Chapter 5

"I'm sorry, sir," Pepper choked as his mouth filled with saliva. "Yours is what car?"

"The Mustang out front, it's the only car out there," he said crossing his arms.

Pepper walked to the edge of the garage. "That red one?"

"Yes, can you change the oil in a red car or should I take it someplace else?"

Pepper rubbed his hands against the thighs of his pants.

"Well?" the man said.

He straightened up and began walking towards the back of the garage. Moving quickly he called over his shoulder, "Sure, sure. Benny here will take care of it. Benny, you can change the oil for this gentleman, can't you?"

"Of course," Benny said, tightening his bandana. "Of course I can."

Pepper nodded to Russ as he passed the office, he walked quickly down the hallway to the locker room.

"Oh man oh man" he muttered. He spun the dial of the lock over and over, "Oh man, oh goddamn," he struggled to align the combination, tugging after a few turns, starting over, finally getting the door unlocked. He bent over a little and looked into the locker. "God damn!" he said and slammed the door shut. He paced in the narrow row of lockers, turning his fist in the palm of the other hand. A sharp pivot on his heel and he turned out of the room and walked back to the floor. He was moving fast but kept his legs straight, went over to a bench and began opening and closing metal drawers stacked on the counter. Screws, washers, clips, pencils, larger washers. He found the wrench he was looking for and shoved it into his pocket.

"Benny I have to run out. I'll be back."

"Where you going?" Benny called from inside the car.

"Gotta go," Pepper turned and looked at Benny, bouncing in place on his toes. "I gotta go and call my momma," he turned and split.

There was a haze over the street, the sun was bright but not sharp, dull in the thick humidity. Feeling the heat through his canvas outfit Pepper moaned. "Who loves the sun?" he said. When he was just clear of the garage he began to sprint. "Goddamn lady," he said swinging his arms.

Hearing a crack of laughter Pepper looked across the street. In the shade of a recessed doorway a few kids sat eating popsicles. Their bikes were piled against the side of the building. He quickly glanced up and down the street, some cars close by, and shot across the road. Horns blared.

"Hey, hey guys," he called approaching their stoop. One of the kids was draining the orange liquid from the end of the plastic popsicle tube. "What you say that if I can guess what grade you're in you let me borrow one of your bikes?"

"No way!" said a skinny kid in a mesh tank top. "I don't even let Casey borrow my bike and he's my cousin," he said pointing his thumb at a freckled face.

"You ain't borrowing my bike, neither!" said another, wrapping his empty plastic tube around his finger.

"Nuh uh, can't ride mine," said Casey.

"Come on just give me one guess," he pleaded.

"Fine, one guess," said the first boy. "But you're still not getting my bike I just want to see what you gonna say."

"Fifth graders!" Pepper blurted.

The kids erupted with laughter. One of them slapped his knee.

"Do I look like a giant to you?" the first boy said.

"Yeah, a giant?" said the other, lifting the shoulders of his tank top and puffing his cheeks. "I'm gonna drink all your milks! You better run!" he said, the others laughing.

"Well, what if I buy you some ice cream?"

"We just had popsicles, where you gonna get ice cream, anyway?" Casey asked.

"From that truck," Pepper said pointing, "down there." The boys turned to look, shielding their eyes against the sun.

With their heads turned Pepper grabbed the bike closest to him, jerked it away from the wall and began sprinting with the bike rolling beside him. The boys turned.

"Hey!" called tank top. "He's taking our bikes!"

"He's taking our bikes!"

"Help! Help!"

They all began wailing, running after Pepper. He stopped, straddled the bike and began pedaling off as fast as he could. The boys kept chase.

"He's stealing it! He's stealing my bike!"

"Help! Stop - thief!"

"Burg-u-lar! Burg-u-lar!"

Pepper pedaled on, down the street.

He kept on, pumping his legs over the small frame of the bike, looking for any sign of the woman and her Mustang. "Come on, come on," he said looking around. His eyes stung in a mix of heat and sweat. He kept darting his eyes and head about, looking for the car.

He slowed as he approached a traffic light. Stopped, he panted heavily and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He squinted down the road, the cars blurry, he wiped his eyes again. He saw something up at the next light. The cars ahead slowed to a stop and against a large yellow cement mixer Pepper could just see the outline of the Mustang.

"Hot damn!" he hollered and stood to pedal. A horn and the squeal of brakes, Pepper had gone head first into moving traffic. The drivers in the intersection slammed their breaks, cursed, eyed their children. He looked around quickly and kept on. He stood up, pumping his legs as fast as he could. The car became closer, the light changed and the vehicles began moving slowly. Pepper managed to catch up, pulled along side the vehicle. He looked over, it was the woman from before.

"Ma'am!" he called still pedaling. "Ma'am!" he screamed. She looked over, her mouth opened at a startled angle. The car slowed in her distraction. "Pull over!" he called. She made a face. "Pull over!" he said, motioning to the side of the road with his head. Pepper rode his bike into the next parking lot, CARTER'S MEMORIAL, got off the bike and leaned it against a fence that wrapped around a large cluster of tombstones in varying heights and stone. The woman pulled her car in after him.

"What's this all about?" she called in a high voice.

"Ma'am, I just wanted to be sure of something with your car," he panted. "I didn't check it before you left, I just want to be sure it's all right," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"What is it?"

Pepper was already on his knees, tightening the screws on the wheel.

"Okay," he said standing. "I think that'll take care of it."

"The wheel? What was wrong with the wheel? I had the oil changed, what is there to do with the wheel?"

"Just a safety measure, ma'am," he said returning to the bike. "You have yourself a nice day." He mounted the bike and took off back to the garage. As he pumped he repeated it to himself, "Four hundred dollars." In rhythm with each push of the bike's gears, "Four hund'rd d'llrs, four hund'rd d'llrs, four hund'rd d'llrs, four hund'rd d'llrs."