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Authors: Willy Vlautin
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gave him the money, and tipped him with our second to last dollar.
‘Well, Frank,’ Tommy’s uncle said, bringing me back to where I was. ‘Frank, I wondered if you’d like to make a few bucks today?’
I nodded and told him of course I did.
It was an errand, he said, to pick up five guns from a broker in Carson City. He gave me the keys to his car and directions, and so I filled up my coffee and headed out the door.
15
THE JOB I HAD when my mother passed away had been washing cars under the table at Hurley’s Used Auto Hamlet. This was before the accident, before we needed more money. I did it after school, and on Saturdays and Sundays. My bosses were the old man, Earl Hurley, and his grandson Barry, a guy who always wore light blue suits and drank Budweiser. He was married to a real great looking girl named Helen, who wore sunglasses all the time. You couldn’t help but stare at her. I remember I’d bring Jerry Lee by sometimes when I knew she’d be there just so he could see her. She and Barry were always together; they were in love with each other and most evenings when I was there she’d stop by on her way home from work and pick up a different car.
She drove a different one every day of the week, or at least every day she felt like it, I guess. On Saturdays she would bring us food. Sometimes Chinese, or Mexican, or sub sandwiches. A coupletimes in the summer she’d set up the grill there at the lot, and we’d have a barbecue. She’d wear an apron and her hair would be pulled back and she always wore shorts and a tight T-shirt.
But it was Earl, the old man and head boss, who I really got to know. He was the one that I always went to talk to. He’s the one that’s probably the greatest man I know.
Right after my mother died, maybe a couple weeks later, I was washing this car, it was a Saturday, middle of the day. I even remember the car, an American Motors Company 1985 Eagle. A copper/gold four door. I had rinsed it down and was beginning to wash it when I stopped, and just stood there, frozen almost, and began crying. I was doing that quite a bit back then. It was hard to explain, but sometimes, out of nowhere, I’d just stop and daze off and I’d cry or I’d start hyperventilating and I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I guess that time, the time I’m talking about, Earl had been watching me ’cause he came out of the office and walked over to me.
‘It’s all right, son,’ he said in a soft voice as he neared me. He was smoking a cigarette. He had sunglasses on, the kind that lighten in darkness and darken in light, and he wore a brown suit with white dress shoes.
‘You all right?’
‘What?’ I barely got out.
‘I said, are you all right?’ He was smiling. ‘You in there?’
I just looked at him. I was unable to speak. The tears were still running down my face.
‘First thing is, drop the sponge and fuck this car,’ he said. ‘Probably no use even washing it. We’ll probably never sell thisson of a bitch anyway. AMCs are worthless. For a time they were all right, but the later models, Jesus, they just went to hell. You hungry? It’s about that time, let’s go get a bite to eat.’
I dropped the sponge I had in a bucket. I wiped the tears from my eyes with my shirt. Barry was sitting in the front office watching TV when Earl told him we were going for some food.
‘Get me something too,’ Barry said.
‘What do you want?’ Earl said.
‘I don’t know, where you guys going?’
‘We’re gonna go eat the puss out of a dead hog’s ass,’ Earl said in his gruff voice and lit another cigarette.
‘Get me mine without ketchup,’ Barry said and laughed.
‘Will do’ was all old man Hurley said as we left.
He drove us in a 1994 Cadillac two-door Seville to a place called the Halfway Club on Fourth Street. An Italian place run by an old lady, a woman who’d run it for years and years. Maybe forty years. I can’t remember exactly if it’s that long, but it’s
‘Well, Frank,’ Tommy’s uncle said, bringing me back to where I was. ‘Frank, I wondered if you’d like to make a few bucks today?’
I nodded and told him of course I did.
It was an errand, he said, to pick up five guns from a broker in Carson City. He gave me the keys to his car and directions, and so I filled up my coffee and headed out the door.
15
THE JOB I HAD when my mother passed away had been washing cars under the table at Hurley’s Used Auto Hamlet. This was before the accident, before we needed more money. I did it after school, and on Saturdays and Sundays. My bosses were the old man, Earl Hurley, and his grandson Barry, a guy who always wore light blue suits and drank Budweiser. He was married to a real great looking girl named Helen, who wore sunglasses all the time. You couldn’t help but stare at her. I remember I’d bring Jerry Lee by sometimes when I knew she’d be there just so he could see her. She and Barry were always together; they were in love with each other and most evenings when I was there she’d stop by on her way home from work and pick up a different car.
She drove a different one every day of the week, or at least every day she felt like it, I guess. On Saturdays she would bring us food. Sometimes Chinese, or Mexican, or sub sandwiches. A coupletimes in the summer she’d set up the grill there at the lot, and we’d have a barbecue. She’d wear an apron and her hair would be pulled back and she always wore shorts and a tight T-shirt.
But it was Earl, the old man and head boss, who I really got to know. He was the one that I always went to talk to. He’s the one that’s probably the greatest man I know.
Right after my mother died, maybe a couple weeks later, I was washing this car, it was a Saturday, middle of the day. I even remember the car, an American Motors Company 1985 Eagle. A copper/gold four door. I had rinsed it down and was beginning to wash it when I stopped, and just stood there, frozen almost, and began crying. I was doing that quite a bit back then. It was hard to explain, but sometimes, out of nowhere, I’d just stop and daze off and I’d cry or I’d start hyperventilating and I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I guess that time, the time I’m talking about, Earl had been watching me ’cause he came out of the office and walked over to me.
‘It’s all right, son,’ he said in a soft voice as he neared me. He was smoking a cigarette. He had sunglasses on, the kind that lighten in darkness and darken in light, and he wore a brown suit with white dress shoes.
‘You all right?’
‘What?’ I barely got out.
‘I said, are you all right?’ He was smiling. ‘You in there?’
I just looked at him. I was unable to speak. The tears were still running down my face.
‘First thing is, drop the sponge and fuck this car,’ he said. ‘Probably no use even washing it. We’ll probably never sell thisson of a bitch anyway. AMCs are worthless. For a time they were all right, but the later models, Jesus, they just went to hell. You hungry? It’s about that time, let’s go get a bite to eat.’
I dropped the sponge I had in a bucket. I wiped the tears from my eyes with my shirt. Barry was sitting in the front office watching TV when Earl told him we were going for some food.
‘Get me something too,’ Barry said.
‘What do you want?’ Earl said.
‘I don’t know, where you guys going?’
‘We’re gonna go eat the puss out of a dead hog’s ass,’ Earl said in his gruff voice and lit another cigarette.
‘Get me mine without ketchup,’ Barry said and laughed.
‘Will do’ was all old man Hurley said as we left.
He drove us in a 1994 Cadillac two-door Seville to a place called the Halfway Club on Fourth Street. An Italian place run by an old lady, a woman who’d run it for years and years. Maybe forty years. I can’t remember exactly if it’s that long, but it’s
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