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The garage of the shop was open, and I entered, curving around a spray of sparks that were blasting out from beneath a raised car. Heavy rock metal was playing from a speaker in the back. Two men in a clear booth paused midway in their conversation and glanced up at me, eyebrows raised.
"I'm looking for Edison," I called out to them. "Edison?"
The men didn't move. There was no attempt to turn down the music or even ask what I was doing here.
Fuck, maybe this was the wrong place.
Then the spray of sparks beneath the car disappeared, and a man slid out on his back in a blue mechanics uniform spattered in oil. He lifted the goggles and cocked his head.
"You're Edison?"
I touched my chest. "Me? No. I'm looking for Edison."
The guy chuckled, stood up, and then waved at the men in the booth. They nodded and turned down the music.
Taking off his gloves, he smiled. "You’re new to this, huh?"
I straightened my posture. "Depends what you mean by that."
He tossed his gloves on a wooden work bench, leaned against it and crossed his arms, then eyed me up and down. "It means that you're wearing a three grand suit in a neighborhood where people are lucky to make that in a month. Plus, when I said Edison, I meant you. Not me. You say Edison, and I say..."
Remembering our phone call, I nodded. "Thomas."
The man lifted his oily hands to his temples and mimicked an explosion. "Lightbulb moment."
I blinked and lifted up my bag. Maybe I was in over my head. "So you're...him?"
He smirked. "You got the stuff?"
"The stuff? Oh, you mean..." Money. Duh. "Yeah, here." Handing over the bag, I crossed my arms. "And do you have...the stuff?"
He crossed his arms and stared at me for a long second before nodding. "Yeah, I got your stuff. But...the last request. The video. You sure about that?"
"I wouldn't have asked for it if I wasn't sure."
"Only one problem," the guy said. "I saw the news today. You left out the part about this dude robbing the mayor's house."
I glanced around to make sure no one heard us. "I didn't think that was important."
"It's not for the other stuff. But this video. It can't get back to me. Cause that's some serious shit."
"It won't," I said. Still, the guy didn't respond.
"You sure about that?"
I could tell by his hesitation what he wanted. Reaching into my wallet, I grabbed two hundred dollar bills, but when I saw his reaction, it was clear that he expected more. Doubling it, I showed him the cash, and he nodded.
"That'll do."
He reached under the workbench, opened a drawer, and handed me a manilla envelope. "Next time, don't dress like an FBI agent."
I forced a smile. "Next time, don't scam me for more money."
Edison—or whatever his real name was—gave me a fake salute, and then I spun on my heel. Hopefully, there wouldn't be a next time. I slid back into my car, the engine still idling. Jeff glanced at me expectant, his eyes lingering on the envelope in my hands.
"Onto the playdate?"
"Just one more stop."
