Geronimo Stilton: INTERPOL-The Christmas Chase

Twin Hybrids

The Petrolheads' Café, Downtown NMC
11.56 p.m.

The dinner and family night had ended almost an hour ago. Before I left The Rodent's Gazette building and before Geronimo locked up the place, I gave everybody a hug, wishing them happy holidays, and took a group photo of everyone in front of the fireplace.

Ferdinand drove me to The Petrolheads' Café, a café located in the middle of the eatery street of Cuisine Avenue. As the name implies, it's an automotive-themed café, and the interior is decorated with all types of car parts. NASCAR tires on the wall, the rear wing of a GT3 touring car on display at the coffee bar, and one of the tables are even made of a recycled front end of a 1969 Ford Mustang, saved from being crushed in a junkyard. The café is visited by all of New Mouse City's auto enthusiast and racing fans. It's open 24/7, one of the five cafés in the street that opens during the graveyard shift.

There were still a few cars parked on the street outside. A silver Audi R8 V10 Coupe, a white Porsche 911 Carrera S, a red with white striped Shelby GT500 Mustang, and a grey Aston Martin DBS. Ferdinand parked behind the Aston, I shut off his engine and I got out. I told him to keep himself safe while I went inside for some hot coffee.

I pushed the doors towards the inside, and the cold air in blew in as the door was open. I let it close by itself and went to the coffee bar deeper inside the café, blowing hot air into my hands to heat them up. I kept my winter coat on but took the hoodie and gloves off, and climbed on a bar stool while slightly pulling myself up by clamping on the wooden countertop, decorated with varnish. The usual nightshift bartender, Marco, wasn't behind the counter. I knew his behavior because I go here twice a week, usually at this time of night, and it only meant one thing if he wasn't there. He was using the bathroom.

I saw my neighbors who were also the owners of the four cars outside. Named Dominic, Kevin, Bob, and Larry. Larry's married, but still no kids. They occupied the table next to the Mustang table, centering their attention at the TV mounted on top at the center of the bar as they sipped down their hot drinks. "'Sup guys!" I greeted.

"Hey Dan," they all replied, still locking their eyes on the TV.

"Whatcha guys watching?"

"This year's 24 Hours of Le Mans rerun," Dominic, the grey-furred owner of the GT500 Mustang answered, saying 'Le Mans' in a French pronunciation.

"From two weeks ago? Dom! I told you the Audi team won the LMP1 category in first place!"

"That's what I told him and these two!" Larry the brown-furred stated in his Italian accent, somehow sounding like The Scout in Team Fortress 2. It's because the other three mice missed the live broadcast. "They wouldn't believe me, so I ditched my wife at home alone in the bed, and told these guys to meet up here to watch a few hours of the race."

"Boy, Larry, if she knew you were gone again, she'd melt like cheddar over a stove," said the peach-furred Kevin in his redneck accent. Then the three giggled.

"How long have you guys been here?"

"Since ten o' clock," Bob squeaked, scratching the beige fur on his cheek.

Then Marco came out from the restrooms in the back of the café. "Hey Danny! Sorry for disappearing," he said in his mild-tone voice, rushing for the counter door. "Been waiting long?"

"Nah, Marco. I just got here a few seconds ago."

"That's good, now what can I get for ya?" he asked, getting to behind the counter. Marco's kind of a big guy, buff, he's 6 feet 5 inches. Somewhat good-looking; a long snout, blue eyes, light fur like Colette's, shoulder-length blond hair that curled at the bottom, and he had a goatee on his chin. He's a surfer by day, works out at a gym 3 mornings a week, and works here as the nightshift bartender from eight at night to one in the morning to make some money. He's one of the known surfers in NMC, winning several competitions in the past year. But, under the skin of this mouse is a kind heart.