He was born into a dirty town. So dirty that the residents themselves said one could hear people cough as they crossed its borders. He spent his fifty-three years working hard to carve out a cozy space to work on cars. He was not particularly loyal to the exhaust filled town; he simply found peace in knowing what to expect. Everyone he loved had exited the dim town in one way or another, which just left him and his auto shop.
The mechanic saw many parallels between himself and his 1979 Cadillac Coupe DeVille: Black shiny steel with off-white leather interior. At the bar he frequented, he would tell anyone who would listen about the car. About how the outside of it was shiny black and hard as steel, while the inside was soft and comfortable. He would say that, like the car, he was cold, hard, and black on the outside, and soft and comfortable on the inside. He would usually follow this comparison with an invitation to go for a ride in the car; very few took him up on the offer.
It was on one of those lonely after the bar car rides that the mechanic ran his prize possession off the road and into a massive old oak tree. According to the tow truck driver, who had towed many cars from the scarred oak, the speed he had been driving was uncalled for. The town speculated as to why the accident happened. Some wondered, out loud, if the accident was a suicide attempt, while others thought he had been drinking too much at the bar. When he eventually came to, no one dared ask.
It was two weeks later that the speculation began to take the form of collective certainty. The police were called to the auto shop after it had been closed for two days, and neighboring residences were complaining of a foul odor. When the police jimmied open the shop door, they found the mechanic’s chest crushed under the weight of the black 1979 Cadillac Coupe DeVille.
The official report called the death an accident, but the responding officers noted, in private, that the jack looked to have been haphazardly placed under the frame of the car. It was if it was placed like that on purpose. It looked like it would not have taken much effort for the mechanic’s knee to have knocked it away like it did. The wheel-less solid metal of the break and chassis landed directly on his heart, allowing for a final massive rush of blood through the mechanic’s broken body. According to the first responders, his eyes were bulged and bloodshot.
The shop remained vacant, except for the wheel-less, wrecked DeVille, and was eventually overtaken by weeds and rodents. The honest smell of machines and repair no longer lingered, no longer haunted the shop shell. The blood stain was eventually mistaken for a leak from the DeVille, something that would’ve made the mechanic smile.
Jason Fisk has been involved in many top secret conspiracies; however, he is not able to name names.
