Bike Mechanic: 11. Calling in a Favor

#TuesdaySerial Guidelines

If you missed a previous chapter, you can find them archived here: Bike Mechanic Chapter Archive

11. Calling in a Favor

Seward took a long deep breath in through his nose, and pushed out his upper lip so that the gray whiskers in his mustache tickled the tip of his nose. It wasn’t a good look. He looked as if he’d just smelled something foul or tasted something bitter, either way it made him look more his age.

Seward got out his wallet, a floppy thing he’d hand stitched out of a used bike inner tube, and he flopped it open. Besides a few singles, his wallet contained his debit card and credit card, his driver’s license, and his expired memberships to The Sierra Club, Green Peace, and EarthFirst! He slid Agent Gaines’ card in over his driver’s license.

“How can I thank you!” Inez had stopped working and turned around. She had chain grease on her arm and was holding a 3/8”s wrench. She’d left too many buttons unfastened, and she was smiling.

Seward had a couple inappropriate thoughts, but he remembered that she was young enough to be his daughter, so instead he said, “You can finish tuning up that rock-jumper and watch the store. I’ve got to make a couple of calls.” Without saying anything else or holding eye contact, he made his way thought the hall and out the back door.

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and looked up a number of an old friend, and he was about to press the number when he remembered that the agents were still parked out front. He reasoned that they had likely found his cell phone number already tapped it, so his phone was useless. He looked around the alley behind his shop. It didn’t look like anyone was watching, so he put his phone away and waked the two blocks through the back alleyway to Verizon.

As soon as he walked in a he was accosted by an over caffeinated salesman who smelled like he bathed in spice and lavender.

The salesman said, “Welcome to Verizon Wireless. Can I help you?”

“Yes.” Seward wasted no time. “I need a prepay. I’m thinking a thousand minutes.”

“Sir,” the salesman took a step back and turned up his nose like he’d smelled something foul. “We don’t sell prepays. Try across the street at CVS.” And without missing a beat, he moved passed Seward to greet a woman in heals carrying a small tired looking dog under her arm. “Welcome to Version. Can I help you?”

Seward shook his head. Okay, he thought, the CVS.

After selecting a bar-phone that looked like it was a least ten years old, Seward sat on the curb outside CVS. He found his friend’s number on his cell and called it on the prepay. After a few rings, Seward’s call went to voice mail.

“Cooper, it’s Seward. I’m using a prepay. Don’t call me on a line in your name.” Seward left his prepay’s number and got up. He walked back across Lake Street and down DuPont Avenue to the alleyway, and headed back to his shop.

Okay, Seward thought, he’d made the call.