Minutes ticked by and Kelvin checked his watch.
“Man, I don’t think he—” Kelvin started to say. A car shot past them. A bright green paint job that sparkled in the moonlight.
“The legendary Olds,” Beauregard said. He pulled out behind the Oldsmobile. They followed him through the flat plains and the gentle slopes of slight hills. The moonlight gave way to porch lamps and landscape lighting as they passed single-story houses and mobile homes. They sailed through a curve so sharp it could slice cheese and downtown Shepherd’s Corner came into view. A collection of drab concrete and brick buildings illuminated by pale streetlamps. A library, a pharmacy and a restaurant lined the street. Near the end of the sidewalk was a wide brick building with a sign over the front door that said DINO’S BAR AND GRILL.
Warren turned right and drove around to the back of Dino’s. Beauregard parked the Duster on the street. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a crescent wrench. No one was on the sidewalk or loitering outside Dino’s front door. There were a few cars in front of the Duster. The deep tribal thump of a hip-hop beat seeped through Dino’s walls.
“Stay here. You see anybody coming, hit the horn,” Beauregard said.
“Don’t kill him, man,” Kelvin said. Beauregard didn’t make any promises. He got out and hurried down the sidewalk and across Dino’s parking lot. He stopped at the back corner of the building. Peeping around the corner he saw Warren standing next to the Oldsmobile. He was taking a piss. Beauregard ran across the parking lot. His footsteps were hidden by the music coming from the bar.
Warren started to turn just as Beauregard hit him with the wrench. He slammed the tool into Warren’s trapezius muscle. Beauregard heard a wet crack like when his grandfather would snap chicken wings at the dinner table. Warren crumpled to the ground as piss sprayed across the side of the Oldsmobile. He rolled onto his side and Beauregard hit him again in his ribs. Warren rolled onto his back. A trickle of blood flowed out of his mouth and down his chin. Beauregard knelt beside him. He took the wrench and laid it across Warren’s mouth like a gag. He gripped both ends of it and pressed down with all his weight. Warren’s tongue squirmed around the handle of the wrench like a plump pink worm. Blood and spit ran from the sides of his mouth down his cheeks.
“I know you got my money. I know you and them rent-a-cops was working together. Y’all travel around setting up races and pop the fools who show up. None of that matters to me. I know you got my money. Now I’m going to move this wrench, and if you say anything about anything other than my money, I’m going to break your jaw in seven places,” Beauregard said. He didn’t yell, and he didn’t scream. He straightened up and moved the wrench. Warren coughed and turned his head to the side. He spit a globule of pinkish saliva and it landed on his chin. He took a few deep gasps and more blood-spit flowed across his chin.
“My back pocket,” he wheezed. Beauregard rolled him over and Warren wailed. It was a high animalistic moan. Beauregard thought he could hear the soft clicking of his shattered clavicle bones rubbing together. He pulled out a wad of cash. He flipped through it quickly.
“There’s only 750. Where’s my thousand? Where’s yours? Where’s the rest?” Beauregard asked.
“My.… mine was a dummy roll,” Warren said.
“This is your cut,” Beauregard said. Warren nodded weakly. Beauregard sucked his teeth. He stood and pocketed the money. Warren closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
Beauregard put the wrench in his back pocket and stomped on Warren’s right ankle right at the joint. Warren screamed but there was no one around to hear except for Beauregard.
“Take it back,” Beauregard said.
“What … what the fuck, man, you broke my fucking ankle.”
“Take it back or I’ll break the other one.”
Warren rolled onto his back again. Beauregard saw dark patches that spread from his crotch to his knees. His dick was still hanging out of his pants like a bloodworm. The smell of piss wafted up Beauregard’s nose.
“I take it back. You not a cheater, okay? Fuck, you not a cheater,” he said. Beauregard saw tears slip from the corners of Warren’s eyes.
“Alright then,” Beauregard said. He nodded his head then turned and walked back to the Duster.
TWO
The motion-activated lights on the roof of the garage flicked on as Beauregard pulled up in front of the building. He stopped and let Kelvin hop out of the Duster to open one of the three roll-up doors. Beauregard swung the car around and backed it into the garage. Echoes from the motor reverberated through the cavernous interior. Beauregard shut off the car. He ran his wide, thick-fingered hands over his face. He twisted around in his seat and grabbed the wrench off the back seat. It still had Warren’s blood and a bit of his skin on it. He’d have to soak it in water and bleach before putting it back in his toolbox.
He got out and headed for the office. A pale blue light flashed overhead from a flickering fluorescent fixture. He went to a mini-fridge behind his desk and grabbed two beers. He dropped the wrench on the desk. The sound of metal against metal clanged against his ears. Kelvin came in and sat down in a folding chair in front of the desk. Beauregard tossed him a beer. They opened them in unison and raised their bottles. Beauregard killed most of his beer in one loud gulp. Kelvin sipped his twice before putting it on the desk.
“Guess I’m gonna have to cuss Jerome the fuck out,” Kelvin said. Beauregard finished his beer.
“Nah. It ain’t his fault. Them boys probably go up and down the East Coast doing this shit,” he said.
“It’s still fucked up, though. I can ask around again. Maybe down in Raleigh? Or Charlotte?” Kelvin asked.
Beauregard shook his head. He finished his beer and tossed it in the trash can. “You know I can’t go that far out. Not for some maybe money. Anyway, the rent is due by the twenty-third. I didn’t really want to ask Phil for another extension. Not getting that contract with Davidson’s construction company really put us in a bad spot,” Beauregard said.
Kelvin sipped his beer. “You thought about talking to Boonie?” he asked.
Beauregard fell into his swivel chair. He put his boots up on the desk. “I’ve thought about it,” he said.
Kelvin finished his beer. “All I’m saying is we been open three years and then Precision comes along and it’s like people forgot we was here. Maybe Red Hill ain’t big enough for two mechanic shops. Or at least not a black one,” he said.
“I don’t know. We was in the running for that Davidson’s contract. Twenty years ago, we wouldn’t even have been in the goddamn conversation. I just couldn’t go as low as Precision,” Beauregard said.
“That’s why I’m saying you might want to talk to Boonie. Nothing too big. Just something to keep us afloat until … I don’t know, until more people move to Red Hill who don’t know how to change their oil,” Kelvin said.
Beauregard picked up the wrench. He grabbed a rag from the pile sitting in a plastic bin next to his desk and began wiping the blood off it.
“I said I’m thinking about it.”
“Alright, well, I’m gonna get up the road. Christy is off tonight and since Sasha is working I’m gonna go by and say heyyyyy,” he said, singing the word “hey” until he hit a falsetto.