“All right, I’ll call you when I have them ready. Is that all you need?” I asked. He’d just been in a few days before getting new brakes and tires put on.
“Oh I’m fine, I just thought I’d come settle up from last week. Your dad’s probably just been busy, but we never got our ticket in the mail like we usually do.”
That was odd. My dad was always meticulous about his billing. Although primitive, his system was foolproof.
In Wynne, everyone knew everyone. They’d drop their vehicles off, and then come pick them up whenever. Keys in the visor.
Dad always sent out invoice tickets on Mondays, and Mr. Walton had been in the past Friday.
“Sorry about that. Let me look real quick.” I left him at the counter and ran into the small office. In the old wooden chair, I sat down and spun around to the cabinet where he kept all the past week’s tickets and found it full. I pulled the folder out and opened it, seeing Mr. Walton’s ticket about a third of the way down.
Had none of these been sent out?
I knew he was waiting for me, so I didn’t want to spend too much time going through it all, but shit, there was a lot. I quickly looked at the ticket on the bottom and it was from almost a month ago.
“Hey, Mutt,” Dean said from the doorway, the office was only big enough for one person. “Can you call and check on the parts order? Your dad says we should have more filters, but I can’t find them. I hope he’s got more coming in.”
Shit.
“Yeah, I’ll call, but I doubt they’re open now. Do you have enough for today?”
“I don’t know. We still have about ten cars out there.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Call down to Dub’s and see if they have any to get us by.”
Dub’s was the other automotive repair place in town. There wasn’t really any competition though, since there was enough work to go around. Always had been.
Dad and Dub even worked here together for a while, but they didn’t have enough space. Dub opened his own shop about three years after Dad bought his. They’d been best friends all my life. He even came by earlier to get a free hot dog and Pepsi.
“Thanks, he probably forgot. I tell ya, the old man’s mind is not what it used to be.”
It was true. My dad would never hit the Guinness book for highest IQ, but that had been just another thing he’d slacked on.
“Mr. Walton, here’s your invoice. He didn’t get it out yet. Sorry for the trouble. Do you want to pay it now? It’s $745.00.”
“Sure, honey, let me go get my rubber checks out of the truck,” he said, winking at me. I think I’d heard that recycled joke told once a week for the past ten years.
I peeked into the garage and caught Dean hanging up the shop phone. He gave me a thumbs up, then motioned for the next car to pull in.
What would we do without Dean?
He was like the brother I never had, and Dad was like the father Dean never had. You could say Dean’s story and mine were similar. Me with no mom. Him with no dad. Since his mom had passed a few years back, he had no mom either. We were pretty much his only family.
I walked over to my old man, his head grease streaked and his hands moving as fast as they ever did.
“Twenty-two, Mutt. I think we’re going to beat last year’s twenty-eight.” Pride was shining in his aging brown eyes. He loved what he did.
Then he teased Dean, “If that slacker would pick up the pace we could damn near hit forty, I bet.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to owe Dub a case of beer. You forgot to get oil filters this week. He’s on his way up. This is the last one on the shelf,” Dead fired back.
My dad stopped and looked at him like a coonhound with three dicks, but it wasn’t Dean who was wrong. Judging by the stack of unpaid invoices, I had to start taking on a little bit more of the responsibilities around there.
“Didn’t we order those?” Then he scratched his face and went on about his business.
“I’ll call them on Monday and see. Maybe they left them off the truck or something? Don’t worry about it,” I said and kicked his work boot. “You’ve got a line out there. Get your old ass in gear.”
He rolled his eyes at me and went back to work.
Dean and my dad beat their record. Thirty-three oil changes in less than fifteen minutes, start to finish. They drank a few beers as they cleaned up the shop for the evening and called in some tenderloins for us at Diana’s, the local diner across the street. We were all hungry and one of her tenderloins could practically feed a whole family. They were plate-sized and you needed three buns.
“Hey, we’re walking across the street to eat, you coming?” my dad finally asked a little later.
I looked at the clock. It was seven and I knew she’d be closing up the kitchen soon, but I needed to take a better look at those tickets. I had my work cut out for me. It was either going to take all night or all the next day, and paperwork was the last thing I wanted to do on Sunday.