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POP. The car pulls hard to the right, but I managed to swerve off to the shoulder of the road. I cut off the engine and get out to see what has happened. Great, a flat tire.
“Fuck my life,” I mumble.
As I’m trying to get the tire out of the trunk, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle behind me. The guy pulls up, puts the kick stand down, getting off his bike.
He’s wearing aviator glasses and has sandy blonde hair. When he gets a little closer I can see the cut he has on. It reads SGT AT ARMS, on the top right.
“Darlin’, that tire looks bigger than you are. Let me help you.”
“Thanks, that would be great.” He carries the tire around to the front, leaning it up against the car.
“The Name’s Quinn.”
“Bella,” I say as I reach out to shake his hand.
“Well, Bella. Let me get your tire iron and jack from the back. I’ll get you fixed up.”
I watch him swagger back to the trunk of my car. “Feel free to check out my ass, pretty girl,” he says, making me smile.
Quinn brings everything needed to change the tire and gets to work. Me? I am just hoping like hell I do not lose my job today.
“Hey, darlin’?”
I look down at him as he’s kneeled down pulling my flat tire off.
“You sure have yourself a fine car or at least with some lovin’ it will be. A ‘68?”
I look at my car. It’s an Acapulco Blue 1968 Ford Mustang automatic. I saw this car sitting out front of the Pull-a-Part junkyard and stopped in one day to ask about it. For more than a year, I paid old man Roy every week. I also helped clean his office and sort his files from time to time. In return, he held on to this beauty until I could pay it off. After my last birthday, I stopped by to give him my payment for the month. He handed me the key, saying ‘consider it paid.’ I only got to visit a couple of times after that day before learning that he had died from a heart attack in his sleep. Sweetest old man I’d ever met. Thanks to him, I have this car.
“Yeah, ‘68. She may not look like much and runs like shit, but when I can do more she’ll be beautiful.”
I smile just thinking about cruising the mountain roads with the top down on it.
“How did you luck out and find her? I haven’t seen any good classics around this area in a while. I have a GT Fastback of my own.”
“A nice old man helped me out.”
I lean up against the car, watching Quinn finish tightening the lugs on the spare when some clouds start to roll in.
“Looks like I finished just in time. A storm is heading our way,” he says walking to the trunk, placing the flat tire and tools back in, and closes it.
“Thank you, Quinn. I would still be trying to change that thing if you hadn’t come along.”
He wipes his hands on a bandanna that he pulled from his back pocket. “Hell, my pleasure, darlin’. That spare will not last you long though. You come by the shop and I’ll hook you up with a tire, maybe look under that hood while we’re at it.”
I look at him contemplating his offer, which must show all over my face. He reaches in his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and hands me a card.
KINGS CUSTOM BIKES, printed in bold black ink with a skull wearing a crown and wings in the background.
“I work there, just a few blocks down the road. You come by soon and ask for me, I’ll take care of you. Okay?”
“Okay. I think I’ll do that. Thanks again, Quinn.”
“Not a problem. It was good to meet you, Bella. I’ll see you around, darlin’.”
I watch as he mounts his bike, pulls his aviators over his eyes, fires up the engine and cruises down the road.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the store.
