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“Have a seat.” Frenzy points toward the waiting area. “I’ll unload your van and take a look.”
“Thanks, Frenzy. I appreciate it.”
I walk over and sit down in one of the chairs. Mark glares at his brother but doesn’t say anything before he sits in the chair next to me.
An hour later, Frenzy peers around a corner and waves me over to where he and Malice are, in the bay. Mark and I join them near Stella, and Frenzy points to some wires that I didn’t notice before.
“You have a bad spark plug wire,” he explains. “Your engine is running on three cylinders instead of four.”
“Can we make it to Vegas?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t chance it. I have the part here, and it’ll only take about forty-five minutes to replace.”
“Is it original?”
“What?”
“The part.”
“No, it’s a universal wire,” he responds.
I shake my head. “That won’t work.”
“Why not?” Malice grumbles, speaking to me for the first time since picking us up on the side of the road.
“Because I’ve worked too hard to maintain her integrity.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, big guy,” I begin as I pat his arm. “Itmeans,Stella is a purebred, and I only use VW stud parts.”
Frenzy’s eyes go wide, and then he throws his head back with a laugh, drawing the attention of other mechanics.
Malice’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t laugh outright. “Did you just compare your van to an animal?” he asks, pointing to Stella.
“Stella is her baby,” Mark clarifies. “Apple only uses original parts from 1973 VW vans. It doesn’t matter how long it takes to fix or how much it costs, she keeps it authentic.”
I high-five Mark. “It only took you five years to finally get it. I’m impressed,” I tell him.
“That’s ridiculous.” Malice frowns. “Why pay more?”
“Would you be okay with a subpar part being used on your motorcycle just because it’s cheaper and available?” I counter.
“Fuck no.”
Malice and Frenzy respond simultaneously. Their eyes are wide, and they both sport matching scowls.
“Then why would you expect me to be okay with it?” I narrow my eyes at them. “Nobody puts imitation parts in Stella.”
Frenzy puts his hands up in surrender. “Give me a second.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing away. “Found a set of 1973 spark plug wires.”
“Are they Volkswagen certified?” I ask, my brow arched.
He glances at the screen again and then nods.
“Perfect!” I clap excitedly, but when Frenzy gives Malice a look I can’t decipher, I reign myself in. “What?”
“I suggest we go ahead and replace all four of them,” Frenzy says.
