They made their way down to the garage, Vale’s guts still twisted from his morning heave. The fields shone golden beyond the road, each blade of grass spotted with dew, the deep blue sky above flecked with a few ragged tatters of cloud.
It was gorgeous, and nausea clutched Vale like a jealous lover. Through the window of the Tip-Top they could see a few countermen drinking coffee, leafing through the morning paper, trading lies. Marvin walked with his face cast up toward the sun, the black lens of his glasses kicking back sparks from its reflection. The stride of the smug and sober, Vale thought, thumbing sweat from his eye. His hands were brick-like with cold, thrumming with tremors. His guts felt watery and loose, and some minor demon had clearly taken a shit inside his eye sockets in the middle of the night. The hangovers seemed to be getting worse.
“You want to get something to eat before we go? Might be a good idea.”
“Food? Christ, Marvin, you’re going to make me puke again.”
Gary greeted them in the dim cavern of the garage, the bay doors open to the day. He cast a shrewd eye at Vale, who stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, shivering; his ever-present shoebox tucked under one arm.
“God dang, somebody had some beers, looks like,” Gary said, clapping him on the shoulder. Vale grunted. The van sat there in the gloom, silent and grimy with dust. It was impossible to tell what had or had not been done to it.
“Well,” Gary said, packing a plug of chew into his bottom lip, “she’s ready to rip.”
Vale lifted his head. “It’s ready to go?”
“I fixed the ever-loving shit out of it, man.”
“We’re not going to get fifty miles down the road,” Vale said, “and some other piece of the engine seizes up or something.”
“I don’t believe so, bud, no. I fixed it, is what I’m saying.”
“Awesome. What do I owe you?”
“I’ll tell you what,” Gary said, looking thoughtfully at the dust-wracked van. “Don’t worry about it.”
Marvin frowned. “What do you mean, don’t worry about it?”
Gary walked out into the sunlight and spat on the gravel, his hands in his back pockets. “Listen, you guys seem nice enough.” He lifted his chin toward Vale. “You got a lot of stuff going on.” Vale couldn’t tell if Gary specifically meant his injury or just the general, overall mess that he was. “How about you just get down there to LA and we’ll call it good. Follow your dreams and all that shit.”
“No, really,” Vale said, beginning to pull back the taped flap of the shoebox. Any act of goodwill was one housed in treachery and deceit; Brophy had taught him that. No, he’d taught himself that. Life had taught him that. Nothing was free. This would inevitably bite him in the ass somewhere down the road. “I’m happy to pay you.”
“Seriously, keep your money,” Gary said.
“What’s the catch, man?”
Gary held out his hands, shrugged. “No catch. That pump was doing jack shit around here anyway. Like I said, if it isn’t built Ford tough, we don’t have much use for it around here.” Vale and Marvin traded glances. Marvin shrugged.
Back on the highway the day opened up blue and wide in front of them. Vale gripped his hands tight to the wheel to stop their shaking. He felt chilled beads of sweat on his forehead, the small of his back. The bottles beneath his seat sang out to him like sirens, cruel little brown-glassed mermaids calling out to this shipwreck of his body, his heart.
Marvin said, “You want me to drive?”
“I’m good,” he said. The bottles clinked against each other.
Let’s just shut up about it and get there, he thought. Let’s just do this one thing well.