Drowned World

[Kett Evangeline]

January 29th-30th

2019

 

 

 

Small frame sat with one foot on the curb to her right, bike turned off. Half a block away, the bridge she’d stared at in silence as a child shadowed above her in half misted gloom. Black jersey cuffs were pulled down to her knuckles, graceful yet insanely strong fingers resting between her knees on the front tank… folded almost demurely ladylike as the dark lashes blinked under the shadows of the knit hood worn inside of a leather coat. The black biker jacket kept her torso dry, sleeves also zipped down to her knuckles. It was one of her favorites, keeping her attention off of the fact jean clad legs were damp.

 

She was packing… heavily. Faces and names unknown waltzing in and out of the stainless steel sided “antique” diner doors in laughter only to peer up at the sky and frown, their cars driving by her drizzle spattered classic Indian that was almost too big for her… face casting toward the dreary river after confirming and memorizing their faces.

 

She was waiting…for courage maybe. No. She had that in spades, fingertips barely peeking from beneath the black cuffs rubbing at a grease spot on her nail she rarely wasn’t able to scrub off, She cast a glace around her over her shoulders, dropping her attention back to her hands. The world dreary… she was on fire inside. A flaming Zeppelin raging against the immovable force of solid ground, cheeks hot, eyes burning even under clammy cooled lashes.

 

Deciding. The morning breakfast rush. A whole diner full of people “Gina” knew all about. A hoard of people that needed to be set straight that she was no pale flower- violently if necessary.

 

Deciding.

 

Sniffle was quiet, hidden eyes flicking toward the diner again.

 

She’d only been out of the “healer induced” sleep less than a few hours, realizing she’d slept through the night and past her chance to right things immediately. The disorientation and loss of time was almost as furious as the failure of the day before, compounding exponentially as the minutes at her “post” dragged on. Deciding... Woken up somewhere she didn’t wanna be, covered in blood, sore and angry. Had taken almost a half hour to get every drop of caked blood off in the shower… deciding, thoughts festering… angry and frustrated silent tears as fingers wandered over where bullet holes used to be in the privacy of the hot shower.

 

She’d tried to go about her day… pretending things were okay… Black Harley’s, jeans, a button up black shirt tied at the waist… she’d piled every bit of dark hair on her head, tying it up with a scarlet bandana. Rosie the riveter it was today. Dark blues had stared so long at herself in the mirror, a kohl liner pencil flicking absently in her fingers it felt like for hours… every stitch of her being always looking older, tougher, rougher. A persona. It was part of her.

 

Today, it hadn’t felt so useful, and the persona was dropped back into her makeup bag, the Snow White stark innocence of her features disappearing under her hooded zip up donned with the leather jacket. Bills was up when she left her loft, knew better than to talk to her. She didn’t even want to know what had been promised, what souls had been sold. Couldn’t find her Browning, suspicions as to what trophy case it had gone to… Was there anything else Bakkhos didn’t have of hers?

 

Sigh long, thoughts pulled back to her presence at the diner, fingers pinching between her eyes. A bit betrayed, a bit overwhelmed, and very conflicted. Gun in the back of her belt felt like a ticking time bomb, wanting nothing more than to kill everything... eyes narrowing at the diner again as she reached to start the bike and push off the curb.

 

Crisis averted felt like a blood betrayal, also desperate to see if the weasel’s smart ass rantings were true. Why wouldn’t it be true? Bill’s had already given Gaspari the other half of her legacy to add to his trophy case right? Why wouldn’t the rest of this horrific nightmare be true? It seemed sacrilegious in such a quiet place, the echo of a powerful engine before she turned it off and left it at the curb to step into the rather secluded cemetery. Hands shoved into her pockets, footsteps through damp grass reserved for silent reflection to witness the ultimate display of arrogance, and arrogance it was. Her father's name where it didn't belong. She almost couldn’t look at it. Monument to what? Thanks for making us rich? Thanks for making us powerful? Thanks for leaving your daughter in obscurity to pad our lifestyle? It wasn’t their business to assume they had the right to mourn him. She’d barely stopped moving, turning on her heel back to her bike didn’t seem fast enough. Her escape, didn’t seem fast enough.

 

**

The next day

 

Breath misted in front of the tiny focused beam of light, miniature mag-light held between teeth at the sound of a ratchet in the otherwise eerie morning silence. Same overcast gloom as the day before didn’t make much for prime working conditions, but she wasn’t one to wait for the world to tip in her favor. Hammer plinked every few moments to get the tired bolts to move; the pitter patter of a waking world joined in symphony by the light crackle of rain on the tarp she had covering the rest of the car. It was that weird time inbetween times, when it was still dark but the sun hadn’t come up, the sky glowed and the earth was still in shadow.

 

Bills had tried to make things right by being up before the crack of dawn with coffee ready for her, which she ignored. She hadn’t spent more than two seconds the shop the day before and he was obviously concerned. Not a word had been spoken to any of them, they knew the wide berth needed before she cooled off. After the shit they all pulled, they were lucky to still even have jobs. Hell, they were lucky she hadn’t shot them all in the kneecaps.

 

Guys hadn’t yet rolled out of bed, they were all staying here now- in the break room while the old back garage was being turned into a “bachelor pad: of some kind. Her own jolly pirate ship of mutineers.

 

All she needed.

 

…the only thing she knew that calmed her called now, a whisper from her father perhaps. She answered.

 

Nestled and busy in the car graveyard behind her shop she was in her own secluded world, the old Ford truck parked in the drive behind the ’67 with its tailgate down waiting for the bumper she was removing. Half thumped down into the overgrown brown frozen grass, and she straddled it, starting on the other end.

 

...the bumper, the fender, then off to the next row to pull a set of still pristine brakes from one undeserving asshole to another.

[Matteo Carducci]

He had made sure Frankie got home alright before he picked up his other car and slipped back into the neighborhood while the shop was putting itself back together and the mouse still slept.

 

His target was the diner. He could have gone in waving his Bakkhos card, guns drawn and demanding, but he opted instead for saccharin charm. "Gina" had been an easy mark for the dark Italian Capo. It had only taken half an hour of chat over a mediocre meal and a warm smile to start getting her to talk. He had not said that he was with the yahoos in the area playing mob, so it wasn’t his fault she came to that conclusion on her own. Of course he didn’t do anything to dissuade the conclusion either as he sparkled deep browns her way, not even having to lay the charisma on thick to get her leaning on the counter and flirting across the counter.

 

Hour and a half later he was walking out a bit more informed and a lot more aggravated. The kids in the area were no names for the most part, little punks thinking they could play big dogs under the radar. But one name out here was known to the Capo. Tires peeled over the pavement as he headed back to the Standard Hotel, he needed Gaspari's ear. One thing he had learned watching the head of Bakkhos was he needed to step back and let his head cool when his instincts were to slaughter and right now, his instincts screamed get blood.

 

The kid was a family snitch. Little snot wanted to be recognized as a soldier but thus far had proved lacking. Looked like he was tired of waiting for his promotion and was out here playing Capo. He deserved a set of cement shoes, but before the Italian took matters into his own hands, a right born of the offense being in his territory, he first wanted to get guidance from Gaspari. Instead of quietly handled, the head of Bakkhos might want an example made.

 

Couple days later, a calmer Capo turned down the road towards the shop to check on his ride….and its mechanic. It was early when the Hemi Cuda slipped into her parking lot. He had his Bakkhos card flying, the immaculately restored black 1970 440-6 Barrel was a well known marker of the mob's Senior Capo.

 

It was a statement of power for those that dared to walk his territory, its presence in her parking lot declaring openly his support of the shop. Blue jeans hung a bit long, wrinkling up on the top of his shoes as he stepped out and slammed the door shut. Gray and black striped tee rippled under the midnight leather jacket as he made his way to the garage, catching site of Bills and nodding a faint greeting.

 

[matteo]…Kett?[/matteo]

 

Gruffy frown looked at him before tossing his head over his shoulder towards the scrap yard. Clearly he still was in the dog house with the mouse.

 

Hands slid into his jean pockets as he made his way around back, picking through the aisles listening to the faint clink of metal, honing in where she was working. Coming around a rusty pile of scraps he found her wrestling with a bumper. Hip rested against the front hood of an old caddy, not wanting to get too close and sneak up on her.

 

[matteo]…'ey[/matteo]

[Kett Evangeline]

She heard it.

 

Finely tuned, echoing over the building off in the distance to cut through her quiet morning. The thought had crossed her mind that it was her father’s but it didn’t sound like it. Not something she wanted to deal with today. Not someone she wanted to deal with today. Not that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, she just wasn’t ready. Still tangling with her wants, and needs, and anger.

 

Even in the morning clamminess her cheeks burned, the tips of her ears under her hood… burned, and the odd kneejerk reaction to avoid until she’d had the time to properly don her face armor made her demeanor almost... shy. The world never saw her like this. Her armor gave her permission to be angry, and mean, and distant. Right now she was just a quiet innocent with dewy skin, rosy cheeks and a slight sniffle under the utilitarian exterior dress of any other mechanic outdoors in the drizzle. It was her solace, her playground, and she hated that he had come to it. Bills would tell him where she was, and then… a soft wave of panic hit, the urge to hide set straight by the ever present anger hovering just under the surface.

 

She felt the air change before the scent of well cared for leather touched her senses. It was the same moment the bumper finally dropped free and swished triumphantly down into the grass, the edge catching her steel toe with a clunk. That’s what they were for. Her hood was the hero of the day. She didn’t have to look at him as the tiny mag light was snatched from between her teeth and tucked away, tools disappearing into her tailored carpenters belt beneath the hoodie. With a determined squat the metal beast was hoisted onto her shoulder and she stood to transfer it into the open tailgate of the old truck. The mouse was mighty. A worn blanket protected it as she slid it in, covering it up and pushing up the tailgate to lock it with a jimmied hitch pin.

 

Fingers lingered on it a moment. The more she paused, the hotter her cheeks became. Why was he here, why the fuck bother to come back here other than to mansplain shit to her.

 

Sigh soft at his greeting, hood lifted just enough to blink dark lashes at him in recognition before returning to the front of the car to cover it with a tarp and anchor an old rusted brake drum on top. Sniffle was light, peeling up the tarp at the back tire in a crouch and reaching behind the tire to run her fingers over the brakes. They were okay, the others were better, tarp dropped back down and she stood, opening the door to the truck and sliding in, slamming it behind her. She sat a moment, looking at her hands, finally leaning over and pushing open the passenger door for him. She hated herself for it, didn’t want to… wanted nothing better than to jump out and punch him in his smug teeth.

 

If you’re done pissing on my fire hydrants out front, we got work to do… one more parts pull. If you’re not here to work, you know the way out.

 

Foot pushed the clutch and the old truck fired to life, well-tuned but old. The jack was on the passenger floor, he'd have to deal, the cinder blocks in the truck bed. She’d mentioned the other Mustang being wrapped around a tree… never mentioned it was in her lot. Hood was pushed back, damp loose tendrils from her braid tucked behind her ears. Fingers rubbed over themselves in front of the dash heater vent to warm up a moment. If he wasn’t coming, he could walk his ass back out and take his penis car with him.

[Matteo Carducci]

Dark eyes watched her pull the bumper free of its attachments. He had a feeling she already knew he was there. He suspected she was a bit like Derrick, freaky aware of her surroundings. Based on what he knew from Bills she was deaf at birth so she would have developed those ridiculous extra sensory abilities like Gray had and he suspected that getting some sound back didn’t erase what a lifetime of adaptation had given her. Probably freaked people out. Hell, Gray used to freak him out, now it was old hat.

Thick lashes lifted with the metal as it hoisted onto her shoulder. He would have offered to help but he liked his balls intact and if there was anything the last encounter had taught him it was that she would piss on any chivalry. A fact reinforced by her sigh at his greeting. Ya, this was going to go well.

It got only better as she packed up her haul and climbed into her cab, slamming the door on him. Groan vibrated silently in his chest as a hand rubbed the back of his head, internally swearing at himself for agreeing to anything with Gaspari. He needed to get out, kill the little shit playing big cheese in his territory and leave her indoctrination into the family to someone more patient than himself.

Heel had already made a long stride in the opposite direction when the passenger door opened drawing a brow upward as he glanced back over his shoulder.

" If you’re done pissing on my fire hydrants out front, we got work to do… one more parts pull. If you’re not here to work, you know the way out."

Yep, tons of fun this decision. Keep walking…..get in the truck…..keep walking….get in the truck. Fuck. He was going to live to regret this.

Pivoting on his heel he headed back to the truck, sliding into the passenger seat, left foot hitching up onto the jack to accommodate long legs as he slammed the door closed next to him.

[matteo]….thought you'd never ask.[/matteo]

The quip came with a smile as he glanced at the dropped hooded cheek.

[Kett Evangeline]

She felt like a freak, a sideshow.  Compact deaf tomboy.  Hardly suave mob material.  She didn’t want to be, knew the whore shaped boxes that all the women she’d ever met forced themselves into. She didn’t want any part of it, any association with it and just wanted him to go away.  The fact he didn’t offer to help her pick up the bumper that was undoubtedly heavy won him a few points, but not many.

 

Polite she wasn’t, but she was deadly observant.  Lashes flicked on the rearview briefly enough to catch the frustrated hand on the back of his neck. He didn’t want to be here.  That made two of them, except someone was making him be here.

 

She was being babysat.  He had other places to be.  Had to be Gaspari.  Fingers itched to close the door. He could go fuck himself.  Not only did her father not want her involved, they didn’t want her involved either.

 

Foul mood slid further into its recluse.

 

Sigh was long as he got in, warming her fingers for a moment on the vent. He seemed comfortable, at least he took his own ease.

"….thought you'd never ask."

“Bullshit.”

 

The quip was dry, quiet.  The simple word said everything she was thinking. She knew he was babysitting, she knew he didn’t want to be there.  No use in pussying around it.  Foot touched the clutch, thoughts clearly wrestling with something.  Compact form turned in her seat, reaching behind the bench seat to pull out one of the giant hoodies she had adopted.  It smelled like fresh linen, definitely not something that had been hanging out in her shop. She’d brought it for herself when the one she was wearing got soaked through. It wasn’t raining as hard as she’d anticipated.  Mist at the most.

 

She tossed it on his lap.

 

“I don’t stop for fashion.  Might want to roll up your nice jeans a few turns too before you get soaked to the knee with oil.”

 

Even though the ’67 she was stopping at next had been drained, it still was a hot flipping mess of grass.  Was she being chivalrous?  Nah.  The silver thermos of coffee was dropped between his thighs. Now she was being chivalrous. It was the closest to a thank you for saving her life he would ever get.

 

“It’s hot.  Black.  Help yourself.”

 

Nimble fingers found the gear and the well cared for antique moved several aisles over and stopped at a rather short tarp covered mound.  She didn’t wait, reaching under his foot to lift up the jack and kick open her door. Jack dropped next to the mystery mound, tailgate was dropped and she climbed in to pull a cinder block and a few small cuts of 2X4, dropping them next to the jack.  Hands rested on her hips a moment, sigh annoyed… the first time not at him.  She was working herself up to it.

 

“Hemi. Didn’t sound like a Skylark.  Yours?”

 

Curious small talk.  Her pop’s was a Skylark.  His was never a mean sound, it was a dangerous one. Weasel had a snarler.  Lips pressed together pulling the tarp back.

 

It was a tragedy.  A perfect, breathtaking tragedy.  Beautiful paint crinkled backward to the front doors.  The front end was a scorched pile of crap, interior a smoke ridden, melted mess.  Features softened for the first time in his presence.  It was more than sorrow.  Loss.  She snorted at it finally, twisting the jack and dropping to one knee to reach under and find the sweet spot.

 

“I cried,” she confessed quietly, reaching to slide a cinder block closer.  She was going to jack the back up to pull the tires and harvest the brakes. “You tell anyone that, I’ll kill you.”

 

Teeth grit at the first twist on the jack, grunt of exertion soft.

 

“You know how to safety prop a jack right?  Make yourself useful Merlin.”

 

She would have to earn his respect? He would have to earn hers.

[Matteo Carducci]

"Bullshit."

 

Why did he have visions of a viper every time she said anything to him. The bite in her single word threatening to break skin. Ya, this was a GREAT idea. Though, venom and all, her dismissal of his words did tempt a faint upturn to his lips.  She was no happier at his presence than he was dealing with a traitor in the midst of what he had thought was a mere racing spot in his territory. This area had been his haven away from Bakkhos. It had no high value industry, none of the family lived there…or so had been believed…. and no rival was setting up shop there….again….so they thought. It was just a little quiet spot where he could challenge his own skills behind the wheel and push his "children" without some dick turning it into a street race. He had no need to prove what he had built, nor what he could do behind its wheel.

 

Dark eyes blinked as a hoodie was unceremoniously dropped in his lap. Brow quirking as she spoke of fashion and pulling up his "nice" jeans. The Italian was far from a "pretty boy", just what did she mistake him for? He rarely was without oil or grease staining under his nails and his arms and shoulders were riddled with little badge of honor burn scars from working on hot engines since he tended to do it in a classic wife-beater tee. Lips parted only to clamp shut as the thermos went between his thighs, the flinch unavoidable. He didn’t know her from Adam and his instincts definitely told him she wasn’t looking to be "fresh" with his junk, which left potential aggression, which triggered the unavoidable flinch. But as warmth penetrated his jeans he glanced again at her with a quizzical brow.

 

 “It’s hot.  Black.  Help yourself.”

 

Blink seemed to take a moment to process before chin nodded a thanks. Odd little viper.  He didn’t have much time to ponder on the peace offering as she parked again and reached under his leg and over his lap, man-handling her equipment.

 

Abandoned in the cab, he set the thermos on the seat as he climbed out, glancing at the tarp covered mound before walking to the back of the truck where she was pulling a cinder block out, her sigh not readable.

 

“Hemi. Didn’t sound like a Skylark.  Yours?”

 

Ah. That was what was on her mind. Head shook at the mention of a Skylark. Her pops ride was underground at his place, still suffering from a wealth of needed restoration. The entire engine was in pieces, in various states of cleaning, repair or awaiting him finding an exact replacement. The seats were pulled out, the bullet and blood riddled covers hanging on the wall as a reminder of what they looked like so he could find replacements, perhaps also as a reminder why he hunted down traitors for Gaspari.

 

[matteo]..Cuda…took 'bout four years to restore her cuz some numbnut let her run outta oil.[/matteo]

 

Her frame had been so perfect, he had never seen a Cuda in that immaculate shape, but her innards had been destroyed. It had taken him forever to find all the original replacements to rebuild the engine.

 

Expression winced as the tarp was pulled.

 

[matteo]…fuck..[/matteo]

 

Soft expression escaped his lips as the brow furled looking over the mangled vehicle. Moving to the gnarled frame he set a hand on it, looking down the side.

 

"I cried…..you tell anyone that, I'll kill you."

 

[matteo]…woulda too..[/matteo]

 

Thumb rubbed along cracked paint, a large flake pulling off the accordioned frame as he continued to scowl at the corpse.

 

[matteo]…another dumbass…[/matteo]

 

The mutter was half under his breath. People that appreciated cars the way he did, didn’t let things like this happen to their ride.

 

“You know how to safety prop a jack right?  Make yourself useful Merlin.”

 

Brow lifted at her before taking over. Clearly this was not his first rodeo as calloused fingers worked the boards and jack with an ease that betrayed he was stronger than he looked. The leather jacket hid the medium build beneath. As the back end began to lift he glanced up at her.

 

[matteo]…this one your work before dipshit gotta hold of it then?[/matteo]

[Kett Evangeline]

Okay.  So the flinch did make her eyes perk on an otherwise poker face.  It was unintended, but she did enjoy the man-flinch.  The mechanic had a brackish humor with her guys.  If it’d been one of her boys, she’dve laughed like an ass.  He wasn’t, and she didn’t… she just enjoyed the fact she could startle the bastard even after the bitch-ass things he’d snarled at her several days earlier.  The inward amusement took the sting off the awkward for a brief moment anyway.

 

Then the interrogation, without being interrogating.  Her dad's car was still was on her mind.  Heavy and hurting.  She didn’t know the ass from Adam, and he had something she felt was precious. Honestly, she would rather it had been at the bottom of the river.  Martyred instead of some dickhead’s backseat burlesque.

 

"..Cuda…took 'bout four years to restore her cuz some numbnut let her run outta oil."

 

The 'hm' was soft in response, had only seen one complete once a while ago and the guy had run it into a piece of shit.  She wondered if it was the same one. There was half of one a few rows over.  A pile of pieces more like.  Bargaining chips for later. 

 

It was a few moments before she nodded.  Good to know it hadn’t been turned into a rat rod, but she still would have preferred it had been martyred.  It had been better for years not to know, now forced to look at her work trashed.  Why the hell was all her best work going to this asshole all of a sudden?  The thought made her blood cringe.

 

"…fuck.."

 

Eyes flickered to him at his reaction.  No shit Sherlock.  His outrage wasn’t what held her attention, it was the subtle affection for the injured thing, and his answer to her confession. He was an odd duck.  There were some brains along with the dick.

 

"…another dumbass…"

 

Soft sigh oozed from her lips.  That was one way to look at it.  Getting to put her hands on this disaster wasn’t going to make it much better, but at least she could get the parts on something that truly needed them… even if it was this guy’s.  He took care of his cars, or so he said…  He knew what he was doing, watching in her peripheral as she checked under the front and made sure it was sturdy.  Things sat for too long, they tended to break more parts and shift. The engine, or what was left of it, was safely on the ground.  Wasn’t going to go anywhere.

 

"…this one your work before dipshit gotta hold of it then?"

 

Silence was a strange answer.  He didn’t need to talk to her, she wasn’t someone that needed to be entertained, hell she didn’t really even know why he was here… to check on his car most likely to make sure she hadn’t ruined it yet.  Oh yah… and to make sure she hadn’t killed anyone else.  Couldn’t make the Gaspari regime look bad by being a petulant child, because she apparently needed a babysitter.

 

“You don’t need to make small talk,” voice was insanely quiet.  “You don’t like me and that’s fine.  Don’t feel like you have to talk to me unless it’s about your car.”

 

Okay that was done.  The weird little dance he was doing around her hard to put her finger on. Was he weird because he was somewhere he was ordered to be?  Or, was he weird because she was a chick?  Both maybe?  She fished a tire iron out of the flatbed as he stabilized the sad vehicle, t-bar wasting no time spinning a lug as soon as it was up and secured.  The iron sharply snapped into her palm like a rifle caught by a marine.  Lug was plucked off and slid into the joey pocket of her hoodie before moving swiftly on to the next one.

 

His question about the car stung at her.  It needed an answer.

 

“…yah”  she finally answered about the squished Mustang, a quiet combination of a sigh and a confession, the last lug in her hoodie before returning to the truck and fetching a toolbox.  It was set next to the side she was working on, returning to retrieve two milk crates and a coffee can.  The lugs dropped into the can, one crate by the passenger side, one by the driver’s. 

 

Hood was pulled up, still weirdly sensitive without her armor in front of someone she didn't know, tossing the tire iron on the trunk for him to retrieve and figure out what to do with... maybe pull the other tire while she was harvesting brakes?  Kneeling, the tire was pulled with surprising strength and rolled to the side, clink of tools quiet as she began to dismantle the brakes.  Dark lashes were slightly above the fender, watching him carefully every now and then.  Fingers were working quickly, but the silence lingered past most people’s uncomfortable point…  then further.

 

“…this is the last car pops and I worked on together.”

 

Pieces began to plink in the milk crate lined with a plastic bag.  Her shop was low tech, worked just as well. 

 

“…before he found other things more important.”

 

A soft grunt came out annoyed as a particularly tight piece was forced free.  Again the silence. She liked to work. She liked to work WITH people.  It was absolutely liberating to be in someone’s presence and not need to talk to them, just work.  She felt he needed more because he was uncomfortable around her… they weren’t at that silent point yet- people felt they needed to talk to cover up the weird.  Blink stopped her thoughts?  Yet?  WTF did her brain mean, yet?  Scowl was inward.

 

“Sat for a while in pieces after the world ended,”  she pulled a rag from her back pocket and wiped fluid from her hands before returning to work.  “Couldn’t make ends meet… you have to make some tough choices when you’re not king of New York.”

 

It took two people to wreck that car: the idiot that drove it into a tree, and the idiot that sold it to him. BUT, boys were fed.  Shop lights were on. She wouldn’t have made a different choice.  She couldn’t have made a different choice.

 

The first crate was inspected.  It went into the flatbed, small frame hoisting the tire into the bed with it.  He could use them too.

 

“You need spares,”  it wasn’t a suggestion.

 

Returning to the other side to see what he’d made a mess of, she wiped her fingers in long strokes with the rag before kneeling and pursing her lips thoughtfully at the other brake.  Sure he could jack a car, any chick worth her salt could do it in heels.  Before he set foot in her garage and used HER tools, she would have to be comfortable knowing he actually could… not just brag that he might know how.

 

Maybe that’s why she was letting him stay there..

 

Tongue clucked quietly a couple times as she looked over the mess.  This was an impossible call if you were an idiot, tough even if you knew what you were looking at because you had to have the patience to restore each part.  Some people did, most didn’t.  When the car hit, it had obviously torqued left.  The tarp helped, but water had gotten in and sat from a sheer in the rear fender. This side looked like hell.  They were salvageable.  Did he know that?  Eyebrow lifted at him slightly before she stood and slid her hands into her back pockets.

 

“Your call Merlin.”

[Matteo Carducci]

His explanation of the 'cuda he was driving seemed not to assuage the concern about her father's ride. It was the only explanation for why she would have even asked him about the car.

 

But he was distracted from the viper by the mutilated carcass she unveiled. People who had an adoration for the metal beasts just didn’t let this sort of thing happen. There wasn’t an excuse for it. It had been a beauty, before it had been murdered that was. Her lack of response when he asked if it had been her work was enough to confirm it had been.

 

“You don’t need to make small talk. You don’t like me and that’s fine.  Don’t feel like you have to talk to me unless it’s about your car.”

 

Eyes rolled behind the fender. Why was he here again? Viper didn’t want him here, likely drop the jack at an opportune moment to crush him. He should be at the club checking on inventory….or at the stadium checking on last construction elements. Hell, he should be out dropping their little traitor in the harbor with a set of cement shoes. Anywhere but here getting venom spat at him.

 

"…yah."

 

Fingers paused on the metal. Her quiet affirmation of his original question unexpected. Clank of the tire iron on the trunk brought fingers up instantly to retrieve it, slipping around to the other tire and making short work of the lug nuts. He was missing a few on his car, these would actually come in handy.

 

Silence lingered unnoticed by the Italian. He had a bad habit of working days without talking to a soul when it came to his cars. More than once a Bakkhos member had come breaking down his basement door, the senior capo having been missing for days, forgetting to charge his phone, or eat for that matter.

 

Tire iron was spun with an assertive crank, nuts spinning free as his right knee sank into the muddy gravel unnoticed. He had one that was nearly bald on his. He could use a swap out. As the nuts were saved and the tire was being pulled from the wreckage, he had almost forgotten she was there before she broke the silence again.

 

 “…this is the last car pops and I worked on together.…before he found other things more important.”

 

There was a frown as he freed the rubber from the vehicle before starting on the brakes.

 

[matteo]….family is important. Blood and otherwise….[/matteo]

 

Quiet words were likely to incite her but he didn’t care. He wasn’t here to coddle. She would need to go to Bills for that. He was here to speak truths and right some wrongs that had been made by both her dad and Bakkhos along the way.

 

"Sat for a while in pieces after the world ended. Couldn’t make ends meet… you have to make some tough choices when you’re not king of New York"

 

….aaaand there was the viper again. Hidden on the other side of the car his hand rubbed over his features. His basement was quieter…..and less hostile. Fingers pushed into the center of the wheel, lifted with one hand, crate in the other to follow her suit and place them in the truck. Spares?...nodding his agreement the weight of his tire sunk the truck bed another half inch.

 

“Your call Merlin.”

 

Head tilted looking at the side of the vehicle. Nodding faintly.

 

[matteo]… much better shape than mine despite how she looks.[/matteo]

[Kett Evangeline]

He was so quiet, either a quiet worker or he just hated her and her place that much.  Her whole organization was a liability now.  Nobody wanted extra responsibilities.  Is that what her father thought about her before he died?  Annoyed that she was an extra responsibility?  His silence after her rather tepid dismissal that he didn’t have to interact with her seemed…  not an answer.  With her guys, they just knew she worked in silence unless she was jabbing at them about their sex lives or cracking coarse jokes.  Him… he just felt like a stranger that wasn’t.  It was uncomfortable.  She hated feeling uncomfortable.

 

She had finished her side when a comment finally came, pausing at her truck with the coffee can of lugs dangling from her fingers.

 

"….family is important. Blood and otherwise…."

 

She didn’t say anything for a while, knowing he was expecting her to lash back.  So he was here to put her in her place huh?  School her on the way it was?  Is that what Gaspari told him to do?  Her quip about the king of New York brought a pause she could hear in his motion until he rose and put the tire into the back of her truck.  For some reason she kept holding onto the coffee can filled with lugs, prevented her from pulling her hood over her eyes and shoving her hands in her pockets.

 

Joining him on his side, she shook the can slightly for him to give up the lugs he’d pocketed.  benefit of the doubt, but… she was actually looking out for him.

 

“Lugs in the can Merlin,”  voice was quiet as she watched him assess the brakes.  “You’ll forget they’re in your pocket and knock your front teeth out when you’re in a hurry and swing your coat on too fast.  You can keep them all, just keep ‘em in here.  You’re missing some, and I don’t let people work for free.”

 

She waited for the brake assessment, can on the trunk with a clink.

 

"… much better shape than mine despite how she looks."

 

Eyes narrowed slightly, nodding once as she left him to finish and toss the crate of seemingly useless parts into the back of her truck.  He knew what a treasure they were.  That was the deal breaker.  She couldn’t lie, she had wanted him to fail the test.  Contrary to his belief, she’d listened to everything he had said.  She was still absolutely livid with Bakkhos, but in her two days of streaking anger, she realized how angry she was at her father too.  It didn’t mean she still didn’t love him, or the things he cared about.  He cared about Bakkhos, and his work.  This weasel said her father did amazing things for them.  She had to believe she would have shared in that, if he’d lived.  Question was, did he really care that she was family? Or was he doing this just because it was expected.

 

That was the big question.

 

There was a terrible rift there.  He had things he had no right to have.  Reality was though, he had them.  He had them because she didn’t know what else to do.  She was a kid when she dragged a bloody, grown man to bury him, afraid for her life.  She was a kid when she left the car on the dock.  She didn’t know what else to do, who else to go to.

 

The ass could have crushed the thing.  Or dumped it in the harbor.  He didn’t.

 

Petite hooded form moved further and further away from him, not inviting him, but not telling him to get the fuck away either.

 

She remembered where everything was in her rows and rows of hidden treasures.  It was truly a feat to have the place hidden so well, of course being behind the main shop surrounded in ten foot tall privacy chain-link had helped quite a bit.  The rows were neat, some roads in between well-traveled, the cars picked to the bones, others with grass up to her knees and no tire tracks at all.  These rows had tarps held down with old tires, brake drums, anything heavy enough to hold them down.  Some were gray, sun-faded… others bright and new over the old ones that had started to become threadbare from time.  High grass crunched as she trekked through the aisle, stopping about a hundred feet down.  Fingers were rubbing against each other, reaching to pull the hood down and free the dark hair from its ponytail only to smooth all the loose fronds back again and double loop the thing into a loose bun on the back of her skull.

 

Tires began to move, rolled off a set of tarps and discarded in the long grass.  A new blue one, underneath it a weathered gray held down with brake drums; the last torn in many places but tightly hidden from the elements, actually tent spiked down through the grommets. Wet earth made them relatively easy to pull, but she didn’t for a moment.  Breath a bit too fast, fingers pinched between her eyes for a moment to quell the heat from her lashes, back of her hand whisking something from a cold cheek as she leaned down to start pulling stakes.  Worn tarp was peeled off the car, small frame climbing carefully on top of the hood to keep the grommets from scratching intact glass.  She slid down and took several steps back.  It was on blocks, tires long gone, pristine in its tomb.  It was obviously not a perfect vehicle, but it was perfect to her.

 

“Last person to pull parts off of this was my dad,”  she said quietly.  Fingers dug deep into her pocket, the truck keys were tossed at him, followed quickly by a single key on a black cord.  “The lanyard key opens the gate to the front garage parking lot, this scrapyard, and that.” 

 

She pointed at another chain link sliding gate at the very back of the immense neat rows of cars.

 

“Full set of tools in the back of the truck in the roughneck chest.  Take what you need from this for your Skylark and bring it in the truck back to the garage.”

 

Hood came back up to keep out the drizzle, and hide the unreadable expression, small hands in her jean pockets for a moment as she looked long at the Skylark.  It was her father’s parts car.  The only one in the entire city she knew about other than her father’s.

 

“Family is more than blood,”  she said quietly and left him to it.  She was going to walk back to the shop, only a few minute's walk.  There was no way she could help him do this. 

 

He could just as easily tell her to go fuck herself and take the truck back herself.  It was his game now.  She normally really would have stayed to help, but she couldn’t find it in herself to open that hood, or look at it any longer.

 

About ten feet later, the petite mechanic turned, walking backwards as she called back.

 

“You bring anyone, especially chicks out to that back lot quarter mile run for a romp fest I will cock block your ass so hard you won’t get a date for months.  You, your Mustang and your 'Cuda only!”

 

Turning back away from him she continued her trek.  It was unsure if she was kidding, the harsh threat also a funny one at that.  But…  she wasn’t kidding.  She was never kidding.

[Matteo Carducci]

"Lugs in the can Merlin..You'll forget they're in your pocket and knock your front teeth out……"

There was a quip on the tip of his tongue regarding knowing perfectly well where his nuts were at all times, but he kept it to himself as he dropped the lugs into the coffee can after she set it down on the trunk. He waited until she was back to tossing things in her truck before he crouched down and worked on the brakes. He was waiting for the next spit of venom.

Silence had returned and he was content to work in the absence of sound, fingers gliding over the cylinder and checking the springs. Completion came too quickly as he finally stood and moved to add to the items in her truck, gaze following as she had moved away.

Now what?

He was tempted to stay by her truck. He had swallowed enough venom for one day. But as she lingered and began to remove tires off of tarps he sighed silently to himself and pushed away from her tailgate to follow. But he drew up short catching the emotional movements of a hand to her face and wiping over her cheek. Brow quirked.

"Last person to pull parts off this was my dad."

Ahhh.. that explained it. Hand snapped up to catch the keys, brow lifting over the dark eyes at her wondering just what the hell she wanted him to do with them. Why was she explaining what the lanyard key opened? Or what to bring back to the garage?

Puzzled expression remained as he looked at the Skylark. The only Skylark he had was…..

Brow lifted higher watching her pull the hood back against the drizzle. It was the first he even realized the rain had started once more.

"Family is more than blood…"

Was she agreeing with him? And did she just give him her blessings to work on her dad's car? He was confused now. Glancing back at the parts-mobile he laid a hand along its edge, feeling the metal and wondering if she was human after all.

" You bring anyone, especially chicks out to that back lot quarter mile run for a romp fest I will cock block your ass so hard you won’t get a date for months. You, your Mustang and your 'Cuda only!"

Aaaand there was the venom-monster once more. Who the fuck would bring a fuck out here? Especially when they had a place like his. What kind of place was she running out here?

[matteo]…ya…. cuz this is my first thought for a romantic getaway…….[/matteo]

He couldn’t help the sarcastic remark. Hell, girls weren't allowed in his garage at his uptown place, why would he bring them out here. Eyes watched her leave, head shaking a bit as he turned his attention back to the old Skylark. It definitely had some pieces he needed. He set to investigating the vehicle, opening doors and checking interior, there was a lot here he could use.

[Kett Evangeline]

"…ya…. cuz this is my first thought for a romantic getaway……."

 

She laughed, the words barely caught at her distance.  She could hear, but it had its limitations.  Laughter from her was like a white unicorn, it was melodic and held such a sly mischievousness it was like a glimpse into her soul… or a warning she was about to cut someone’s balls off.

 

You’re a prude Merlin, hands were tucked in her hoodie pockets, the smirk light.  You need a good adrenaline fuck you pussy.

 

It just bubbled out, unsure of where the surly ease came from.  Years and years of chained wicked anger thrown into a blender in less than a week?  Finding out she didn’t have to fight the world by herself?  Everything she thought was piled against her did have hope?  The way he’d looked at that car.  God, he looked at that car the way her father had looked at that car.  It was more than respect.  Responsibility.  It hurt.  Just to see the same love was like a knife in the gut.  She would have to admit that maybe, just maybe he might be a man worthy of her father’s legacy.  It hurt so much to hand over those keys, fingertips reaching up to whisk away hot moisture blurring her eyes as she walked through the gate and back into the parking lot of her shop. 

 

It was also liberating, but she had to get back to work.  He was a big boy, and if he wanted the luxury of her shop in his folds, he was going to have to work for it.

 

She could feel the eyes before she even stepped into the shop, burning with questions.  Where the hell was he? The truck? What had happened?

 

The bell chimed as she pushed into the lobby. God damn it. Hopping onto the chair she yanked it down again and threw it into the trash, reaching behind her neck to pull her hoodie off in one fell swoop and toss it onto the hook.  Chill was rubbed off her bare arms, walking through the back of bay one… two… socket wrenches zipping from her guys, stopping at hers and the Mustang that was the root of all the activity this morning.

 

Hands on her hips tapped, staring at it, fingers reaching over to turn up her radio to a quiet level, then flip the switch on the radiant heat over the door.

 

A plan.

 

Drawers pulled on her red tool chest, looking for something specific and tucking it into her back pocket.  She lifted the hood.  She knew bullet holes, how they tore through metal.  Fractured. Splintered.  Pulling on her leather apron so she didn’t scratch the thing even if it was a junk fender, she slid forward over the side. She wasn’t tall, and even though she could reach places nobody else could, she had to practically climb into the engine to get there.  Feet lifted off the floor; hand propped on top of the block as she reached to her back pocket and put the light magnet between her teeth.  She could feel the damn thing under a hose and bundle of wires.  If she couldn’t get at it, they would have to dismantle half the engine.  It had to come out.  It would rattle around and get sucked into something, even the fan.  Disaster as it ricocheted through the engine. A damn lock of hair was tickling her nose, fingers on the fragment of metal, then slipping.  Even her tiny hands couldn’t squeeze in there enough.  Back of her hand reached to wipe her nose and then grab the magnet, leaning further in, lithe bicep holding her weight for now as she essentially tried to find the equivalent of a fucking clitoris.