The Easy Way Out

7

Above the car lot, the alternating red and yellow plastic flags that stretched between the light posts fluttered in the night breeze. Blake pulled his wrinkled blazer closed, watching a pretty college girl and her father take a final walk around a sedan.

"What's the mileage?" the man asked.

Blake checked the sticker. "Looks like forty-two thousand."

The man gave it some thought then shook his head.

It was too cold for deliberation. Blake needed to cut to the chase.

Blake lowered his voice. "Listen. I'll bet I can talk them down another five hundred off the price." He felt the college girl's eyes. He offered his business card but the man declined. His daughter flashed a flirty over-the-shoulder look while accompanying her dad back to their car.

Blake dragged his feet into the office where James hunched over a newspaper opened on the desk.

Barely louder than a cautious whisper, James asked, "See this? The dude who sky-dived from the bridge onto the highway? Recognize him?"

Blake looked down at the newspaper photo of a young guy. He shrugged.

James said, "You better know he had some 'encouragement' jumping off that bridge."

"What're you talking about?"

"That's the mule drove that raggedy-ass Explorer."

"Mule?"

"The Red-haired kid? Him and all those other shady dudes creeping in and outta the garage all the time with their briefcases and backpacks and shit. What are you, freakin' blind? Everybody in the shop knows what's going on."

"I have no clue what's going on down in the garage."

"They drive right through the lot on their way down to the garage. You've seen 'em. Most of them are kids. That pimply-faced redheaded dude looks like he's twelve."

"You sure that's him?"

"Fifty bucks says you never see him or his broke-ass truck again."

"I don't have fifty bucks."

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. The lights on the lot went dark.

James folded his newspaper. McQuaid wobbled from the backroom then handed him an envelope, another to Blake.

James smiled. "Gracias."

Blake ripped open the envelope, disappointed with the commission check inside. "I could make more money selling my blood." He sagged against the wall.

James grabbed his jacket, tucked the newspaper under his arm, then headed for the door. "Hasta luego," he said.

McQuaid placed his hand on Blake's shoulder with an empathetic paternal gesture. "C'mon. Walk across the street with me. The diner makes a damn good meatloaf."

"Not very hungry." Blake sulked.

"Don't let it get you down, kid. It's this shitty economy. It'll pick up."

########

Damon filled three mismatched shot glasses on Blake's kitchen counter from a bottle of cheap tequila, then drained his bottled beer.

At the table, Rachel paged through a Modern Dog Magazine.

"This apartment allow dogs?" he asked.

"Prob'ly not. I haven't seen any dogs in the building."

Damon set his empty beer bottle on the counter, then balanced a dollar bill across the opening. He scrounged in his pocket for change.