He was young, mid-twenties, with sandy-blond hair that looked dirty as hell, somewhat slicked back on his head. Stains covered the front him, grease streaked down the thighs from wiping his hands. A smell clung to him, like some cologne of motor oil with a dash of body odor mixed in. Gross. The guy smiled, his eyes kind, so Genna forgave him for that.
"I was wondering if there were any stores around here where I could buy car parts," she said. "Like a NAPA or a, I don't know... Pep Boys, maybe?"
"I'm afraid not," he said with a laugh before slamming the hood of the car. A small white patch sewn to his chest displayed the name Chris in blue stitching. "Closest you'll find one is Vegas."
"Ugh, I was worried about that."
He pulled a rag out of his pocket to wipe his hands. "We might have what you're looking for here, though. Car giving you trouble?"
His eyes flickered to the Honda out in the lot. Genna shook her head. "Oh, that's working fine. There's actually a car back at the house that needs some work. It's kind of, you know, not working. At all."
She was guessing, anyway. She wasn't sure what was wrong with it.
Her response surprised him. "Oh, you new in town? I haven't seen you around. Figured you were passing though like others."
"We're staying just outside of town, a couple miles down the highway. The place is kind of by itself in the middle of nowhere."
His brow furrowed. "The old Moretti house?"
"Maybe." Moretti. The name sounded familiar to Genna. "If you're thinking about a wooden house that looks like it might be haunted, then yep."
"That's the one," he said. "Never thought I'd see it inhabited. Always heard rumors about a lady living there, though, some crazy recluse. Guess that's not the case. You don't seem to fit the bill."
Live there long enough and I might. "What happened to the lady?"
"Don't know. Not sure she ever existed. Probably just some local urban legend, but anyway..." He leaned back against the Toyota, crossing his arms over his chest. "This car you've got… what do you need for it?"
"Everything, probably. It's been sitting there, rusting away."
"For how long?"
"Years."
"I'm guessing you're trying to get it running?"
"That's the plan."
He stared at her, almost as if he were looking through her, his mind drifting somewhere. Just when his silence was starting to grow uncomfortable, he opened his mouth and rattled off a laundry list of issues. Battery… fluids… tires… brakes… any gas left in it would need to be replaced… carburetor probably shot, would need rebuilt… an oil change was essential… hopefully the engine hadn't suffered damage… "Basically, if it's liquid or rubber, it's gonna need to be replaced."
She gaped at him. "I feel like I should be taking notes."
He smiled. "I can write it down for you, if that'll help."
"Immensely."
He motioned for her to follow him as he headed through the garage to a small office along the side. Two other guys hung out in there—one behind a desk on the phone, while the other lounged in a filthy plush chair.
Chris walked over to the desk, grabbing a pen and a piece of scrap paper, before meeting her again outside the doorway. He scribbled things down, muttering to himself about wires and rodents and oh god—there might be rats living in the damn thing? "This is all worst case scenario, of course. If you're lucky, a lot of this will have survived."
"I'm not lucky," she said. "If it's possible for it to be fucked up, chances are it will be."
"The worst thing you can do for a car is to just let it sit there," he said. "I've seen cars start again after thirty years, but I've seen others with a host of problems after just three. Sometimes you've got to consider that it might not be worth it. What kind of car is it?"
"A '64 Lincoln Continental."
He shot her a surprised look before muttering, "Definitely worth it." After writing down a few more things, he handed the list to her. Most of it seemed simple enough… she could change a tire and replace a battery, take old hoses off and put on new ones… but a few things seemed out of her skill range.
"So, how does one rebuild a carburetor?" she asked. "Is there a book I can buy? Carburetors for Dummies?"
"I'm sure there are books," he said. "That's best left to a professional, though."