Wrench - Steele Riders

“Yes. We’re talking price now. He’s got an addiction to classic bikes, which I love.” This is the fifth project he’s ordered in the past three years. He collects old motorcycles and wants them restored to working order. We love working on bike restorations and customizations.

“For sure. Old bikes fun to restore.” I rebuilt six of the bikes I own. Three are pet projects that I don’t have time for at the moment. I know they’re going to take forever because some of the parts are going to have to be replaced with modern reproductions. It’s always better to use original parts, but sometimes that’s not in the cards.

“Well, we’re going to be busy finding the parts,” I tell him.

His brows quirk up, filled with suspicion. “Is it running?”

Grimacing, I sigh, “No, and the motor seized up or so his mechanic says.”

With a huff, Flex adds, “Great. So we have to rebuild the engine. That’s going to cost a pretty penny.”

“Exactly, but really he doesn’t mind. He’s trying to convince me to sell my 1929 Indian, but I’m partial to it,” I say, having my own collection that I love.

“That’s because you’ve restored it so damn perfect that it looks like it came off the line yesterday.”

“Frankie’s the one who did the paint job, keeping it to the original.” I truly have an incredible team. “Which reminds me, I need to check in with him right now.”

“Cool. I’ve got to change the oil on this rust bucket.” He winks and then drops down to slide under a nineteen-sixty-seven Mustang. It’s a pretty ride and belongs to Cowboy.

I go around and meet with the rest of the six-man crew before heading back into my office. I’ve got an onslaught of paperwork that needs to be dealt with. After knocking out payroll, I get my hands nice and dirty for the rest of the day.

It’s well after seven when I’m able to call it a night. Another message from my mother reminds me of the trip to the store. Not that I’ve forgotten. Something in me wants to see if this Mackenzie chick she mentioned is real and why have I never seen her before.

I enter the grocery store, and it’s pretty crowded for our small town. Although the people out in Paxton come up here to get some groceries as well. I pull a cart free from the short line near the door. I’m only coming for a few things, but I don’t feel like carrying a gallon of milk for no good reason after a long day.

Just as I head into the bread aisle, I run into the manager, Mitchell. He smiles nervously at me, and I can almost guess he has an issue that he wants me to deal with. Seeing me obviously in filthy work clothes and the late hour, he knows I’m more than likely not in the mood to be social.

“Good Evening, Mr. West.”

“Mitchell,” I grumble.

“I know you’re busy, but we have another forklift acting up.” Of course, does he only have dummies working here?

“Really? Again?” It’s less than six months since the last time I had to repair them. Either it’s intentional, or someone’s an idiot. They’re not toys and could kill someone.

“Yes. I’m starting to think we need to redo our forklift and pallet jack training.”

“Well, that you can call OSHA for. Either that or ask Garrett. I’m not licensed to certify anyone for that, but it can be dangerous for those not properly trained. Call him as soon as possible on it.” From my tone, he knows that’s an order.

“Thanks.”

“If you want the forklift looked at, I can send someone to inspect it. Either that or you can have it hauled out to the shop,” I offer, looking to see a woman with the green work shirt taking off as fast as she came in, failing to get a good look at her.

“Thanks. If you can send someone in, that would be great,” Mitchell says, his voice trailing off.

I only get a glimpse of her dark hair before she disappears. Internally I’m smiling. I don’t know if this is the mysterious Mackenzie, but now I’m curious. When he sees that my attention is no longer focused on him, he says his goodbyes.

We shake hands and then he leaves me alone to do my shopping. Good. I hope this mystery girl hasn’t cut out for the day. I snatch the bread off the shelf, giving no fucks to what I grabbed. My mom is just going to have to deal with it.

When I rush my cart around the corner, she’s nowhere to be found. Shit. Giving up on my curiosity, I grab the rest of the items and head to the register. If she’s hiding, then fuck it. My mother must have done a number on the girl. She probably feels like I’m a crazy stalker. I go to pay for my groceries and split. I don’t chase anyone, especially some little girl running scared.