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"I don't know." The man flailed his arms around, looking ridiculous. "It's a loud clunking sound. If I knew the problem, do you think I'd be here?" He glared at Jett, a vein in his neck throbbing. "And don't call mebud."
Even if he wanted to say it, he wouldn’t, but Jettdidthink the other man would be here. He certainly wasn't going to fix it himself; he'd hire someone else to do it. And why wouldn’t he, when he clearly had money to throw around?
Jett didn't understand how this guy could be so clueless. Did he know nothing about cars? He firmly believed everyone should know how to fix their vehicle. If they were driving it, they should know it inside and out.
But it seemed like so many people just didn't know, and they didn't seem to want to know, either. They came in with easily fixable—and usually cheap—issues; but because they had no idea what to do or what was even wrong, they ended up paying way too much and waiting way too long to get it fixed.
He guessed he couldn't complain since it was how he made his living. But incompetence still annoyed him.
"Right," Jett sighed. "What should I call you then?" He had a few ideas, and none of them were nice.
"Ted," the man bit out. "Can you fix my car or not?" He scanned Jett, his lips curling in disgust. Jett snorted and turned his attention to the computer.
If this motherfucker only knew...
"Make, model, year." Ted let out another frustrated sound at Jett’s question. He took a deep breath, knowing he was close to losing his patience. Not that he had much to begin with.
"Just fix it," Ted sneered.
"Make. Model. Year,” Jett repeated, glaring at Ted before turning his attention back to the little old computer.
"Bentley—" Jett sighed and turned his gaze to the man. Do people not read signs? "Is that a problem?"
"We don't work on Bentley here," he said. "Take it to the dealership or a different shop."
Ted blinked at him before his face shifted into something uglier and angrier than before. "What the fuck do you mean you don't work on Bentley? You're a mechanic. You work on all cars."
Sure, but having to order parts for a foreign car wasn't worth the hassle or money. Especially not for a dickwad like this guy.
"I'll pay double," he blurted. "I need it fixed by Monday." Jett's brows rose, but it was tempting.
"I have a life. Shop's closed on weekends."
"Triple," he gritted out, resting his hands on the counter. Jett's head tilted to the side as he folded his arms over his thick chest, thinking.
"Quadruple," he challenged, mostly to see if he could get away with asking for that much. Ted's jaw ticked, sweat beading on his brow as his face turned a light shade of red.
Probably not good.
But Jett held his stare and waited.
"Fine," he gritted out. "Quadruple, and I expect it done by Sunday."
"That'll depend on what the problem is." Jett shook his head. "Can't promise I can get the part this weekend."
"If I'm paying that much, I expect it to be done quickly."
Jett sighed. He hated to admit the asshole had a point.
"I'll figure it out." Finally giving into the urge, he pinched between his eyes before turning back to the computer.
Ted rattled off all the information Jett needed, then handed his car keys over and headed out. He didn't know how the other man was getting home and didn't really care. It wasn't his problem. But he doubted the guy was taking the bus.
Grabbing the keys from the counter, he made his way out front to drive the car into the bay to check things out. From the way the engine shook and a clunking sound came from the hood, he assumed it was the carburetor or transmission. Easy fix. Hopefully.
After popping the hood, he slid from the car. Weston let out a low whistle as he sauntered toward him. "Nice cage." He ran his grease-stained hand along the door as Jett poked his head under the hood.
"Sonofabitch," he breathed. "Transmission's fucked." Weston cringed.
