So In Love

Caught Off Base-6

As Ange parked the Nova in front of Mack’s Body Shop, he asked Tyler, “What do you know about cars?”

“I can drive.”

With a harsh laugh, Ange shook his head. “When Mack asks, you tell him you know some. Don’t elaborate. Don’t try to be cute, either, because he won’t buy that. Just nod whenever he says something and don’t forget to call him sir.” He started to get out of the car, then reached in and plucked the baseball cap off Tyler’s head. “And leave this here. Come on.”

Ange crossed to the open bay doors that led into the body shop, Tyler walking fast behind him to keep up. Just inside the doors, Ange threw his cigarette butt away and glared around the shop.

A half dozen young men loitered around the garage, changing oil on an older model Jaguar, buffing wax on a new Grand Prix, trying to look busier than they really were. Tyler would fit in perfectly—Stacy hadn’t known jack about cars when he started, either. Hell, he wasn’t even driving yet, come to think of it. But Ange wouldn’t bring that up when he introduced Tyler to the owner of the shop because Stacy had quit without notice and Mack was still sore about that.

Leading the way through stacks of old tires and around coiled hoses hanging from the hydraulics above, Ange showed Tyler into Mack’s office. A battered time clock hung on the wall just inside the door, and Ange’s friend Lamar sat at Mack’s desk, kicked back in the boss’s chair with his feet propped up on an open drawer. His black skin shone like oil beneath the halogen lights, his work shirt unbuttoned to expose a dingy tank top that had once been white.

Even now, gray from use, the shirt seemed bright against his dark flesh. “Ange!” Lamar called out, his voice too loud in the close office. Then, noticing Tyler, he asked, “Who the f**k is this?”

“Hey.” Tyler stepped forward, hand out. “I’m—”

“That’s Lamar,” Ange interrupted. He slapped Tyler’s hand down, then turned his attention to the time clock, looking for an excuse to ignore his friend. Lamar and Ange went way back, a good eight years or so now, though for the life of him Ange couldn’t quite remember when they met or why they even bothered to keep hanging out. Most days Lamar pissed him off just breathing, and Ange kept his distance when he could.

It hadn’t always been this bad between them, but after Stacy moved out of Lamar’s apartment this past summer, whatever had remained of their friendship grew strained. Ange could barely stand the guy anymore. Punching his time card in the clock, Ange told Tyler, “No need to impress him.”

“Who is this kid?” Lamar ran a hand over the close-cropped curls on top of his head, kinked hair Ange always thought looked like pubes. An image of Tyler in his bedroom last night flashed through his mind, the smooth skin shaved and the semi-hard length tipped with—

Don’t. He still wasn’t going there. Aloud, Ange answered Lamar with, “Where’s Mack?”

To Tyler, Lamar asked, “What’s your name, boy?”

Ange sighed. Catching Tyler’s arm, he dragged the kid out of the office. “There’s only one thing you should know about Lamar,” he said before Tyler could speak. “He’s a mean bastard, got that?”

“He seemed all right.”

“He’s not,” Ange assured him. “Trust me. Stay out of his way if you can, and never believe anything he tells you because he’ll say anything to get into your pants. He likes young white guys, so you’re nothing but fresh meat to him. Keep that in mind.”

Ahead he saw his boss, Mack’s jeans riding low across his wide girth as he wrote up receipts at the back table. “That’s Mack. Remember what I said.” Ange glanced over his shoulder in time to catch Tyler stealing a look back at the office—Lamar’s clunky sneakers could still be seen through the open door. “Don’t bother with him, Tyler,” Ange warned. “I’m telling you.”

With a guilty start, Tyler turned towards Ange. “I know.”

“You don’t know. That’s the problem.”