AllFreeNovel
Share Us
23
KARTER. “It’s the cable that goes between the battery and the starter. It’s got an eyelet on each end, one for the battery post and one for the bolt in the starter.”
“What year?” he asked.
Are you fucking kidding me? We’ve been over this already.
I slapped my hands onto the edge of the counter. I glanced over my shoulder. Jak was wandering the showroom floor looking at the various bikes on display. I bit my lip and tried to keep from making a fool of myself by screaming at the eighteen-year-old incompetent parts salesman. I looked down at his Harley-Davidson logo tattoo on his forearm and his well-manicured fingernails. No doubt he’d never worked on his own Harley, if he even had a Harley.
“1991. Softail. Evo. 1340 cc. Battery cable from the battery to the starter,” I sighed.
He looked at the computer screen and tapped aimlessly at the keys on the keyboard. After a few moments, and without speaking, he turned and walked to the door which led to the warehouse. I stared down at my left hand and contemplated getting knuckle tattoos as I waited for him to return. As I admired my ring in the bright lighting of the store, he returned with a plastic baggy. As he tossed it on the counter, I looked down at the clear plastic wrapper. My initial relief was quickly overcome by anger as I noticed the twelve-inch-long black cable.
“What the fuck is that?” I asked as I nodded toward the baggie, “Someone else’s shit?”
“Battery cable,” he said flatly.
“Battery cable for what?” I asked as I raised the baggie in the air for him to see.
“1991 Softail Evo,” he responded.
You fucking idiot.
“Positive or negative?” I asked.
“Positive.”
I took a deep breath. As much as I didn’t want to make a scene, my voice quickly elevated as I began to speak, “What fucking color is positive? On a car, boat, bike, or even a fucking snowmobile?”
He shrugged, “Red?”
I shook my head, “That’s fucking right. Red. Now dumbass, what color is this?”
I raised the baggie in the air for him to see the black cable inside. Clearly it was the negative cable, and it was at least a foot too short to reach my starter.
“Black?”
I nodded my head, “It sure as fuck is. It’s black. Did you even look at this motherfucker before you tossed it in front of me?”
“Hey, you don’t have to talk to me like this,” he whined.
I pressed my hands into my back pockets, “You know what, you’re right. In fact, I don’t have to talk to you at all. Go get Kelli. I want to talk to her.”
He rolled his eyes and picked up the baggie.
“I’m serious. Get Kelli,” I demanded.
He turned toward the door leading into the warehouse. As he began to walk away, I tilted my head back and looked up at the structure of the ceiling.
“Kelli!” My voice echoed through the showroom as I screamed.
As I stood at the parts counter waiting, I turned toward the showroom floor. Jak stood talking to one of the sales staff beside a new Harley bagger. As our eyes met he smiled, undoubtedly about my having screamed. By now he had to know I was a very vocal person. In turning back toward the counter, I heard Kelli’s very familiar voice.
“Karter!” I heard her screech as she stepped out of her office and into the customer area.
“You’re always in here. What are you doing?” she asked as she leaned into me and hugged me lightly.
One thing about owning a Harley is the fact they always need worked on. Sooner or later, they’ll break down and need repairs. Harley aficionados know the value in using Harley-Davidson parts on their Harley’s. And the only place to go get original Harley parts is at the Harley dealer. Wichita had only one Harley dealer, and although it used to be run by a bunch of shit-heads, Kelli’s father bought the dealer and gave it to her and her husband. After they took over, things changed drastically. The dealer was now run by bikers who rode, knew Harley’s in and out, and were all around good people. Kelli was the president and owner. She and I got along from the day we first met.
