Pit Stop: Baby! (Crescent Cove 4)
“You don’t have a bunch of fancy cars?”
I laughed. “No, I didn’t waste my money on a fleet of cars like some of the drivers.”
He scratched the back of his head so his hair stood up even more. “Huh. Well, that’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like to be predictable.”
“Evidently not.” He nodded toward the back of the shop. “Your brother’s in the back junkyard looking for some lug nut he swears is out there.”
I followed the sound of banging. My brother had climbed up on a rusted-out shell of a car. He was kicking a crowbar the size of my damn leg.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s rusted…” He grunted as he tried for more leverage. “On.”
The squeak of metal grinding killed me. “Jesus. Let me help.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Oscar.”
“What did you call me?”
“Oscar, you know—”
“I know.” He frowned and ripped open his work shirt and tossed it over the hood of the next car over.
“Big man can do his work now that those pesky sleeves aren’t in the way.”
“Fuck off.” But Dare’s mouth twitched a little.
Bastard just wouldn’t lighten up about anything.
I let him get some of his frustrations out on the rusty lug nut and picked up his shirt off the hood of the old Ford. “What the hell are you guys doing with a ’41 Ford back here?”
“Fucking fuck.” Dare wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm and jumped down. “What are you crying about?”
“Get it off?”
He gave me a bored look and rattled the lug nuts in his hand.
“Look at you. Didn’t even bleed.”
“If I wanted this kind of abuse, I’d be home with my kid.” He peered over my shoulder. “That rust bucket?”
“Dude, it’s a hot rod.”
“It was a hot rod.” Dare grabbed back his shirt. “Now it’s a rusty nightmare.”
“Do you have any idea how much people pay for these things? Even just for parts, it’s worth a couple grand.”
He shrugged. “I’ll let Jerome know. Maybe he can put out some feelers before…” He fell silent.
“I heard.”
Dare speared his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Fucking timing. I didn’t think he’d be retiring for a few more years.”
“So, buy it.”