The Guardian (13 page)

"No-I'm a mechanic. It's just that I met one of the engineers who consults on the bridge."

"Which one?"

"Richard Franklin. Do you know him?"

Holding Mike's gaze, Jake removed the toothpick from his mouth. "Yeah, I know him," he said.

"Nice guy?"

"What do you think?" he asked.

The wariness in his tone made Mike hesitate. "I take it the answer's no."

Jake seemed to evaluate his answer.

"So what's it to you?" he finally asked. "You his friend?"

"No-like I said, I only met him once."

"Keep it that way. You don't want to know him."

"Why?"

After a long moment Jake shook his head, and though Mike tried to find out more, he said nothing. Instead, he turned the conversation back to the truck and left the shop a few minutes later, leaving Mike wondering what it was that Jake hadn't told him and why that suddenly seemed more important than the things he had said.

His thoughts, though, were interrupted when Singer came trotting in.

"Hey, big guy!" Mike called out.When Singer got close, he jumped up, balancing on two legs, his front paws pressing against Mike's chest as if they were dancing at the prom. Singer squeaked low in his throat, sounding excited.

"What are you doing here?" Mike asked.

Singer dropped back to all fours again, then turned and started toward Mike's locker.

"I don't have any food," Mike said, following him. "But I know Henry has some in his office. Let's go clean him out."

Singer led the way. After opening the bottom drawer of Henry's desk, Mike pulled out Henry's favorites-the miniature powdered sugar doughnuts and chocolate-chip cookies-and dropped into Henry's chair. He tossed them one by one, and Singer caught them in the air, gobbling them down like a frog catching flies. Though it probably wasn't good for him, his tail wagged in approval the whole time. Even better, Henry was going to be really annoyed when he realized his stash was gone. Sort of like getting two for the price of one.

With her last customer of the day on her way out, Julie glanced around the salon. "Have you seen Singer?" she asked Mabel."I let him out a while ago," Mabel said. "He was standing at the door."

"How long ago was that?"

"I guess about an hour."

Julie glanced at her watch. Singer was never gone this long.

"And he hasn't come back?"

"I think I saw him heading toward Mike's."

Singer was curled up on an old blanket, snoring off the sugary treats as Mike adjusted the transmission of a Pontiac Sunbird."Hey, Mike," Julie called out. "You still here?"

Mike looked up at the sound of her voice and moved out into the bay. "Back here," he called out. Singer raised his head, his eyes groggy.

"Have you seen Singer?"

"Yeah, he's right here." He nodded off to the side and grabbed a rag. As he wiped his hands, Singer rose and started toward her.

"There you are," she said. When Singer reached her, she scratched his back as he circled her body. "I was beginning to get worried about you."

Mike smiled, thankful that Singer hadn't gone back.

She looked up. "What's going on?"

"Nothing much. How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

"It's one of those days," she said. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I suppose I do," he said, nodding. "Especially today. Benny came in for starters, and then Henry almost died."

"Wait-Henry almost died?"

"Died . . . killed . . . whatever. I stopped myself at the last minute. Couldn't stand the thought of what our parents would say to me once I was behind bars. But let me tell you-it was close."

"Was he giving you a hard time today?"

"When doesn't he give me a hard time?"

"Poor thing," she said. "Remind me to cry you a river tonight."

"I knew I could count on you," he said.

Julie laughed. Sometimes he was so darn cute, especially with that dimple. "So what did he do? Cut a hole in the back of your coveralls again?"

"No. That one got old after a while. And besides, the last time he did it, I covered a wrench with Krazy Glue and then asked him to hold it while I checked something out. He couldn't get the wrench off until the next morning. Had to sleep with the thing."

"I remember that." Julie giggled. "He wouldn't take anything you offered him for weeks after that."

"Yeah," Mike said, waxing nostalgic. It was, in his opinion, one of his better moments. "I should do things like that more often, but I just don't think that way."

"No matter what you do, he'll always give you a hard time. But just remember-he does those things because he's jealous."

"You think so?"

"I know so. He's losing his hair, and he's got Dunlops disease."

"Dunlops?"

"Yeah, his belly done lopped right over his belt."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, must be tough getting old like that."

"So . . . you didn't answer my question. What was it today?"

Mike didn't, couldn't, explain Henry's comment. Instead, he motioned toward the soda machine and reached in his pocket for some change. "Oh-you know," he said casually. "The same old stuff."

Her hands went to her hips. "Must have been good if you won't tell me."

"I'll never tell," he said. Then he stood straighter, and his voice took on a serious tone. "But sometimes," he said, "I can't help but think that you live vicariously through his antics, and I must say that it hurts me."

He handed Julie a Diet Coke, then got himself a Dr Pepper. No need to ask what she wanted; he already knew.

"Hurts you," she said, taking the can.

"Like a knife."

"Do I have to cry two rivers tonight?"

"Two would be nice. But make it three and I'll definitely forgive you."

When he grinned, Julie realized how much she'd missed talking to him lately. "So aside from Henry, anything else exciting happen today?"

Mike paused. A guy named Jake Blansen came in and said some cryptic things about Richard. Want to hear about that?

No, now was not the time.

He shook his head. "Not really. How about you?"

"Nothing." She glanced toward Singer. "Except for this guy running away. For a little while there, I actually got scared that something had happened to him."

"Singer? No car would stand a chance if it hit him. It would be crushed like a bug."

"It still had me worried."

"That's because you're a woman. Men like me-we don't worry. We're trained not to panic."

Julie smiled. "That's good to know. When the hurricane hits, you'll be the first one I call to board up the house."

"You do that anyway. Don't you remember? You even bought me my own special hammer."

"Well, you can't expect me to do it. I might panic or something."

Mike chuckled, and for a moment silence settled in. Now what? he thought. Except for the obvious.

"So how're things going with Richard?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Julie hesitated. Yes, she wondered, how are they going?

"Okay," she answered. "The weekend was all right, but . . ." She trailed off, thinking, How much do I really want to say to Mike?

"But?"

"It's not important."

He studied her. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." She flashed a quick, forced smile. "Like I said, it's nothing."

Mike sensed her discomfort but let it go. She didn't want to talk about Richard, he didn't want to talk about him. He had no problem with that.

"Well, listen, if you find that you need to talk about anything, I'm here, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'm serious," he said. "I'm always around."

"I know you are." She put a friendly hand on his shoulder, trying to defuse the tension. "Part of me thinks you should get out more. See the world, take exotic trips."

"What? And ruin my streak of consecutive nights watching Baywatch reruns?"

"Exactly," she said. "Anything's better than television. But if travel's not your thing, you might consider something else. Like taking up a musical instrument or something."

Mike pressed his lips together. "Now that, my dear, was a low blow."

Her eyes gleamed. "As good as Henry's?"

He thought about it. "No," he said. "Henry's was better."

"Rats."

"What can I say? You're just a rookie."

She smiled, then leaned back a little, as if taking a moment to evaluate him. "You're pretty easy to get along with, you know?"

"Because I'm easy to tease?"

"No, because you're such a good sport about it."

Mike took a moment to scrape a bit of grease from his fingernails. "That's funny," he said.

"What?"

"Those words you used. Andrea said exactly the same thing to me just the other day."

"Andrea?" Julie repeated, wondering if she'd heard him right.

"Yeah, this weekend. When we went out on our date. Which reminds me-I'm supposed to pick her up in a few minutes."

He glanced toward his watch, then his locker.

"But . . . wait . . . Andrea?" Julie couldn't mask her bewilderment.

"Yeah-she's great. We had a good time. But listen, I've got to run. . . ."

Julie reached for his arm. "But . . . ," she said. "You and Andrea?"

Mike stared at her solemnly for a couple of beats, then winked. "Had you going, didn't I?"

Julie crossed her arms. "No," she snapped.

"C'mon. Just a little?"

"No."

"Admit it."

"Okay, fine. I admit it."

Mike gave her a look of satisfaction. "Good. Now we're even."

Julie let the door swing closed behind her, still relishing her conversation with Mike. Mabel looked up from the desk."Were you supposed to meet Richard tonight?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

"He came by and asked for you. Didn't you see him?"

"I was over at the garage with Mike."

"You didn't see Richard on your way back?"

"No."

"That's strange," she said. "You should have seen him on the street. I mean, he just left a couple of minutes ago and I thought he went looking for you."

"I guess not." Julie glanced at the door. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"Not really. Just that he was looking for you. You still might be able to catch him if you hurry."

Mabel turned on the answering machine and finished straightening up the desk, watching Julie debate whether or not to go. When the moment passed-thus making the decision for her-she went on as if she hadn't suggested it.

"I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm bushed. Everyone I worked on complained today. If it wasn't about their hair, it was their kids or their husbands or the new preacher or barking dogs or how crazy the drivers are from up north. Sometimes you just want to tell them to grow up. Know what I mean?"

Julie was still thinking of Richard.

"Must be a full moon," she muttered. "Everyone was a little off today."

"Even Mike?"

"No, not Mike." Julie waved a hand in relief. "Mike's always the same."

Mabel pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and removed a flask. "Well, it's about time to shake off the cobwebs," she announced. "Join me?"

Mabel enjoyed shaking off the cobwebs regularly and, as a result, had fewer cobwebs than anyone Julie knew.

"Yeah, I'll join you. I'll lock the door."

Mabel removed two plastic glasses from the bottom drawer and made herself comfortable on the couch. By the time Julie joined her, Mabel had kicked off her shoes, propped her feet on the table, and already taken a drink. With her eyes closed and her head leaned back, it seemed almost as if she believed she was sitting in a chaise longue on a distant beach, basking beneath a tropical sun.

"So what's Mike up to these days?" she asked, her eyes still closed. "He hasn't come around here much lately."

"Nothing too exciting. Working, feuding with Henry, the usual. Other than that, not much." She paused and her face brightened. "Oh, did you hear that he'll be playing at the Clipper in a few weeks?"

"Oh . . . hurray." The lack of enthusiasm was palpable.

Julie laughed. "Be nice. And actually, it's a pretty good band this time."

"It won't help."

"He's not that bad."

Mabel smiled before sitting up. "Oh, honey, I know he's your friend, but he's like kin to me. I watched him running around in diapers, and trust me when I say that he is definitely that bad. I know it drives him crazy, too, since that's all he ever really wanted to do. But like the good book says, 'Suffer not the terrible singers, for they shall ruin the ears.' "

"The good book doesn't say that."

"It should. And it probably would, if Mike had been around back then."