Page 58 of A Stop in Time
“This morning, with her, having coffee.” —Johnny Cash, when asked for his description of paradise
The other says:
“Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.” —Chief Tecumseh
Each are scrawled in neat but cursory feminine printing. These two quotes obviously struck a chord with her enough that she posted them in her workplace.
The thing is, they’re completely different. Where the one is serious and borders on either depressing or motivational—depending on interpretation—the other is almost romantic and so incongruent with her personality.
Mac comes sailing through the rear garage doors with her arms threaded through two thick tires, the rubber resting over each of her shoulders. Fuck if it isn’t a sight, her ponytail swinging back and forth with her jerky, angry movements.
A sheen of sweat clings to her forehead and hairline. She casts me a pissy look, tosses the tires down beside my car, and strides right back out.
She heads down the wide main aisle, and my eyes automatically drop to her ass. Christ, her ass looks damn fine in those jeans, and it makes me think—
When she hooks a left and disappears behind a small mountain of tires sitting beneath a makeshift awning, I give my head a shake, hoping it helps me get my shit together. I don’t know what it is with this woman, but she’s got me twisted up like a motherfucker.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I read the name on the screen, I don’t know whether to groan or laugh. I swear he’s got a sixth sense about things sometimes.
“Hey, man.”
“Just got some interestin’ news about a supposed gang-related shootin’ down where you said you’d be.” Bronson’s voice is filled with concern, but his next words have guilt battering away at me. “Thought for sure you’d check in by now and let us know you were okay.”
I pinch my eyes closed and let my chin drop to my chest. “Sorry. I got caught up in…” What can I even say at this point when I don’t even know what’s going on? “Some shit.”
“Figured as much.” Georgia’s voice sounds in the background, and he answers with, “Yeah, he’s okay, Red,” before asking, “You good to talk or no?”
To play it safe, I step out from the garage and stride a few feet toward the gravel driveway where it’s quiet aside from the occasional chirps from birds. I toss a quick glance behind me through the garage bay, but Mac’s still on the hunt for a rim.
“Yeah, I’m good for now.”
I survey the building, taking in the carport area off to the far right where a vehicle is parked with a protective cover over it. To the side of that is a set of stairs leading to an upper section that doesn’t span the entirety of the lower building. I wonder if that’s where she lives…
Bronson starts right in. “They said it’s gang-related as a cover?”
“Yeah.”
“Figured.” A heavy pause lingers, his voice more hushed. “Got turned on to somethin’ somebody didn’t like, huh?”
“Sure seems that way.”
“How much damage did they do?”
I survey my Chevelle and can’t suppress my painful wince at the sight. “Car’s still running, but it’s ugly as hell right now. Waiting on some tires to hold me over till I can replace the run-flats.
“Need a replacement rim.” I exhale a heavy breath. “It needs all the glass replaced, too.”
“Don’t have any holes in you, do ya?”
“No.” As soon as I answer, I know Bronson’ll hear it in that single word.
“What’re you not tellin’ me?”
I study the sign mounted on the outside of the garage. “Gonna sound crazy as shit, but I ran into somebody who can go invisible, and he mentioned meetin’ you.”
Silence greets my words for so long I check my phone to see if the call dropped, but it didn’t. When I put it back to my ear, Bronson finally speaks. “Gonna put you on speaker. Red’s gotta be in on this one.”
This sure as shit doesn’t bode well at all. From my periphery, I catch sight of Mac carrying in a rim and step further away from the building. She doesn’t appear to pay me any attention, but I can’t take any chances.