***** An Unexpected Proposal *****
The smell of oil hung heavy in the air, causing Andrew to wrinkle his nose as the slick scent assaulted him. He had expected the odor when he entered the auto body shop, but it still surprised him. It was the first time he had been in a place like that since Sara had bestowed upon him his new senses, and nothing could have prepared him for the powerful bouquet of grease and steel that welcomed him.
Looking around, it was nice to put an image to the name; "Dale's Auto Body And Repair".
The bell rang one more time as the door closed behind him, announcing his entrance. Glancing around, Andrew wondered if 'The Rocket' was out back, or if they had already stripped it for parts and sold what was left.
"Be right out," a familiar sounding voice called from a doorway behind the counter.
While he waited, Andrew studied the small room, admiring the pictures of cars hung on the walls, and magazines that were arrayed on a small table next to a pair of chairs that sat in the corner. On the other side of the room was a coin-operated vending machine with three different types of snacks; color coated chocolates, cinnamon jellies, and peanuts. Beside it sat a tall soda machine emanating a dull hum that didn't seem to bother the black and gray cat that was curled up at the top edge of the device, watching Andrew with a lazy gaze.
A few moments later, and Dale entered from what Andrew assumed was the auto body shop. The older man looked exactly as he had imagined, skinny and of moderate height, his arms stained with grease and oil, though his calloused hands were spotless, if a bit beaten.
"What can I do for ya?"
"Not sure if you remember me, sir. I'm Andrew, Sara's-"
Dale released a sudden and unexpected laugh, interjecting, "I remember you, boy. You're that damn fool who tried to jumpstart a car from your house's mainline power."
Andrew blushed and nodded his head, resigned to live the lie, and not wanting to try and explain what had actually happened. Regardless of what people thought, no one would ever believe the truth; that Sara had given him such an overwhelming blowjob that he had fried every piece of electronics for dozens of yards in all directions.
"So, whatcha want? Sara's car's out back if you're lookin' for it."
"No, sir. I've actually called a few times the last couple of days... and... well, you keep hanging up on me."
Dale's eyes lost their pleasant cast as they narrowed into slits, the edge of his mouth curling into a smirk as he shook his head.
"Dammit boy, this is an auto body shop, not some smithy you can just waltz into like it's the damn dark ages or some such nonsense."
Andrew chuckled at Dale's imagery, pleased that he hadn't been thrown out as soon as the mechanic knew what he wanted.
"It isn't like that, sir. I just want-"
A loud noise echoed back from the workshop, followed by another man yelling, "Fuckin' shit, Dale. Tell that dumbass to fuck off and get back in here, I'm struggling man."
Before the mystery man finished his statement, Dale was rushing back through the doorway, a worried look on his face.
"What the hell, Earl. I said wait till I got back, and you still went ahead and tried to pull it without me? Is this 'international bring your idiot to work day', or what?"
Andrew listened to them argue for a solid minute before he resolved himself to wait, and took a seat at the table. While he leaned his head back and browsed the internet through the phone in his pocket, his magical gift navigating using the device with minimal power, the door opened and a rather large and disheveled man came in.
The sounds of Dale and Earl's efforts slowed down for a moment until the new arrival spoke up, "Hey Dale, my truck ready?"
There was exasperation in Dale's voice as he called back, "Yeah, just give me a few to finish this up."
It only took a few seconds for Andrew to realize that the man was drunk. Not falling over drunk, but intoxicated enough that his movements were sluggish and his expression was a bit distant. With a bit of effort, Andrew kept his frustration to himself, the idea of that man driving a truck off the property nagging at him as he tried to look away.
The man crossed the room and got some peanuts out of the vending machine, the salty treat falling into his cupped hand. After looking at the chair next to Andrew's, the guy decided to stand at the counter while he waited.
He dumped the peanuts onto the counter, and kept trying to peer back into the shop, slowly popping the nuts into his mouth and eating them louder than Andrew thought possible. After a few moments, the cat rose from its faux slumber and dropped onto some shelves before finally reaching the counter.
It was a large male Manx, its muscular body covered in disheveled fur from a lifetime of fighting. With a confident gate it meandered up to the large man and meowed directly at him, its eyes moving between him and the peanuts. It sat and stared the tall man in the face, before meowing again.
"Just give him a peanut," Dale provided from the workshop, his voice sounding strained from his efforts.
"Fuck that," the newcomer said with a slight slur. "I ain't givin' this cat shit."
Before Dale could say another word, the cat lunged at the man, startling him and causing him to fall backwards in fear. By the time he stood back up, the cat had already taken a peanut into its mouth and dropped off the counter.
It hopped onto the coffee table beside Andrew, releasing the peanut from its mouth and began to lick the small treat, a deep and pronounced purr emanating from its mighty chest. Andrew couldn't help but laugh at the crazy cat, or the incensed look on the drunk man's face.
As Andrew watched the anger cloud the man's expression, and the stomping steps he used to cross the small room, Andrew remembered why he hated drunk people. His experiences had been limited, but the few he had met were never happy. He guessed it had something to do with where they were in their disease, but as he watched the man cock back his fist, eyeing the cat with deadly intent, he knew it didn't matter, he couldn't sit back and let things move forward.
Mr Spencers training had not let Andrew down, and before the drunk could release his attack, Andrew stood and knocked the man over, doing everything he could to make it seem like an accident.
"Dale, you lazy son of a bitch. When's my car gonna to be ready? I ain't gonna' wait another god damn second."
The words felt dirty leaving Andrew's mouth, but they served their purpose. While the large, drunk man fumbled to get back to his feet, expletives flying from his lips fast and loose, Andrew continued to walk towards the counter. He could hear Dale as he dropped some tools and got to his feet, rushing to get back into the office.
"You little fucker!" the large man yelled, storming towards Andrew.
Before he could reach him, Dale arrived. "Jimmy, what the hell's going on in here?"
His hands were coated in grime, and Andrew could tell by the way he was fidgeting that he didn't like being in that room with dirty hands.
