CALL GIRL: Chrome Horsemen MC

by Evelyn Glass

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Daisy opened her eyes, wondering what had pulled her from a deep sleep. She lay still and quiet, listening, when she heard a high-pitched whine and a thump, and there was a large truck idling somewhere outside. With a groan she looked at the clock. It was barely light outside and some ass was outside making noise.

  It had taken her a long time to drop off last night, the memory of Dix’s kiss invading her thoughts. It had been so gentle, totally unlike the hard, rough, kisses she was used to. When she saw him watching her, she’d almost gone back to him and invited him in, but had forced herself to close the door. She was torn, wanting to feel his touch but at the same time not wanting to experience the discomfort and humiliation again.

  There was a loud bang, then a rattle as if someone were dragging something heavy over metal. She groaned again and rolled out of bed to see what was going on. Hopefully whatever the hell they were doing wouldn’t take long and she could go back to sleep.

  She peeked between the curtains. There was a tow truck sitting behind her car with the bed tipped skyward. Someone is towing my car! She quickly threw on pants and shirt and opened the door.

  “Hey! What are you doing? That’s my car!” she cried as she stomped out of the room.

  “I know,” Dix said, rising from behind the car.

  “Dix? What are you doing?”

  “I’m stealing your car, what’s it look like?” he asked with a grin.

  “Why?”

  “Because, Daisy, it’s a piece of shit. If we get Riley back, I don’t want you trying to get him home in this and end up stranded on the highway. Go get dressed. I was going to get you up in a few minutes anyway.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Just go get dressed. I’ll explain on the way.”

  ***

  “Dix, I can’t pay for that and I can’t let you do it!”

  “Too late, we’re already here,” he said as he turned into McGhee Recycling.

  “Take me back to the motel!”

  “No.”

  “Damnit, Dix!”

  “You can either be pissed off, or you can help. Your choice,” he said as he put the big International Rollback into reverse.

  She fumed as Dix backed the truck. When he’d told her what he was going to do, she’d forbade it, but he’d ignored her, and the more strident she got, the funnier he seemed to think it was.

  “You must be Daisy,” James said, extending his hand as she stepped down from the truck. “I’m James McGhee.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. McGhee,” Daisy said taking the hand. “Can you talk to sense into your employee? I told him I couldn’t pay for the work but he won’t listen.”

  “Call me James. And no. Once Dixon has his mind made up, a Georgia mule doesn’t have anything on him.”

  “But I can’t pay for it!”

  “It’s already been taken care of.”

  “How? By who?”

  “Daisy, look around you. Nearly everything you’ll need is already here. I have a dozen or more cars just like that one here I paid less than two hundred dollars for. We’re taking most of the parts off those. It’s taken care of.”

  She looked around her as Dix wenched the car off the truck. “But why? And I can’t pay for the labor.”

  James smiled and shrugged. “Today’s his day off. I’m not paying him either.”

  “Daisy! Come see if this pile will start so we don’t have to push,” Dix called as he unhooked the cable. It wouldn’t. “Time to earn your keep, get ready to push.”

  With three of them pushing, and the Beetle being so light, it was light work to get the car into the shop. Dix spent the next forty minutes poking and prodding underneath as she watched, calling James over to look at something every now and again, causing them to laugh or shake their heads.

  “Daisy, it’s hopeless. It’s a wonder the damn thing ran at all. I’m not even going to bother to try to fix it. So I’m going to plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?”

  “We have several motors and transmission, freshly rebuilt by James or me, sitting on the shelf. There’s one hitch.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your car is an autostick, kind of an air-cooled Volkswagen automatic. We don’t have one of those, and even if we did, I wouldn’t put it back in because they suck. Can you drive a manual?”

  “You mean with a, what do you call it…a clutch?”

  Dix chuckled. “Never mind. That answers the question. I guess you’ll learn.”

  “Dix, please don’t do this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, it’s too much. You have done too much already, so please don’t do this.”

  She looked so pitiful. “Is that the only reason?” She nodded her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “Let someone do something nice for you for once,” he said quietly. “The speed shops are closed today anyway and James and I can finish this in a few hours.”

  “No…Please don’t ask him to help.”

  “Ask him to help?” he chuckled. “I won’t be able to keep him away.”

  ***

  Working together James and Dix had the motor and transmission out of the car in two hours. Dix hauled it away with a fork truck, then made two trips with the machine to retrieve the new motor and transmission.

  She made a trip to town in the yard truck for fluids, a carburetor rebuild kit, plugs and wires, and an alternator belt, then prepared lunch in James’s kitchen. Though slower going back together than coming apart, she couldn’t believe how much progress the men made in so short a time. Only six hours after Dix had hauled the car through the gate, the new transmission was back in, and they would finish fitting the engine after lunch.

  While Dix finished wrenching underneath, James removed the alternator, starter and carburetor from her old motor. He dropped off the alternator and starter for Dix and then began disassembling the carburetor with sure, practiced movements at a side table.

  “What can you tell me about Dix?” she asked, watching James work.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why is he doing this?”

  He smiled, but his hands never slowed. “Because he’s a good man.”

  “I can tell. But that doesn’t answer why he’s doing this.”

  “Because he likes you, and because you need the help. He told me a little about you and what you’ve been through.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. We had a beer before he went to bed.”

  “He lives with you?”

  “He lives here, but not with me. He has a little trailer out back.”

  She nodded. “Okay, but why does he want to help me? Nobody has ever wanted to help me, well, except my parents, of course.”

  James paused and looked at her. “Because I think he understands what you’re going through.” He went back to his task. “Dix hasn’t had it easy. I don’t know how much he told you about how he grew up.”

  “Not a lot. I get the feeling he isn’t close to his parents.”

  “No.” He paused so long she thought he wasn’t going to continue. “His parents, neither one of them, aren’t worth the bullet to put them in the ground. His dad used to work for me. They were both drunks and didn’t care about anything other than where their next drink was coming from. They certainly didn’t care about Dix. So long as he wasn’t bothering them, they didn’t care what he did.”

  He paused again as he looked over the parts she’d purchased, then began to clean and reassemble the carb. “I felt sorry for the boy, so I started showing him how to do things. Rebuild engines, run the milling machines, that sort of thing. He’s got a gift. He’s one of the finest engine builders I’ve seen. He should be working for a race team somewhere, not hanging around here with an old man, but he won’t leave.”

  She could feel herself tearing up as he spoke. This wasn’t an employee-employer relationship, more like grandfather and grandson, or even closer, perhaps father and
son. The love and respect she heard in his voice as he talked about Dix was so clear and profound to be unmistakable. The more she found out about Dix, the more she liked what she heard. Here was a man who cared about something other than himself.

  “Where are his parents now?”

  “They still live in Douglas, on welfare no doubt. One day, when Dix as about twelve or thirteen, his dad nearly killed us both. Dix and I were parting out a car when his dad ran over it with the loader. Thank God I realized what was about to happen and we ran like hell before he did. He was drunk and I don’t think he even knew he hit it. I fired him on the spot. I don’t think he’s seen them since.”

  “Where did he go then? Dix I mean.”

  He smiled. “Dix used to get off the school bus here, then would ride home with his dad. The next day he got off as usual, and just…stayed. He’s been here ever since. He lived with me until he was eighteen, then bought the trailer and moved into it. Let’s see, I would guess he was seven or eight when he started getting off the bus, and he’s twenty-seven now, so almost twenty years he’s been here.”

  “You really care for him,” she said softly.

  “Like a son.”

  “Where’s my carb, old man? You’re holding up progress!” Dix roared from the other side of the garage.

  “You got the clutch pedal installed yet?” James yelled back with a grin.

  “No!”

  “Do that! I’m busy flirting with Daisy!”

  She giggled as Dix fussed and growled good-naturedly. She couldn’t make out all the words but they could make out what he wanted them to hear when he raised his voice, including “do all the work” and “pretty girl.”

  “He may not be your son, but I think you did a pretty good job raising him.”

  He grinned. “I think he came out okay in spite of me.” He held up the carburetor for her inspection. “What do you think?”

  “Uh…what is it?”

  He laughed. “It’s the carb. It’s what gets the gas into the engine so it will run.”

  “Oh. It looks perfect, then.”

  With another laugh, he nodded into the direction of the car. “Come on, let’s go see what Dix is doing.”

  ***

  It took another hour before Dix was done installing the clutch into the car. While he worked, James took all the wheels off and looked at the brakes, then the front end, making a list, then sending her back to the store for parts.

  When she returned the Beetle had been lowered, though it was still on the lift with the wheels off, and Dix and James were fussing around with the engine. She was walking up with three bags of brake and steering parts when Dix walked to the front of the car, reached through the window, and turned the key. The Bug whirred over as James fiddled with the carb, then it roared to life.

  It was already running better than she could remember, but as James tinkered, first with the carb, then with a rapidly blinking light flashing into the bowls of the engine, it smoothed out more and more. After a few moments he stood and revved the engine hard several times.

  Dix turned it off, then twisted the key again and the engine sprang immediately to life. He repeated the procedure a couple of more times before grinning at her. “Want to try it?”

  Grinning like a fool she hurried to the car and squeezed into the seat and started to pump the accelerator.

  “Ah-ah. Don’t do that,” he said with a grin. “You’ll flood it. Just turn the key.”

  She did. It took a moment longer to start than it did with Dix, but the engine caught, stumbled, then settled into a strong steady idle. She switched it off, then turned the key again and the engine thrummed immediately to life.

  “Thank you!” she said as she squeezed out of the car and hugged first Dix then James.

  James began to paw through the bags, pulling out parts and looked at them. “Now that it goes, it has to stop. Your brakes are shot. Steering, too. You’re lucky to still be alive driving this thing.”

  ***

  As she prepared dinner from what she could find in James’s pantry, freezer and refrigerator, Dix and James worked on the brakes and steering. She called them for dinner and they arrived, covered in grease and sweat, but smiling.

  “I’ve never built a car before in just one day, have you?” Dix asked after he stepped out of the bathroom. His hands were clean halfway to his elbow, but that was it.

  “No. There’s a first time for everything, I guess,” James chuckled as he took Dix’s place in the bathroom so he could wash his hands.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Daisy doted on Dix and James, heaping their plates with roast beef, potatoes and carrots, and filling their glasses. She was so incredibly grateful to the men she couldn’t put it into words.

  “Are you almost finished?” she asked as the men ate.

  “Why? You in a hurry?” Dix asked.

  “No, but you’ve been working on it for almost twelve hours already. I feel guilty enough as it is.”

  Dix passed a look to James. “Almost. Just a few more things.”

  “Where did you learn to do this? Did you own a garage, James?” When Dix snickered, she glanced between the men. “What?”

  “Nothing,” James said.

  “I know you probably haven’t heard of him since you didn’t even know what a clutch is, but this is the James McGhee.”

  She looked at James. “I’m sorry to say I don’t know what that means.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Daisy. Don’t worry about it.”

  “James is one of the greatest race engine builders in the world. In the sixties and seventies there were more cars with his engines winning the SCCA Can-Am events than any other. His motors still fetch steep six figure money, even today, if you can find someone willing to sell one.”

  Daisy looked at James with new respect.

  “He exaggerates,” James said as he looked at his plate.

  “I don’t exaggerate,” Dix said firmly. “Who built more winning engines than you?”

  “Nobody,” James said softly.

  “When you get back home, you can honestly say your Bug has an engine built by McGhee Motor Sports. You’ll be the envy of all your friends,” Dix teased.

  “How did you end up here?” she asked, fascinated. What she knew about engines and cars wouldn’t fill a thimble, but she could hear the deep respect in Dix’s voice.

  “I bought the place when I retired.”

  “When was that?”

  “About 1976.”

  Daisy blinked, the math not adding up. “You couldn’t have been very old.”

  “About thirty-eight.”

  “Wow! Congratulations!” There was no way she could retire in ten years, and the fact James could amazed her. But then she noticed the livelihood had gone out of both of their eyes. “Wait, what happened?” She looked from Dix to James then back again.

  “I had a son,” James began. “He wasn’t like Dix. He was arrogant and spoiled. It was my fault I suppose, well, mine and Susan’s, my wife. We gave him everything he wanted. He wanted to race, drawn to the speed and the woman, I guess, but he didn’t have the talent. I talked to a buddy of mine and we got him into a car. He did okay, but he was never really competitive, and heroes don’t finish ninth out of fifteen. In his second season, he was pushing too hard, driving beyond his ability and crashed.”

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  James nodded. “He suffered a debilitating brain injury. He survived the crash but was brain dead, what do they call it now, a present vegetated state? We kept him on the machine for two years, hoping he’d wake up, but he never did, and we finally switched it off. He died three days later.”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  James smiled at her. “It’s okay. That was a long time ago. Susan, she couldn’t accept it and blamed me for his death. I guess in a way it was. If I hadn’t pulled strings he’d have never been able to get a seat on his own. A year after Kyle died, Su
san left me. I just didn’t have the passion for it anymore, so I sold my engine shop, packed up my equipment, and moved to Oregon. And, as they say, here I am.” They sat quietly for a long moment before James brightened. “But God gave me another chance, and I didn’t make the same mistakes with Dix I did with Kyle.”