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I glared at the side of his head but still gave myself a quick sniff when he walked away. Lucas went over to Jess, wedging her between himself and Manson in front of the car.
“You guys can fix this thing, right?” she said, her tone eager as she looked between the two of them. I rolled my eyes, perching myself on a stool to watch the show. I already knew what they were going to tell her and she wasn’t going to be happy about it.
“You’re going to need a new engine,” Lucas said, his face contorting with disgust when he peeked inside the oil cap. “And there will be labor costs.” He whipped a small towel out of his pocket, cracking it repeatedly in the air as he stared her down. “There’s a lot of labor involved.”
She sighed heavily. “Okay. Great. How much is this going to cost?”
The laptop we kept in the garage was looking a bit worse for wear since the night of the break-in, but at least it still worked. Manson brought up the spreadsheet I’d made to simplify pricing for the shop, plugging in numbers and estimated working hours. I noticed him input far more labor hours than would likely be necessary, but I didn’t say a word.
He printed the quote, and I grabbed the paper, presenting the estimate to Jess with a flourish. She sharply sucked in her breath.
“Are you kidding me? No way. There is no way.” Her eyes darted across the paper, widening with every line. “Why is laborso expensive?”
“There’s a surcharge,” Manson said. “For having to deal with you.”
I grinned at the appalled expression on her face. This was even more fun than I’d thought it would be. She sputtered, and her eyes looked like they were going to pop out of her head.
“This isn’t fair,” she said. “This has to violate, like, a law or something. You can’t charge more for just one person!”
Lucas snapped the towel again. “Do you really want to start a discussion about breaking laws? Because we can have that conversation, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
Jess closed her eyes for a moment, taking several long, deep breaths. When she opened her eyes again, it was obvious she was forcing herself to remain calm. “Look, I can’t afford this.”
“Go to another shop, then,” Manson said simply. “There’s Autosphere downtown. Cheap work and cheap parts. They’re usually booked up for a few weeks, but it’s better than dealing with us, right?”
“Or ask Mommy and Daddy for help,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll fork out the cash.”
I could clearly remember when she’d shown up senior year with this car, still shiny and new, a birthday present from her parents. My parents had bought me a car too. But once they found out I was using it to “sodomize strangers” in the back seat, they’d sold it along with nearly every other gift they’d ever bought me.
It hadn’t had the effect on me they’d hoped for though. Sodomy didn’t require a car.
She glared at me. “I’m not a child, Jason. My parents don’t pay for everything.”
“Oh, well, excuse me,” I said. I leaned back and pulled out my phone, as if the entire thing didn’t interest me anymore. “You’ve never had a problem figuring out how to pay for shit, Jess. I’msure you’ll think of something.”
She’d figured out how to pay me years ago when I finally started demanding compensation for her cheating off my tests and harassing me into writing her essays. I still had the photos she’d sent me on my laptop, saved into an encrypted folder.
It was fucking shameful how many times I’d jacked off to them.
“How long will it take to fix the car?” she said. She actually sounded like she was trying to be reasonable.
Lucas shrugged. “How long will it take you to pay us?”
“I don’t have —” Her voice had gotten louder again. She stopped, paused, and lowered it. “I don’t have the money to pay you right now.”
“We also take alternative payment methods,” Manson said, and a grin spread over my face.
“Alternative payment?” she said, frowning in confusion. “What, like, Bitcoin?”
“If you don’t want to pay with cash, maybe you have something else of value,” I said.
Jess looked utterly lost. “Are you trying to get me to sell my organs or something?”
Lucas, who’d been in the shower when I’d told my idea to Manson earlier, also looked lost — only he appeared significantly more murderous about it.
“One moment, Miss Martin,” he said roughly. “We need to have a little meeting with our accountant.”
We gathered together at the far side of the garage as I explained. We discussed it in sharp whispers, Manson and I teaming up to get Lucas on our side. I’d expected him to put up more of a fight but once I’d explained — and after a long minute of him grumbling about how “it had better be worth it” — he agreed pretty quickly.
