The mechanic knocked on the front bumper of Dave’s pickup. “Can you blame him?”
“It was only a joke.” Dave smiled, lightly kicked the mechanic’s knee.
“I don’t know. That were my boy . . .” The mechanic lay back on the skateboard and rolled under the hood of the truck.
“The spray paint will come off. And the teeth are just cardboard.”
“You chased him five blocks!” The mechanic’s voice was muffled under the hood.
“I’d hardly call driving 1 mile an hour chasing.”
“And the way your motor pops and rattles, it already sounds like a goddamn monster’s roar.”
“So can you figure out what’s wrong with it?”
“Other than its driver being a somabitch?” The mechanic rolled from under the truck, his face smudged with oil. He tossed a gold Rolex watch at Dave’s feet.
“So that’s where it . . .”
“Looks like your boy knew it was you all along.”