Page 19 of Dirty Mechanic

Half an hour later, a car pulls up.

I know that sound of brakes screaming for mercy. I step outside to meet the driver of that familiar red Chevy.

A man gets out. Nice suit. Soulless eyes.

“Morning,” I call, already bracing.

He closes the door like he’s sealing a deal, then marches forward, hand out. “Mike.”

I meet it with a firm, measuring grip.

“Derek. What brings you here?”

“She’s backfiring.” He jerks his chin toward the car. “George at the Motor-Inn said you’re the guy to see.”

“Motor-Inn, huh? Hope you like spiders.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t blink.

“Pop the hood,” I mutter.

“Key’s in the ignition.”

I slide behind the wheel and crank it. Sputter. Cough. Stall—twice.

Under the hood, I work without thinking. Shredded timing belt. Low fluids. Loose fuse. Neglect, not bad luck. Someone let this car rot.

I point to the engine. “You’ve got about five minutes before this thing eats itself. The belt’s toast. When it snaps, the engine follows. ”

Mike barely reacts. “She’ll hold.”

That tone. Flat as pavement. Too calm.

“What line of work you in?” I ask.

“Property management. Out west.”

He says it like a man used to hiding things. Suit says finance. Voice says predator.

“Lords Valley’s a long drive for property.”

He steps in closer. “Following a DNA trail.”

His gaze skips past me and locks onto my front door.,

My gut tightens.

He’s not here for a tune-up. He’s here for her. I just don’t know why.

“Small town,” I say. “People talk. You’ll find whatever you’re looking for—if you ask the right folks.”

I tighten the fuse, keeping my voice even.

He smiles with all teeth, and no warmth. “I think I already have.”

I slam the hood.

“Loose fuse. It’ll run—for now. But you’ll want that belt changed. Soon.”