes. The guy will forget where he left his glasses, but ask him how to recondition a motor and he’ll break it down step-by-step without missing a beat.
“You want me to put it on, then?”
“If you’ve got a spare moment.”
I’ve got nothing but time. He curses under his breath at a spot of crumbing weld while I tear open the couriered box. Sawyer’s exhaust is after-market, powder-coated black with a specific sweep to it that means it’s kept clear of the rider’s legs before it dumps mid-back wheel.
I pull it free of the packaging, and then pause, the itchy feeling I get when I’m being watched spreading over my flesh. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms my suspicions: Fingers stands toying with the wire brush as though he tries to find the right words.
“What’s up?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual and unaffected.
“I spoke to King a few days ago.” His finger taps on the pointy ends of the wires. “About you.”
I almost choke. “Yeah?”
“I thought if you were keen, we could enroll you in a proper course.”
I frown, not sure what he’s trying to get at.
“Let’s face it,” he says with a crooked smile. “There’ll come a time when somebody needs to take over this workshop, and it’s sure lookin’ like you’ll be the one to do it.”
I snort. “A woman in charge of their bikes? They get twitchy enough with me helping you out.”
He tips his head to the side. “Eh, I don’t think it’s that bad.”
I roll my eyes as I turn away, mentally biting my tongue from saying any more on the topic. I know it’s one of the things we disagree on because he has no problem with me being here, and so he can’t understand why anyone else would.
“What do you think?” he asks, stepping up beside me to place the brush in the mess.
I shrug. “I’d like to know more, but I always assumed you’d teach me.”
“I could, but I’d be teachin’ you what I’ve learnt through trial and error. I want you to know the right way to do everythin’, not just some method an old fool like me has come up with.”
“Seems to work okay, though?”
“For now.” He nods. “Think about it, anyway.”
I give him a smile and lift Sawyer’s new exhaust out of the box. “Okay.”
He returns to his work on the tank as I settle down beside pretty boy’s Harley and get to work. Fingers has a point, and if I’m truthful with myself all I ever want is to continue the work I do here with him. Ramona’s warning comes to mind, as does my rebuttal that this is why I’ll stick around, that this is why the Fallen Aces need me.
Maybe this is it? My calling? The thing that finally makes me fit in and blend? What more perfect place could there be for me here than hiding out of view in the garage?
Fingers switches the radio on after a while, and the time flies as I strip off the old scratched and dented pipes and clean the mounts off before attaching the new ones. As always, I end up with grease on my hands despite the fact I’m not currently doing a damn thing that involves it, and plenty of exhaust dust on my legs from the old pipes.