“Yes sir you got a leaky oil pan and I put it up in the air to show you that’s all.”
“What? Don’t understand a word you’re saying. Where’s Wabash?”
“Leaky oil pan,” Marky said again.
“Leaky what?”
Marky pointed, and the deputy, muttering, removed his hat and ducked under the chassis to look and Marky stepped away to give him room. The oil was dripping steadily into a pan on the floor, plink, plink, plink.
“What is that?” said the deputy. “Is that the oil pan? This car isn’t old enough to have a bad gasket.”
“You threw a bolt Deputy.” Marky had come out from under the SUV and was standing beside it.
“I what?”
Marky was looking out the bay door windows.
“Hey—” said the deputy, and Marky turned back to him, there under the SUV. Then he looked out the windows again.
“Son,” said the deputy, “I haven’t got time for this shit. Where is that other one, your little buddy?”
Marky stood beside the lift and when he turned back to the deputy once again he could see the meanness in him, meaner with every second that you don’t answer him, every second you stand here looking at him under the cruiser. And then he saw the moment when the deputy saw that Marky was standing so close to the lift release lever, and he saw more than meanness come into the deputy’s eyes, and it was like the deputy was seeing him for the first time, and for a long while it was just the two of them staring at each other. But then someone else went, “Whoa whoa whoa!” and it was Jeff coming out of nowhere and bending for a look at the deputy and saying, “Officer, you can’t be under that vehicle like that,” and then to Marky, “Marky, what the hell? What’s this vehicle doing up on this lift?” and the two of them turning to look at the deputy again, who was stepping out from under the SUV at last, moving calmly. Putting his hat back on his head.
“Marky,” said Jeff, “what did you put the sheriff’s car up on the lift for?” But Marky was watching the deputy, the deputy watching him.
“Leaky oil pan,” the deputy said.
“Leaky oil pan?” said Jeff.
“There’s a bolt missing Jeff,” Marky said, and Jeff looked at him, then stooped under the chassis for a look. He looked for a while and then he came out again.
“There’s a bolt missing, Sheriff,” Jeff said. “You must of thrown it.”
“Yeah, I got that. Can you replace it?”
“Pretty standard bolt, Sheriff. We should be able to scare one up.”
“Well, how about you do that, hey? How about you scare one up and right quick?”
“Absolutely, Sheriff, we’re on it. And I’m sorry about this, Sheriff. I take full responsibility. When it’s just the two of us here, then I’m in charge and I didn’t see what was going on. It ain’t his fault, Sheriff. He doesn’t know any better.”
The deputy looked at Jeff and said, “Relax, Goss. I’m not gonna tell your boss. Just get my goddam vehicle down and get me on my way.” He looked from one of them to the other. “Christ. You boys. You boys and your bullshit. We should’ve locked up the lot of you ten years ago and thrown away the key.” He eyed them a moment longer, then he walked past them and pushed back through the glass door into the office.
Jeff ran both his hands through his hair and held on to the back of his neck, his elbows up in the air, saying nothing.
“I’ll go find a bolt now Jeff.”
Jeff shook his head, and from between the wings of his arms he said, “Yeah, OK, Marky. You do that. And maybe Wabash won’t fire both our asses.”
62
She rode in the passenger seat and it was like she was the deputy again, except that the sheriff at the wheel was not her sheriff, and the cab did not smell of his cigarettes. And although she was not this sheriff’s prisoner, not under arrest, the feeling was closer to that than anything else. A bright and sunny day and the blackbirds were hopping in the bare branches and a man in black leggings and big winter gloves was jogging through the park and he was not under arrest and his life would not be spent in jail, and this is how it would feel if you were the criminal and you were caught and the sheriff was taking you in and