Page 44 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 8

MIKE

“Tink! Get your ass in here!”

My boss’s lilting voice easily carries across the shop, overpowering the whining of impact wrenches and the revving of car motors. Sighing, I wipe my hands on a semi-clean rag and duck out from under the hood of the Camry I’ve been working on. I know why he wants to see me. I’ve been waiting for this.

I weave my way around the other cars and stop just inside the doorway to his office. “What’s up, Frank?”

“What’s up? Let me tell you what’s up. My patience. That’s what’s up. How could you let the Ford Escort out of here with just a new set of brakes and pads?”

I shrug like my blood pressure isn’t skyrocketing. “That’s all it needed.”

Frank throws his pen down on his desk. “I know that’s all it needed! But Jesus Christ, Tink, brakes are the easiest repair to upsell!” He says upsell like I’m offering fries with a hamburger at McDonald’s, not scamming people into thinking they need more to fix their car than they actually do. “How about throwing in the rotor replacement like it's a usual and customary part of replacing brake pads? Or the old standby, ‘excuse me sir, but I heard a noise in your front driver’s side tire. The bearings need replaced . ’ You don’t need to tell them it’s only the brake sensor or brake pads!”

With all the patience I can muster, I take a breath, let it out, and meet his gaze. “Frank, I’ve told you, I’m not gonna sell someone a repair they don’t need. That’s scamming the customer. It’s unethical.”

“I’m running a business here, Tink. A for-profit business. Not a charity. Ethics have nothing to do with it.”

Not here, anyway. That’s obvious. I manage to bite my tongue and not say that out loud. “I’m not ripping my customers off.”

“They aren’t your customers, they’re mine ! And you’ll do what I tell you, or you can find another job.” He snorts. “And good luck finding a shop that doesn’t operate like this.” Or one that will hire me after he fires me and starts making phone calls to his buddies at the other shops. I don’t say anything, though, because I’m not going to lie and tell him I’ll steal from customers. “What’s it gonna be, Tink? You still work here? Or am I putting an ad in the paper for a new mechanic?”

Fuck. I’d hoped he wouldn’t push the issue and I could go back to work. He stares me down, and my gut twists. This is it. The line in the sand. “I’m a good mechanic, Frank. I work faster and harder than most of the guys out in the shop. I bring in just as much business.”

“And you could bring in more if you upsell. You could be my top mechanic.”

And have no integrity. I try again to wiggle out of the corner he’s shoved me in. “But I’m still bringing in money.”

Frank pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Look, Tink. You’re right. You’re an excellent mechanic. And that’s why I’ve kept you around. But let’s call it how it is. It doesn’t matter how good you are, if you’re causing issues in my shop. You make some of the guys uncomfortable. They don’t like working with a queer.” He says queer like it’s the polite way to say fag and both words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. “And bottom line, you’re leaving money on the table, and I can’t have that. I’m gonna have to let you go.”

“You’re firing me.”

He clenches his jaw and nods. “Yup. You can’t play by the rules, so you gotta go.”

I nod once, grateful that today is payday and my latest check's in my pocket. My head is spinning, and I’m in shock, but I try not to let it show. “I’ll give you the address where you can send my last check.” Frowning, Frank shoves a tablet and pen in my direction, and I jot down the address and shove it back. He looks at the paper, and his frown deepens. “Portland?”

“Yeah. I got another job. I was going to tell you later today. I’m leaving town tomorrow, so send it there.” I drop the dirty rag on his desk and walk out of his office, and the shop, my head held high. Yeah, I got fired, but for doing the right thing. And I’ll be proud of that until my dying day.