CHAPTER SEVEN

-:- MACKENZIE -:-

Pulling up outside Hot Hogs and Cages, the graphics on their workshop doors are outstanding. Mikala Mitchell of Silk Sisters Rock had her bike done here? That’s a hell of a credential right there. I love their music too.

Walking into the building, I see a door marked OFFICE so I head that way. Just as I reach the door, some guy in coveralls comes barging out and nearly knocks me on my ass.

“Hey, watch where you’re going.” I slam my hands on my hips and give him my best glare.

“Oh. Sorry. I was in a rush. That’s all I seem to do these days. Rush.”

He looks a bit frazzled, to say the least. His boss must be on his ass for something. I’ll cut him some slack.

“Is the boss around? I want him to look at my Jeep and see if he can price me up for a paint job.”

Looking into the parking lot, he nods at my Jeep. “Is that it? Bring it into the first bay and I’ll take a look at it for you.”

“No offense, but I’ll talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey.” Going to walk past him to the office, he steps in front of me.

“Excuse me, Miss. The first bay is the organ grinder’s bay. Bring your vehicle in and then you can tell him what you’re thinking of having done. He’ll be waiting for you by the time you're parked.”

Not liking his attitude, I think of punching him. Deciding this would be a very bad idea, due to both his size - and the fact that the smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking - I go fetch my Jeep.

Parking in the bay, I see the same guy hanging around.

“Welcome to Hot Hogs and Cages. I’m the organ grinder for this side of the business. What can I do for you today?”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry I said that. The coveralls threw me.”

“My name's Fist. I’m the manager for the vehicle side of the business. The ‘cages’ in the name. How about we start again, Miss?”

“Mackenzie, call me Kenzie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kenzie. Now, what can we do to this old girl for you?” Walking around the Jeep, he gives me a running commentary of faults that he finds with her bodywork. This commentary is getting my temper up.

“I know what’s wrong with her. I don’t need it rammed down my throat, thank you very much.” Watching him straighten up, I see he’s talking on his phone.

“I’m not picking fault. I’m noting the things that need doing to get her back to being beautiful, again. I think it might be best if you take it somewhere else. We are clearly not on the same page, are we?”

“No. Please. I’ve been through a lot recently and I’m afraid my nerves are shot. I lose my temper at the stupidest things. I want you to spray my Jeep. I just want her to look nice. I don’t need any pictures on her. No graphics or writing. Just a nice clean spray job.”

“Kenzie, that’s not what we do. We’re a custom shop. We do custom artwork. If it’s just a straightforward respray, I can recommend somewhere that can do that.”

“I want you guys to do it. You came recommended. Mikala had her bike done here. I want my Jeep done here, too.” Giving him my pleading look, I hope he doesn’t ask if I know Mikala Mitchell. If he thinks I do, that’s not my fault. If he asks, I can’t lie.

“Let’s go speak to my boss. He can have the last word. Yours isn’t a custom job. He may not authorize it.”

Walking over to the other side of the business, I explain as we go that I’ve just bought it and that I want to get her back to looking her best. When he says he knows the previous owner, and that he’s used her business too, I’m surprised.

“You get costumes from Lily’s shop? You don’t seem the ‘dress up’ type, somehow.” I give him a frown that was supposed to be a quizzical look.

“The MC are part owners of TJs, so we all attend the theme nights they throw. We’ve had some good nights. You should give it a try when the next one comes up.”

Walking through to another office, a man stands up from behind a desk. “Fist. What can I do for you?”

“Rock, this is Kenzie. Kenzie, this is my boss, Rock. Kenzie here has bought Lily’s old Jeep. She’d like us to give it a tidy-up paint job. I’ve explained that this isn’t what we do, but she wants it done as Mikala had her bike done here. I said I didn’t think you’d go for it.” Realizing that he’s trying to shirk the decision onto someone else, I raise my eyebrows to his boss and tip my head to one side.

“I don’t see what you need me for, Fist? The lady has a cage that needs work. You are the manager of the cages. Do you do the work or not? While you think on it, I’ll show Kenzie where Mikala had her work done on her bike.”

Leading the way, Rock takes me into more workshop space. There are mechanics working on different bikes and one guy at the end working in a spray booth. Rock gives me a tour and some explanation as to what they’re doing at each bay.

Seeing the way these bikes are put together has me cringing. “How can anyone want to ride one of these things? They have to be unhinged mentally or have a death wish.”

This must come out louder than I intended as the mechanics stop working and look at me. Rock laughs out loud while staring at me.

“You appreciate that we are all members of Raging Barons Motorcycle Club and as such, we live for our bikes? There’s nothing better than riding our hogs and feeling the wind against you.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude. The thought of being on one of those things scares the hell out of me, though.”

“Once you’ve been on one, you’ll love it. There’s nothing like the wind in your hair. It’s exhilarating!”

“So you say. Four wheels do me fine. Two wheels aren’t natural. It goes against the laws of gravity.” Feeling myself getting carried away again, I feel it’s better if I shut up now. I could easily alienate these guys. “Changing the subject, slightly. Do you know where I can scrap my Volkswagen Golf?”

Rock takes out a business card and jots a number down on the back. “Tell them you’re with Raging Barons. They’ll give you a better deal.”

“Thanks, Rock.” Turning to Fist, I ask, “Okay, what’s the score, Fist? Are you doing my Jeep or not?”

“Yes. We’ll do it. Don’t spread it around, though. We’re custom…”

“I get it, Fist. You do custom paint and custom bodywork. Let’s go talk figures then.”

The three of us walk back to Fist’s office, agree on a price, and schedule the work. Shaking their hands, I take my girl and head home.

Arriving at work the next morning, I leave the jeep at the back of the parking lot. I don’t enjoy leaving her there. It’s further to walk for a woman alone, but we’re asked to leave the closer spaces for patients, which is fair enough.

Walking into the reception of the surgery, I see Dr. Edwards chatting with one of the nurses. He gives me the creeps. He seems to undress you when he’s looking at you. I’ve seen him watching the nurses and I get the feeling he thinks he’s a bit of a ladies’ man. Well, he’s not my type of man, that’s a fact.

Leaving my lunch in the breakroom fridge, I get settled at the reception desk, ready for the first patients waiting for the doors to open. The first rush over and I have a lot of letters to type up today.

The morning flies by, the letters are nearly done, and there are fewer patients for this afternoon. Having my lunch in the breakroom, I sit alone. My break time works out later than the nurses and doctors, for some reason.

I need to make a grocery shopping list and I also need some bits for the condo to make it feel homey. I think I’ll follow Fist’s example and do it verbally on my phone. That way, I can kill two birds with one stone. I can get the letters finished, complete some filing I have left, and get my lists done while I do it.

Back at my desk, there’s only one elderly gentleman patient waiting, Mr. Reynolds, for his two forty-five appointment. It’s unusually quiet, but I’m not complaining. I’ll get more done with fewer distractions. Setting my phone to voice record, I position it on my desk under the monitor. I figure being directly in front of me will give the microphone the best reception, and I can get the letters finished.

As I start to go through my grocery requirements, Mr. Reynolds thinks I’m talking to him. Stopping the recording, I explain what I’m doing.

“My late wife would’ve loved that. She was a fanatic for lists. She had shopping lists, holiday lists, Christmas and Thanksgiving lists. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that when we were younger, she’d had a sex list!”

Hearing that, I burst out laughing. “I bet you wouldn’t have complained if she had, would you?” I say through more laughter.

“Missy, in my younger days, I could’ve added to it.” He too bursts out laughing.

“Now I need to go pee, with all this laughing.” Getting to his feet, he heads to the restroom and disappears. Restarting my recording, I finish my grocery list and start reeling off things that I need for each room in the condo.

“Talking to yourself? That’s okay as long as you don’t start hearing answers, I suppose.”

Looking up, I see Dr. Edwards leaning on the countertop of the reception area. “Is there something I can do for you, Doctor?”

“I can think of a few things, yes. How about starting with dinner?” I see where his eyes are straying to my breasts and it makes my skin crawl.

“I don’t date coworkers, I’m afraid, so that will have to be a no.” Picking up some of the letters, I hold them across my chest with my arms folded, effectively blocking his leering.

“How about we skip the dating part then and move on? I have a little place I use as a retreat. We could meet there, have a few drinks, see what develops?”

“I don’t drink. I don’t go to retreats, and I definitely don’t want to see what develops. Especially with you. Is that clear enough, Doctor?”

“I’d start clearing your desk out if I were you. You’ll be finished by the end of the week. You’re not the first to refuse me and regret it, and you probably won’t be the last. Hey-ho. When you’re as young and as successful as I am, I can have my choice of women. This just saves me having to go look for them.”

Watching him spin around suddenly, I see Mr. Reynolds looking as though he’s going to punch him. Dr. Edwards pushes him away and walks off towards his office. Mr. Reynolds asks if I’m okay as he sits down to catch his breath.

“I’m fine, sir. How are you? That was very gallant of you, but not necessary. I can look after myself.”

“I only heard a bit of what he was saying, but his manner and tone of voice told me he was up to no good.”

“Can I get you a drink of water?” I ask, as he looks a bit pale.

“Yes, please. That would be good.”

Grabbing a clean glass in the breakroom, I fill it from the water cooler and take it back to reception. Mr. Reynolds is breathing easier, and he gratefully accepts the glass, nodding at something over my shoulder. Seeing Dr. Edwards behind the counter, I glare at him. Smirking, he holds up a finger when we hear sirens.

“You’ll be fired and the old man will be arrested for assault. When we check for the CCTV footage, the records will show you deleted the last few minutes.”

So that’s what he was doing behind the counter.

“You won’t get away with this.”

“But thanks to you leaving your computer logged on, I just have.”

Mr. Reynold’s breathing starts to get worse, and he begins gasping.

As the police arrive, Dr. Edwards grins. “Just in time for them to see me be the hero and save his miserable life.”

The next twenty minutes are a blur as an ambulance is called for Mr. Reynolds and he is rushed away to the hospital. The police ask questions, check for the missing minutes of CCTV, and listen to the doctor lying through his teeth.

Just as everything seems to be going the doctor's way, a policewoman comes in to the room they are using to interview me and takes the lieutenant outside. I’m alone for several minutes when the lieutenant comes back and sits down, staring at me.

Placing a plastic bag on the table, then pushing it towards me, he asks, “Is this yours?”

Looking at the bag more closely, I see my phone in it.

“Yes. That’s my phone. Why do you have my phone?”

“There’s a very interesting recording on your phone. Mr. Reynolds asked one of the officers that accompanied him to the hospital to check your phone. It seems he believed that there was evidence on it. When the officer called it through, we found it had been recording for some time. Dr. Edwards has been arrested and taken to the station. He gave us quite a lot of false statements while we were interviewing him, it seems. It turns out our Dr. Edwards is not the hero he thought he was.”

“How is Mr. Reynolds? Is he okay?”

“You are free to go. You could always call at the hospital and see him yourself. I’m sure he’d appreciate that. If there is a hero in all this, it would be him.”

Leaving the ‘interview’ room, I’m approached by the senior doctor of the practice. He asks me to join him and the other senior staff members in his office. After a lengthy explanation of the events, I finally get to leave and visit my hero at the hospital.