CHAPTER FOURTEEN ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER by B. A. Linhares

Friday Zavalla's Garage

 

 

Before entering the kitchen to eat blueberry pancakes, I drop my backpack at the foot of the stairs and take out my Crime Science notebook and a pen. I need to get my scattered thoughts down on paper before I see Josh. I push through the door, set my notebook, and pen on the kitchen nook’s bench. I wave the ice pack. "What should I do with this?"

Pop looks over. "Just dump it in the sink and set it on a dish towel to dry." He turns and gestures at my head with a spatula. “How’s the lump?”

“Much better. It’s gone down some,” I say, and my eyes go to the little television showing the morning news. The volume is muted. Senator Brennan, Billy’s dad, is talking to the commentator. The man is huge like Billy. He takes up the whole screen. “What’s going on with Senator Brennan?”

“Believe it or not, he has a seventy-four percent job approval so he thinks he has a good chance to become the next President."

Over the past year, I started paying closer attention to the news. I was hoping to learn more about Mom. Because Char is dating Billy, the news about Senator Brennan being mixed up in several Washington scandals caught my eye. I don’t recall exactly what they were about, but they were important enough to make the news on a regular basis.

“You’re kidding. Billy's dad the next President?" I go over to the sink, dump the ice pack and set it upside down on a dishtowel to dry.

"Billy’s dad is trying to clean up his act. Of course, the election is a long time off. A lot can happen."

"You think he has a chance?"

"Only if the public magically forgets that he's a no good shyster.”

"Wait until Char learns this,” I say to my reflection in the window over the sink. I lean my back into the counter, watch the TV and dry my hands on a dish towel.

Pop flips a row of silver dollar pancakes on a plate between to two strips of bacon and hold it toward me. "Here ya go."

 “Thanks.” My eyes still glued to the screen, I push off the counter hang up the towel and take the plate. How on earth did Char hook up with the most popular boy at Georgetown High School? I'm sure it's not just the sex since Billy has nailed almost every cheerleader––if the rumors are true. I pick up a slice of bacon and take a bite. “Mmm yummy!”

"Eat all you like, I made plenty." Pop tells me, and sets down the bowl of hot blueberries and goes back to the hot plate plugged into the island.

“Don’t mind if I do.” They go to a commercial and I reach across the island, snag two more strips of bacon, and put them on my plate. I lick my fingers. Then spoon hot steaming blueberries on top of the splay of silver-dollar pancakes then set the spoon aside. I search the countertop. “What no whipped cream?”

“There’s some in the fridge leftover from last night.”

I cross to the kitchen nook and set my plate on the place mat between the silverware already set up. I go to the fridge, take out the whipped cream and then a coffee mug out of the cabinet. I don’t normally drink coffee, today is an exception. My brain definitely needs the caffeine jolt. I grab a spoon, take off the lid, scoop out a dollop of whipped cream and drop it in my mug and on top of my pancakes. I pour myself some rich smelling hot coffee and watch the cream melt on the surface into a white slick pool. I add two spoonfuls of sugar, and scoot across the bench ready to dig into my pancakes and bacon. First, I sip some coffee, enjoying the searing sweetness on my taste buds.

Meantime, Pop fixes himself a plate, refills his coffee cup, and scoots down the bench, across from me. “I see you’re already dressed for school,” Pop says, spreading out his napkin on his lap and picks up his fork and knife. “You wanna play hooky today?”

Thinking that on a scale of 1-10 I feel like a seven, I pull a face. Still, I didn’t think playing hooking was even an option since I missed so many days last year. Then Josh’s words ring in my ears, see ya at school.

He sees my uncertainty and points with his fork. “I’m just worried about the lump on your head. You might have a slight concussion.”

“I know, but really I’m fine. Pop, if I miss any more school the office will freak.” I put down my mug and pick up my fork. “From now on, its pedal to the metal for me.”

“That’s my girl,” Pop says smiling broadly. “But, if you start feeling dizzy don’t hesitate to call me.”

“I promise.”

That said he digs into his mound of bacon topped, blueberry pancakes and whipped cream. After a string of commercials, he ups the volume and we watch news on the TV and eat. The anchor goes on and on about stupid things happening around Washington, D. C.––I could care less about. After a minute or two, I zone out. I eat and sip my coffee and look outside at the backyard. The pane is covered with pieces of torn leaves. Above rainwater is dripping off the houses eves. The yard is full of twigs. Twittering birds hop around on the wet lawn looking for worms. I put down my coffee cup and say, “Dang, the storm must’ve been a doozie.”

Pop takes a loud sip of coffee and looks outside. “Yeah, they’re saying that there was a lot of wind. I’ll hire a handy man to clean up.” He puts down his coffee cup. “Oh, by the way, I already called a carpenter and Earl’s garage. The carpenter can’t come until tomorrow, but Earl said we could bring the Mustang in this morning if you’re game. They figure the repairs will take most of the day so I’d follow you over in the van and pick you up after school.”

 “Okay. Sure!” I blink and smile. “Wow, that’s great news! They had the parts and everything?”

“Long story,” he says, using my favorite phrase and prepares another bite. “Earl and I knew the Mustangs needed more repairs but I wanted to have it here for your birthday yada-yada.” He puts the food in his mouth and then props his readers on the end of his nose and places the sports section of the newspaper next to his plate.

I spear a bite and say, “At my party, Mr. Zavalla told me that they totally refurbished my Mustang.”

“Aye,” Pop says his eyes on the soccer scores. You should’ve seen it sitting in the salvage yard.”

I crane the fork closer to my mouth. “I can’t believe I own a classic.”

Pop nods and flips the folded page over. “She’s a beauty. Anyway, all of the needed parts were ordered awhile back. The rest of them came in late yesterday.”

“Mm, great.” I put the bite in my mouth thinking, except for the fact that the inside smells like mildew, my Mustang looks like just rolled off the assembly line––well, all most. The caffeine really kicks in and I say, “Grrr! The old Cookie is back and she’s bigger and bader than ever.”
Pop turns off the TV, sets down the remote and reaches for the newspaper on the counter. He finds the sports page and we go silent. I stare off at nothing while shoveling food in my mouth. I have a dozen things bouncing around my mind. I pick up my notebook and write down a list of things to ask Josh about the investigation. I have no idea what I plan to say to Sean when I see him. That’s going to be interesting. But, overall, I’m pretty happy to be single again.
While Pop reads the newspaper and sips his coffee, I calculate the time. I’m vaguely aware that they open the Performing Arts Building at 6:00 A.M. and use it as a study hall for the early buses and freshmen students who need to be dropped off early because their parents have to commute to DC or drive across the Potomac River to Virginiato work. Hanging out in the halls or the parking lot is forbidden. Not a problem. In my entire life, I’ve never ever arrived at school early––been late a lot though. I push my plate aside a little bit and with the of time I have left, work on my short story. I have the Goo-Goo Doll's song, "Better Days" stuck in my head. So take these words and sing out loud cause everyone is forgiven now cause tonight's the night the world begins again…   Pop waves his hand in front of my face. “Hey, are you okay?”

I put down my pencil and look at him. “Yeah, just thinking about stuff.”

He studies my face.

“What. Did you say something?”

“Yes. I said, after we pick up the Mustang, do you want to go to the Georgetown Mall and shop? Maybe grab dinner out? Those gift cards have to be burning a hole in you pocketbook.”

“Sure. That’d be fun.”

About eight, we rush around cleaning up the kitchen, run upstairs, and brush our teeth. I follow Pop down the stairs and grab my stuff. Pop has his keys in his hand. He locks up the house and we head down the walk. I unlock the Mustang and toss my stuff on the front seat, and then go around to the driver’s side, and get in behind the wheel. I immediately roll down the window to air out the warm mildew smell.

Pop pauses next to my door and consults his watch. “When you get to Earl’s just pull into the service line,” he explains. “It might be busy, but just tell ‘em who you are and that we have an appointment. Anyway, it’s a twenty minuet drive. I have to stop at the Post Office. Take Wisconsin. It’s rush hour, but it’s a straight shot and it’s easier than taking the backstreets. I just don't want you to be late.”

I buckle up and shake my head. “Don’t worry, you can just write me a note if I’m late for my first class.” I picture Jezi Indy; she’ll be a pain to deal with again.  Hopefully I’m not going to be late. I just want this day to do smoothly. I roll up my window, I can't stand the wind whipping my hair around.

Today the traffic SUCKS BIG TIME and I catch every single red light. With so much on my mind, I feel distracted and tense. I find my self gripping the steering wheel in the 10-2 position so tightly that my hands ache. I shake one hand at a time and let my eyes dart back and forth from the speedometer to the road and occasionally up to the rear view mirror.

Pop’s grill looms above the Mustang like a Mack truck. I can just make out his bulky silhouette behind the steering wheel then he turns right into the Post Office. I turn up the radio, take a few deep breaths, and make a conscious effort to shove all but one issue aside—that is—the investigation! A rush of excitement curses through my stomach. I picture Josh and me working with the Metro Police like real detectives. The possibilities of cracking Mom’s case could make us famous. I mean, think about it… The headlines might read: Josh O'Dell and Cookie Blakely, daughter of mysteriously CIA Agent Eva Sheahan-Blakely, solve the crime of the century! ––or something to that effect.

Up ahead, I see the big aluminum building, which is Earl’s Family Garage. I flip on my right turn signal and pull into the circle driveway in front of the service area. I join the cars in the line and put my car in neutral and roll forward a few inches when the car in front of me pull into a service bay. 

A few minuets later, Pop startles when he rolls up next to me and puts the van’s passenger side window down. I crank down my window. The automotive noises sound like jack hammers and metal garbage can lids beating together. He leans over the front seat, and shouts, “I’ll be right back. I have to park across the street.”

I cup my hands over my ears and nod my head in agreement. A mechanic in a blue jump suit is scurrying around hooking snake-like tools hanging from the ceiling to an SUV like Doctor Frankenstein’s assistant Igor. Another one stands in front of a square rolling device with gauges and meters flipping switches and shouting numbers. Any minuet now I expect someone to yell, “IT’S ALIVE!”

A very tall young guy, also in a blue jump suit, strolls toward my car carrying a clipboard. I smile and wave out of courtesy. He’s okay looking, but defiantly not my type too thin. Not that I’m shopping for a new boyfriend or anything. He stops close to the driver’s door, bends over and smiles in at me through the open window. There’s a smudge of grease on his forehead. He has deep set blue eyes, two slightly crossed front teeth, and a few black hairs on his chin. His mannerisms are open and friendly.

He says, “Good morning! Do you have an appointment?”

Nodding, I cup my hand to my mouth and shout, “Yes! The names Blakely!”

“You can just turn her off and get out.”

I open the door, grab my purse, haul my backpack across the front seat and step out of my car. The asphalt is already steamy and covered with puddles from last night’s rain.

He cups his hand to his ear. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

I spell it out speaking loudly, “B-l-a-k-e-l-y.” Suddenly the noise stops and I feel stupid for yelling.

He finishes filling out the form, tears off a sheet of paper and sticks it under the windshield. “Just need the ignition key.”

I take it off the ring and hand it over.

He smiles broadly and lets his eyes roam over my face. “Oh hell yeah!” He smacks his forehead. “I totally see the likenesses…red hair, green eyes, freckles... Damn nice to see you again Cookie. It’s been a long time. We were what, six and ten?”

“You too...” I search for a name tag on his jump suit, he straightens his shoulders, and points at the “EJ” embroidered on his left breast pocket. I smile up at him trying to remember how I know him.

He sees my confusion and explains, “I’m EJ. My dad is Earl Senior, the owner.”

“Now I remember you from the park.” I vaguely remember him being a mean to me once. After that, EJ never paid much attention to me and vice versa. I was too busy playing with my dolls and he was a rough house.

EJ bobs his head and his longish dark hair falls forward. “Yeah, we were swinging next to each other and you got mad because I kept bumping into you.” He takes a Red Skins ball cap out of his back pocket, rakes back longish hair away from his face, and puts on the cap. “I’m working here now that I’m out of mechanics school.”

“Congrats!” I say, struggling with my backpack and purse and check my watch.

A guy trots over, puts down a paper seat cover and gets in my car. He cranks her up and pulls into an open bay. I can’t describe how possessive I feel about my Mustang. It’s like she human. She belongs to me. You know.

EJ gestures with his head at my Mustang. “So how do you like her?”

I raise my shoulder. “Oh my God…she’s great!” I smile at him, feeling a surge pride for owning such a fine automobile.

EJ sticks the clipboard under his left arm, and leans closer to me. He smells like hot chicken soup and grease. “We should hang out sometime. You should meet my fiancé.”

Suddenly the racket starts up again, even louder this time. It’s as if a locomotive is bearing down on the building. Actually its perfect timing. I shift my eyes and pretend not to hear EJ’s last sentence. Where is Pop? I look down at the pretty wristwatch Sean gave me for my birthday and feel a brief pang of sadness—so much for having a steady boyfriend or a date for the prom, unless I get lucky and meet someone else between now and then. I shove that thought aside remembering school.

I flip my hair off my shoulders, glancing at EJ. Why would he ask me over to hang out with him and his fiancé? His fiancé? Wow, what a diff a few years can make. “Hey, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I need to find my dad get to school.” I smile and turn to go look for Pop. Finally, I see that Pop over at a door with a sign that says, ‘OFFICE’ waving me over.

EJ looks at the heavy backpack on my shoulders. “That’s right you’re still in High School.

I grip the straps. “Yeah it’s my last year. Well, see ya!”

I hurry over and Pop opens the office door. A gust of lovely icy cold air swooshes out and feels wonderful. We step into the tiny office. When the door shuts, it blocks out the garage noises and my ears say “thank you”. The smell of fresh strong cappuccino is mixed with greasy automotive smells. The phone on the metal desk rings and Mrs. Zavalla picks it up and starts talking in a hushed voice.

EJ’s dad, Earl Zavalla Sr., is busy waiting on an old guy with a full head of white hair, big baggy pants and a thin yellowed tee shirt with holes. Earl’s wife Earline props the receiver in the crook of her neck, waves and sits down at a desk shuffling papers while she speaks to the person on the other end of the line.

They’re both wearing NASCAR tee shirts and jeans. Mr. Zavalla used to race in Daytona and his wife was an avid fan. I think their families knew each other from Sicily so must’ve been a match meant to be. Pop said the whole Zavalla family came to Mom’s funeral, but I never spoke to them. I vaguely remember Mrs. Zavalla dropping off a large pan of lasagna a couple of days after we returned from Austria. There were so many nice people calling and coming by to comfort us. It was mindboggling.

Pop says, “Morning.”

Mr. Zavalla looks over and smiles at us. “Hi Christopher, be with you in second.” He winks at me. All of the Zavallas have cornflower blue eyes and black hair. Mr. Zavalla has a few silver hairs in his goatee.

The old guy hunched over the counter mumbles something under his breath. We stand beside him waiting our turn. His head is cocked to the side and his face is set in a slight scowl. I wonder if he can smell himself. I hold strands of clean hair under my nose to block out the smell of sweat and cigarettes, praying he’s almost done.

Mr. Zavalla leans closer to the old man and raises his voice, “I don’t mean to rush ya Walter, but I have customers waiting…”

Mrs. Zavalla shoots us a look, shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

Mr. Zavalla slides his eye at Pop. “This won’t take long.”

“Take your time.” Pop has his arms crossed over his chest with his hands tucked under each armpit. I can see he’s losing patience too.

Walter’s eyes are glued to the bill of laden. “What’s this charge for?”

Earl flips the clipboard around and says, “Walter, I’ve gone over your charges three times now. You do this to me every dang time!”

My shoulders begin to ache under the weight of my overstuff backpack. I slide if off and plop it on the end of the counter. After a minute or two, I lean over and whisper to Pop, “I really need to get to school.”

The old guy snorts loudly, shifts his weight, and digs his wallet out of his back pocket. He finally passes Earl a worn looking credit card. I’d bet he hears just fine. Earl takes it and runs it through a metal scanner.

While they finish, I stroll over to the opposite side of the office and down a hallway that appears to be new construction. I haven’t been in here for almost a year and they’ve made some major changes. There are two doors now. The words Restrooms and Ernie’s Fine Rentals are on them. I gasp and go back over to the counter. I open my mouth to inquire about Ernie’s Fine Rentals. He places his hand on my shoulder. “Cookie, you know, Mr. and Mrs. Zavalla…” Pop says, “Thank you for taking care of the Mustang so quickly Earl.”

Mrs. Zavalla gets up from the desk, and says, “Nice to see you again Cookie.”

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Zavalla,” I say bashfully and shake their hands.

She’s shorter and plumper than I remember. Mr. Zavalla is a good foot taller than his wife is and very fit. I know she loves to cook for her friends and family.

Mrs. Zavalla beams at me. “Just call us Earlene and Earl. My, you have grown into a beautiful young lady.” She winks. “And you have your mother’s gorgeous figure. I am so jealous! But when you’re Sicilian…” She wiggles her hips and holds up a platter of yummy pastries. “Oh, thanks,” I mutter, plucking up a cannolo and take a big bite. Pop takes one too. Earline passes us each a napkin and says, “We’d like to wish you a belated happy birthday.” Then she hands me a present wrapped with yellow and gold paper and a big sunflower stuck to the center.

My eyes go wide and I quickly swallow the sweet crunchy goodness. “Wow, thank you.” I wipe my fingers and look at the Zavallas and then at the gift sitting on the counter. “Um, should I open it now?”

Earline says, “Of course.”

I take care to open the card first. On it is a funny cartoon teenage girl with long straight red hair and big green eyes. “It says “Happy Birthday to the world’s next race car driver. NOT!” I laugh. “Ha-ha!” Set the card aside and rip open the present. I hold up a light yellow T-shirt with “1966” and a gray Mustang horse emblazoned across the front. “Awesome! Thank you so much! I will wear this with pride.”

A big smile spreads across Earl’s haggard but handsome face and he cocks a bushy black eyebrow at me. “How do you like driving your sixty-six Mustang?”

Earline shows me the tag. “It’s a medium.”

“Perfect. I totally love it. Thank again you guys.” Smiling, I put card and top in the box and close the lid. “Uh, I’m just curious. I was just wondering about the rental business.” I point at the door behind us.

Earline says, “That’s my cousin’s business. He started at the airport and expanded.” Earl passes me a stack of business cards. “If and when you need a limo for the prom, Ernie’s your man. I’ll make sure he gives you and your friends a good deal.”

“Ah.” I say my eyes on one of the fancy gold cards that match the license plate holder. My mind is spinning. Talk about coincidences. I put the cards in my purse and hunch on my backpack. “I’ll, um see...thanks.” Renting a limo never crossed my mind. I think Ernie’s is the only car rental business in the neighborhood. Okay, Earl fixes cars and his cousin Ernie rents them. Make sense, I guess. I conclude that the creepy old dude has to be from out of town. Why else would rent a car? And unless Ernie has a large chain of stores, he rented it either from here or the airport location. If he rented his car from here, why’d he hire a cab to stalk me in the school parking lot? Why would he come to Georgetown and chase me around in the first place? This is too freaking weird. I’m not sure what to do about finding out whom the old man is and why he seems to be stalking me. Josh will know…

“Thanks Earl!” Pop says, and raps his knuckles on the counter top and pulls me out of my thoughts. He pauses. “Oh shoot, I almost forgot, she needs another detailing. The interior got wet in that rain storm. Top would go up. Make sure you charge me.” I whip my head around. Sean must’ve told him! I guess he figured I’d be mad if he brought it up considering how upset I was last night.

Earl says, “Sure thing Christopher…as you know my grandson EJ does a dandy job. Besides, he needs the extra cash to take care of his bride to be and their baby on the way.”

I look at Earl. “EJ’s going to be a daddy?”

Earl says, “Yep!”

Earline says, “Can you say shotgun wedding.”

All I can say is, “Wow.” I drop my gaze and watch Earl write on our work order. He turn’s the clipboard around for Pop to sign and I check out the costs. No cost for canvass top or AC. Full detail $50.00. I mouth fifty bucks? Now I feel bad that I was so irresponsible. In shock about the price I look at Pop thinking, I can just use the utility vacuum to dehumidify my little car and hang an air freshener on the rear view mirror.

Pop’s brow crinkles while he signs the ticket. He asks, “When should we pick her up?” He hands the clipboard to Earl. The price doesn’t seem to faze him.

Earl crosses the office and hangs the clipboard on a hook next to a row of others. “We should be done by three… three thirty…no later than four. If you need transportation, I can set you up with a ride. Want me to call my cousin Ernie. He’s next door?”

“No need. I drove my van.” Pop drums his finger on the counter and frowns as if trying to make a decision. He says, “I didn’t know Junior was getting married.”

Earline smiles snugly and chimes in, “It can’t happen too soon—if you catch my drift.” She makes a wide loop with her hand in from of her stomach.

Pop reaches in his wallet and takes out a little leather case full of business cards. “Well if you need a caterer for the reception, here’s my card. He lays a business card on the counter and I look at it feeling my eyebrows arch in question. When did this all happen?

Earl picks it up and squints at Pop’s business card. He reads, “Chef CAB’s fine catering. Nice!” He passes the card to Earline.

“Well now, that’s super Christopher,” she says merrily, pinning the card on an overcrowded corkboard hanging above the desk.

“Thanks. I went on the Internet and designed them myself. They arrived in yesterday’s mail.” He shoves his wallet in his back pocket.

Earline asks, “So you’re back in the business of cooking professionally. Does that mean you are hiring?”

Pop grins at Earline, ignoring my dazed expression. “Aye eventually. It’s time I get off my sorry arss and get back to work.”

She nods. “Well if you need any help give me a call. I know a lot of capable servers.”

Pop hugs himself and rocks on his shoes. “I’ll let you know. Right now, I’m just starting out. I only filed for my business license a couple days ago. I’ll see how it goes.”

All righty then. I feel the need to get moving. I pick up my present and tuck it under my arm. “Thanks again you guys!”

Pop blinks. “Wow, that’s right. I need to get Cookie to school.”

Earline scurries from behind the counter and give us both a quick hug. Pop kisses her on the cheek, and shakes Earl’s hand.

I open the door.

Earline says, “How about I let you know when EJ and his fiancée set a date. We’d love to hire you to cater the parties and reception.”

Pop looks as if he’s going to discuss this with her. I push him toward the open door and wave. “Bye!”

Earline calls out, “We’ll talk!”

Pop closes the door and raises his arm indicating that we have to cross the over to the other side of the big metal building to get to where he parked. The racket makes it impossible to chat. The temperature is muggy and hot. Huge metal fans help some. As we trek past the automotive bays, Pop takes out a handkerchief and wipes sweat from his face. I stop and gasp. EJ and another guy remove the stripped top off my Mustang and lay it on the cement floor. It looks like a skeleton belonging to a giant metal bug. Both doors are wide open and a mechanic is inside dismantling the entire dashboard. I turn away. I can’t bear to watch.

Once we’re away from the motorized racket, I swat Pop’s arm. “Hey, how come you didn’t tell me you started a catering business?”

“I haven’t officially started it yet,” Pop says, “and up till now I didn’t have any clients.”

“Still Pop, we usually discuss stuff before you do something major like start a business.”

“I didn’t want to jinx myself by blabbering on about it and besides…” He shrugs.” I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh, you accomplished that all right.”

Pop says raises his arm and points at a side door. We exit and I ask, “Why did you park so far away?”

“Earl’s was jammed with customers. I had to park way over in the rental car lot. I just hope Ernie didn’t tow my van away.”

We trek down a covered footway that runs along the far side the garage. Midway down, the metal wall stops and a new painted cement block wall begins. To our right is a high fenced in blacktop lot holding rows of sleek black and white limousines. Razor wire runs along the top to keep out trespassers. So, this is cousin Ernie’s business.

At the corner, we wait for traffic to clear before crossing to the other side of the street where Pop parked the van in what looks like a new car sales lot. Behind me, I hear strange language being spoken and turn around just as a group of men dressed in Arabian robes, exit Ernie’s business. A fancy black awning over the front entrance has the same email logo.

The Arab men cut across the little grass lawn and jay walk across the street, making the cars stop for them. They pile into two sleek black Mercedes parked under a gigantic billboard that simply says, LEASE ME (at) ERNIE’S FINE RENTAL CARS (dot) COM

I shade my eyes and look up at the billboard. Again, with the gold and black logo exactly like the cards in my purse and the gold license plate holder on the car in front of me at the Checkmart—only a lot bigger and flashier. Staring at the billboard a little longer, I memorizing every detail. I picture the rental office sign on the door inside the Zavalla’s office. I plan to check the Internet for Ernie’s website and maybe pay Cousin Ernie a visit very soon. I’ll pretend I’m interested in renting a limo for prom. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

The traffic finally thins enough for us to cross. We enter the paved lot across the street and walk past two rows of shiny cars. “You’re awfully quite,” Pop says, turning down the third row.

I follow and shrug. “Just thinking that we’d better hurry!” Half-way down, I see the van and run ahead. I go to the far side of the van and remove my backpack.

Pop pushes the key pad as he comes around and opens the passenger side door for me—always the gentleman. The cars are parked so tightly, I can barley open the door enough to get inside. I toss the Zavalla’s gift in the back seat and climb in.

“If I’m one minute late, I’ll have to go to the office for a hall pass.”

I buckle up thinking I’d rather not butt heads with Goth Girl again. He shuts my door and I stare in amazement at the car parked in front of us. I lean forward and feel my mouth drop open. There’s a missing flake of gold on the letter “E”. What are the chances? I put the tag number to memory, it’s an easy one to remember, 800 008. I settle back in the seat and cross my arms over my chest. Who knows, I might need to tell it to somebody it in the near future. You hear about young girls being abducted almost weekly. With that thought, a chill runs down my spine chased by a droplet of sweat.

Pop eases himself behind the steering wheel shutting his door, dropping his copy of the receipt on the consol and buckles up. He fires up the engine, adjusts the AC vent to blow on his face, and then twists around and reverses the bulky Chevy van out of the tight space.

As he pulls into traffic, I put down my side window and stick my head out, surveying the beige block building attached to the back of Earl’s Family Garage from another perspective. I ask, “When did they add the rental business?”

Pop is busy driving and doesn’t hear my question. He checks to his right and says, “Put your window up love, I have the AC on.”

Doesn’t matter. I can find out later. I put the window up and sit back in my seat. I notice the box of business cards sitting between us on the center consol. I pick it up and examine the sample card taped to the lid. “So you’re back in business.”

“I’m going to start very slowly.”

I nod my head and pick up the receipt. “Man, I can’t believe how much it costs to detail my Mustang.” I put the receipt down and look at Pop. “I want to pay you back. I’ve been thinking for awhile now, that I need a part-time job of some sort.”

He glances over at me. “Uh-uh. You don’t need to worry about that right now, Lassie.”

“Yes I do,” I say adamantly. “I want to find a job and at make enough money so I can at least pay for gas and stuff. I need to make my own spending money. I don’t like asking you’re for dough.”

“We’ll discuss it later, at the Mall.” He pats me on the knee. “Right now, you just concentrate on making good grades and that will be pay enough.”

I mull over what he said about good grades. As usual, he’s right.

A block before the school zone begins we slow down for the flashing light. Pop looks over and says, “Don’t forget you have the trust fund your mum and I set up for you when you were just a wee one.”

I frown. “But that’s for my college.” The words slip out as if I am already planning to go.

Pop nods his head. “Glad to hear you say that. I was worried you might choose not to go to a university.”

“I’m considering it.: I remember Josh that is going to Gainesville to attend the University of Florida. Live in Florida near the beach and go to college. That would be heckafun. The traffic creep forward and I drop the subject.

When we get close to the school’s entrance, Pop stops for the line of School Bus turning in. Traffic is always heavy in front of my school in the morning before class and right after school lets out. It takes less time to walk to class.

“I’ll hoof it from here.”

“All right.” He puts the van in park and I open the door and get out of the van. I reach in, grab my stuff and hoist my backpack on my shoulders. Pop leans over the front seat. “Do you need a note?”

I consult my watch. “Probably not… I have a few minutes. My first class starts at nine.”

“Okay love, I’ll pick you up right here at four sharp.”

I blow him a kiss and shut the door.

Boy do I have a ton to tell Josh!