Page 6 of Diesel

Chapter Two

Ollie

The shuttle made a grinding noise, but the sound quickly disappeared. Today was the senior center. A chance for the seniors to get out and actually socialize with people instead of produce.

As I turned the corner, the grinding noise returned, louder this time, like the shuttle had swallowed a bag of bolts and was trying to digest them.

I ignored it.

Maybe if I pretended the sound didn’t exist, it would take the hint and disappear.

Behind me, the usual symphony of senior chaos filled the shuttle. Irene was decked out in lavender today, tracksuit, scarf, even her eyeshadow matched. The woman had commitment. I’d give her that. She’d tried to sneak a box of chocolate-covered cherries into her purse at the pharmacy counter, claiming they were “medicinal.”

“These dentures are staging a mutiny,” Walter announced from the middle row, working his jaw with that distinctive clicking sound. “I’m calling my dentist. This is unacceptable.”

“Your dentist is going to tell you the same thing he told you last week,” I said, eyes on the road. “They fit fine. Your gums are just being dramatic.”

“My gums are patriots.” He slapped his frail hand against his knee. “These dentures are tyrants.”

Greta leaned forward, gripping the back of my seat. “Ollie, I showed my grandson your picture. He thinks you’re cute.”

“Miss Greta, we’ve discussed this. Your grandson is still in high school.” I stopped at a red light, watching two men use the crosswalk. One guy was wearing a hot pink pleated mini skirt and black chunky boots. His sunglasses were too large for his face and he had a riot of bracelets on one wrist.

“He’s a senior. Very mature,” Greta said as the light turned green.

“Still illegal.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m very fun. Ask anyone. Just not anyone who wants me to commit a felony.”

Artie adjusted his navy blazer, the one with gold buttons that looked like they’d been liberated from a yacht club. Tufts of hair sprouted from his ears like tiny antennae, picking up signals from the ladies’-man dimension he believed he inhabited. “When I was your age, I had three girlfriends.”

“At the same time?” Edith asked, clutching her coupon binder.

Artie held up a finger. “Consecutively. But they overlapped.”

“That’s the same thing, Arthur.”

“Semantics.” He winked, maybe. His eyelids drooped, so I couldn’t be sure if it had been a wink or further sagging.

The shuttle lurched halfway down Route 12. Not a gentle bump, but a full-body convulsion that made everyone grab for something to hold on to. Then came the sound. A metallic screech followed by a death rattle that belonged in a horror movie.

“What was that?” Irene asked, lavender-manicured nails digging into her armrest.

“Nothing good.” I eased off the gas, but the shuttle was already making the decision for me.

Power drained like someone had pulled the plug. The shuttle coasted to the shoulder, hazard lights blinking their pathetic little confession to the world.

Dead. Completely, utterly dead.

“Well,” Walter said, “this is inconvenient.”

I turned the key. Nothing. Tried again. The engine responded with a click so faint it might’ve been my imagination.

“Everyone okay?” I asked, twisting in my seat to do a head count. Five seniors, all accounted for, all staring at me with varying degrees of concern and annoyance.

“Define okay,” Greta said. “Because I have book club in an hour, and Brenda will steal my seat if I’m late.”