Eat, Pray, Parkour

Chapter 5: Dogs and Ducatis

It's finally Friday. School's over. I'm at work in my beautiful little auto-shop. Actually I'm on my back under a grey Hummer. I push the oil pan over a few inches before letting the oil out of the car. The sticky brownish black goo splashes a bit as it leaks out of the pipe, a few drops speckle my cheek. I pull myself out from under the vehicle when I hear the bell from the front office. I grab a rag on my way into the office and wipe my hands in it.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I say politely. There are eight guys in the office two are getting drinks from the vending machine in the corner, another is lounging in a chair by the window flipping through a magazine. All of them are talking about their drive into town. Tourists. I scoff to myself. "How may I help you boys?"

"I'd like to talk to a mechanic, sweetheart," one says to me. His hair is buzzed and black with neat zigzags shaved into the sides.

"I'm the mech," I tell him. I am. Shauna comes from money. Gang money. She's a gang lord's daughter. This shop is mine. But she bought it for me because of my age. Her name is on the lease and legally she's employing me. But I run the place. I'm good at what I do and since we opened two years ago we really have been successful.

"Right."

"Whatever!"

"You're hilarious!"

"Don't play me!"

They all laugh at me. I keep my face straight.

Zigzag holds up a closed fist and they stop laughing. "Who is the manager?" he asks me.

"I am." I say. He looks me over.

"Alrighty then-"

"Come on! You're not really gonna let a b*tch work on our bikes?!" A guy with short slicked back bright red hair with black streaks is balling up his fists.

Now I notice that a few of them are holding motorcycle helmets. I look out the window and see their bikes lined up outside. Ducatis. There's a silver 848, two dark blue Cobalts, a red and black Panigale Tricolor, a grey 350 Scrambler, a black Monster with neon green claw mark decals, a jet black Desmosedici RR, and a dark yellow Hypermotard.

Zigzag glares at Redhead who shuts up right quick. Zigzag is obviously the leader of this pack.

"Let's humor the sweet kitten. Remember your place Alex," Zigzag runs his fingertips over the designs on either side of his head, "Well," he addresses me now, "If you really are the mechanic here then all of our bikes need oil changes, tune ups, and," he turns to address someone, "what did you two say you needed done?"

The two guys at the vending machine turn and I realize that they're twins. Identical twins. Both have dark chocolate dreads that hang a little past their shoulders tied up with a rubber band. Three dreads hang loose by their faces, one on the left of his face the other on the right. One dread on the right's is tied from scalp to end in electric blue string with bright colorful beads all over. The guy with his loose dreads on the left of his face has the same thing but with natural colored hemp and small seashells instead of beads.

"Our mirrors are cracked," Beads says. Seashells nods and they both simultaneously open their drinks, Seashells has a bottle of water and Beads has a Coke, and take a drink.

"New mirrors for theirs'," Zigzag continues, "And the Scrambler needs a new muffler."

I nod and jot everything down on a pad on the counter.

"Do you have all of that, Missy?" he asks.

"Yes, sir. My name is Cat. Here is my card," I hand him a business card from the holder by the register, "I should have it all done in two days."