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The big, shiny black tow truck with a yellow logo arrived in a surprisingly short amount of time. Even more surprising, however, was the truck’s driver. A tall, broad-shouldered woman emerged from the truck. She was fifty or sixty with platinum hair, red lips, colorful arm tats, and blue coveralls that said Earl on the nameplate.
“Yep.” She pointed at the name tag. “Call me Earl. Or Earline. Or early to dinner. I’m easy.”
“And I’m screwed.” I gestured at my camper.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Earl gave a curt nod. “Rare is the RV I can’t tinker with.” She made a slow circle around the rig, likely planning out logistics for the tow. “This is a classic. Bet there’s not even twenty of these from that year still on the road.”
“Not helping me feel better, Earl.” I groaned. For whatever reason, I found it far easier to banter with the gravelly-voiced Earl than Holden. And there I was, thinking about him yet again. Earl was easy to talk with because ours was a clearly defined temporary business relationship. Nothing at all to do with how unsettled Holden made me.
Earl let me ride up front in the tow truck, and I tried to angle myself so my neck bandages were less obvious. Didn’t work.
“Shark attack?” she asked as we started our slow trek back to Safe Harbor.
“Something like that.”
“Yep. I already figured you for the silent type.” Mercifully, she flipped on an oldies station and let me stew the rest of the way to town. Her garage was part of a larger complex at the edge of town with a gas station, mini-mart, repair shop, and automatic car wash.
She took the RV into a large garage bay and led me to a small waiting area with a view of the gas pumps. Too tired to sit, I paced. Whatever the damage was, it wasn’t going to be good. I’d maxed out my last card simply paying the upfront cost of the tow. By the time Earl came back, I’d made several circuits of the waiting area, read all the informational signs twice, attempted a cup of truly terrible coffee, and rejected the plate of sugar cookies near the coffee.
“So I’ve got bad news and worse news.” Earl’s hair, lipstick, and coveralls drooped as she settled on one of the plastic chairs. “Come on, sit. You’re not gonna wanna stand for this. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Reluctantly, I perched on the chair next to her, trying to avoid the urge to slump to the chipped floor. “How much damage are we looking at?”
“We’re not. Your rig is already held together with duct tape and baling wire. It’s a wonder you’ve kept it on the road, let alone found places to let you camp.”
“I manage.” I ended up boondocking more often than I’d like, dry camping with no hookups or parking at out-of-the-way no-frills campgrounds that didn’t have restrictions on age or vehicle condition. Or, on certain recovery missions, someone like Monroe would offer me a room, and I’d take the prospect of unlimited hot water and the risk of finding street parking.
“You’ve managed yourself right into a pickle.” Earl made a clucking noise. “Transmission’s shot, but so are a number of other things. And on top of being older than dirt, your rig is a limited edition. One of the parts that most needs replacing simply isn’t on the market anywhere for love nor money.”
“Thought you said you could tinker with it. Like, maybe there’s a temporary fix?”
“Honey.” She put a large hand on my knee. “I’m a mechanic, not a magician, and even a magic wand isn’t saving that transmission. And even if I could get a hold of the necessary parts, you’re looking at a hell of a lot more in parts and labor than this thing is worth. I can’t in good conscience let you toss that kind of money at something destined for the scrap yard.”
“Well, fuck.” I glanced over at Earl, fully prepared to apologize for my mouth, but she gave a hearty laugh.
“Yep. You’re fucked, all right.” She chortled. “But you’re navy, right? I saw those veteran plates. I know Bud, who runs a used lot on the other side of town. Old marine, but he’ll give you a military discount. Tell him Earl sent you, and he’ll get you set with some low payments.”
“Thanks.” I managed a weak nod. Earl had no idea how bad my credit was. A buddy’s wife had helped me with the paperwork for my organization, such as it was. I had a logo and nonprofit status, but when it came to fundraising, I’d been all on my own. And more often than not, I’d used my own funds for equipment, travel, and other expenses to the point that every card I had was crying for mercy. No dealer with eyeballs would give me any sort of loan. “I’ll figure something out.”
