His Unexpected Baby by Jamie Knight

Chapter Two - Chad

Bad things come in threes. That’s what I’d always heard. If it was true, I’d prefer if someone could tell the bastards in charge to stop.

It really was humiliation on the meta-level, like a commander maimed by his own sword. There were few things more ironically pathetic than a mechanic whose trunk won’t start. Particularly in a town when any passing third-grader could quick-change spark plugs.

The hot asphalt scraped under my boots as I got out. Unlike most of the guys I knew, I opted for the steel-toed variety. Cowboy boots had their appeal but were of little help with heavy, falling metal. I’d always been something of a rebel. Not in the sense of breaking the rules for the sake of it so much as questioning whether there were any rules at all. The practicality of a situation often outweighing what arbitrary social mores might demand.

Sugar. Fuck.Twisting the cap back onto my suddenly sweet gas tank, I set off walking in the general direction of work. Still having a hot dog’s chance in hell of getting there on time.

Walking was healthy. Waling was good. As my six-pack abs and 4% body fat would attest. My family was poor growing up, and if it wasn’t for my own two legs, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere. I had it down to an art if I did say so myself — looking casual while still covering up to five miles within an hour. The trick was to look like you didn’t care where going you were going. Though a bit of a swagger didn’t hurt either.

My calm amble was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a beer bottle smashing into the wall beside me.

“See you in hell motherfucker!” bellowed the front seat passenger as the hick in the back seat wasted even more Miller. The second bottle missed even worse than the first.

I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling at the sheer absurdity of the situation. A display of mirthful merriment that earned the death eyes of a passing dog walker as she tried to keep her pooch away from the shattered and frothy remnants. Taking a moment to be a good citizen, I picked up the broken bottles and threw them out in a nearby trash can, where they could pose no risk to man or beast.

It was a temptation on par with Job. The sign of the bar glowing like a beacon in the early morning dim. The local bakery was the only other business on the block that was open this early. Still, probably best not to get hammered before lunch, particularly on trainee day.

They were already there at the shop. Milling about like nerds waiting for the library to open after a long weekend. I should know. I was one. From what I could see, they were the usual gaggle of keeners. Not that I’d ever done trainees before, but I knew the type. It wasn’t my first choice, but circumstances will necessitate.

On paper, some might think my new plan looked like a scam, particularly in light of all the ethnically illegal internships — which was most of them — that had been exposed in the last few years. I did my best to work clean, though. These interns would be doing unpaid work needed for the shop but in a way in which they learned practical skills applicable to their further career. It was more like an apprenticeship or four-year medical practicum. I liked to think of it as a sort of boot camp for promising mechanics.

It was what was best for the shop, though the circumstances that brought this plan about had been less than ideal. Things had gotten real expensive real fast. Part of the reason most businesses failed in the first year. Long and depressing story short, I had to fire a couple of wonderful mechanics to save money. They were good guys and great mechanics, but I had a business to run and couldn’t afford their pay anymore. The trainees were at least partly a stopgap to my shop going under.

I got the kids to work and went back to the office, on the off chance that anyone came in that time of the morning. I would have brought my own motor in for the kids to have a crack at, but I couldn’t see myself calling a tow truck. There would be no end of razzing from everyone in town if that happened. I would become a near-mythic object of ridicule. Like the doctor’s son who got his girlfriend pregnant because the goober thought it didn’t count the first time. He was still known far and wide as “One-Shot Shane.” A name said in the same tones as Paul Bunyan or John Henry though without the usual undertone of respect.

There was a time the phone would be ringing off the hook from opening to closing. However, I had recently fallen somewhat in public estimation. Turned out those couple of ex-employees had a lot of friends, as well as the ability to really hold a grudge. I could have kept them on. Only then the garage would have had to shut down entirely. They would still be out of work, along with the rest of the mechanics and me. It really was amazing how blinded people could be sometimes.

It had been one such former friend who had tried to serve me free beer on my walk of shame. Things like that happened a lot. Considering some of them were Iraq Vets, I counted

myself lucky it only went as far as beer bottles. Still, I would prefer a solid punch to the face I could see coming to the drive-bys. Seemed more honest somehow.

I kept an eye on the trainee kids through the window between the office and the shop floor. Making sure no one did anything stupid. At least nothing that might leave a permanent scar, like not making sure the battery was disconnected before trying to change the distributor cap.

Wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles the phone actually rang. Its imitated jingle sounding like the choirs of heaven.

“Chad’s Auto, not a problem too big.”

“Shouldn’t that be no problem too big?” John asked.

“Probably, but I like to aim high,” I joked.

“Very admirable.”

“I do my best. Most of my DnD characters were Chaotic Good.”

“Oh, I remember,” John said. We had been close since high school.

I could almost hear him roll his eyes from the other end of the digitally facilitated conversation. Such was the deep and profound friendship we shared. There were times I wondered if we had been fraternal twins separated at birth.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Can’t complain. I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink later.”

“Sure, just one condition.”

“Name it,” John said amiably.

“We don’t go anywhere the mechanics go. I’m not really in the mood to get my nose broken again. I also can’t afford it.”

He chuckled. “I must say, they did a good job of straightening it.”

“Oh yeah, Doc. Emily is the best but also very expensive.”

“Isn’t that always just the way?” John said, with a theatrical sigh.

“In my experience, yeah.”

“Weird the cops should have been so hard on you,” John mused.

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see. The night my former employees attacked me had been crazy. “Jim and Hank are popular guys. More than I can say for myself at the moment.”

“I’m your Huckleberry,” John said, doing his best approximation of a Georgian, “I’ve also become a fan of the all-day happy hour at La Muerte Grande.”

“The big death?” I asked, translating quickly and scratching at my chin.

“Yeah, pretty sure it was a mistranslation,” John said quickly, “Google translate has a lot to answer for.”

“No argument there. Sounds good. See you there after closing.”

“Don’t do anything I would do,” John warned playfully.

“Never been a problem before,” I said, with a wink I was sure he could sense through the satellite link.

I hung up the phone and glanced out at the trainees. With no cars in the shop, one of the mechanics had them cleaning. It was busywork, but it would do. I sat down in my rolling chair with a sigh.

It was going to be a long, dull day.