“Muffler bearings?” I asked just as Duane exited. I was already out with the door shut by the time he made it to my side, despite his hustling.
“Yeah. It’s strange.” Duane took my hand, frowning at the car door behind me like he was irritated with it for letting me out. “People won’t question an itemized bill as long as each individual charge is small. I came up with a few fictitious charges after arguing with this one guy about the cost of a new transmission.”
“What are some of yours?”
“Well, let’s see…” Duane’s eyes went up and to the right as we walked toward the back of the shop. “Blinker fluid.”
I giggled. “Blinker fluid? You told people they needed blinker fluid?”
He nodded, a reluctant smile tugging his mouth to the side. “Or spark plugs for a diesel engine, power antenna fluid, that kind of stuff.”
I shook my head, laughing harder. “I can’t believe no one has caught on.”
“I don’t think they want to catch on. They feel like they’re getting a good price on the main work, and no one really wants to know how their car works. People just want it to work, they want it fixed." He released my hand in order to open the locked door and flipped on the overhead lights as we entered. The space was just as cold as the outside and smelled like a medley of oil and actual car fluids.
“I can see that. I mean, if you told me my car needed muffler bearings I wouldn’t know enough to contradict you.”
“We don’t do it to everyone, just people who are perpetual complainers, or we get a sense ahead of time who might be trouble. Watch your step.” His voice echoed in the cavernous shop and he squeezed my hand, lifting it as he indicated to a muffler on the cement floor directly in our path.
I followed his lead, careful to watch where I stepped, and spoke as I thought. “It’s interesting to me, how some people need to be pacified and don’t even know it—about themselves, I mean.”
“Lots of people are like that. Almost everybody, to one degree or another.”
“Yeah, maybe. I can see that. I’d like to think I will always want the truth from everybody, no matter what, no matter how uncomfortable or hurtful. But I’m sure there are some situations where remaining ignorant is likely best.”
“I agree, to an extent.” We skirted the garage to a side door, then navigated two landings of stairs to a big room. It appeared to be a combination office, break room, and apartment. A big desk and computer sat along one wall facing the window; a small cot, counter, fridge, and sink were along the other. File cabinets lined the third, and a single round Formica table with three chairs sat in the center.
“To an extent?” I asked.
“Yeah, to an extent.”
He left me at the door and crossed to one of the file cabinets. I wandered in after him, glancing around as he fished in a drawer for a few seconds. “Be more specific. What do you mean to an extent?”
He then withdrew something wrapped in a plastic bag and poked a hole to rip it open. “Well, take you for example.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. You’re almost too honest.”
I considered him and his statement for a beat, not sure if it was compliment, or an insult, or a complisult; when I couldn’t make up my mind I asked, “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A good thing, real good,” he answered with no hesitation, drawing a set of new coveralls out of the plastic bag. “I like it. I’ve always liked it. But I worry for you sometimes.”
Now, that made my insides feel soft and warm. I was walking toward him without realizing I was moving, obviously he had me caught in some kind of charming tractor beam. “You worry for me?”
“Yes. Most of the time what you’re thinking is on your face, like an open book for anyone to read. I guess…” He paused like he didn’t know whether or not to continue, but then eventually shrugged. “It reminds me of my momma and my sister. You’re guileless, trusting, and that’s great for me. But it can also make you a target.”
“I’m not that trusting.”
Duane’s eyes narrowed and he issued me a sly smile. “Yes, you are.”
“I’m not,” I protested, feeling my hackles rise.
“Okay, whatever you say.” He shrugged, handing me the coveralls, obviously making a half-assed effort to pacify me.
I clenched my jaw, liking and disliking the way his sly smile lingered. “You think I’m na?ve. I am not na?ve. I’m worldlier than you know.” Na?ve had always sounded like an insult to me, akin to childish.
“I’m just saying, when you trust someone, you really trust that person. You’ve always been that way, ever since we were kids.”
I studied him, wondering why we were talking about this; therefore I eventually asked, “Why are we talking about this? Are you trying to tell me not to trust you?”
“I would never tell you that.”