My thirst for knowledge was unending, and I’d never been to a junkyard-type place before.
I’d certainly never been to one with Webber.
Webber.
Holy hell, I was in an enclosed space with Webber.
Or I was.
He’d exited the vehicle rather fast, and I followed right along with him, my curiosity getting the best of me.
I wanted to know everything there was to know about the place, and then some.
I also wanted to mind meld myself into Webber’s brain and learn all of his secrets, wants, and desires, too.
Though that was purely for selfish reasons.
Webber was my endgame.
I only had to wait for him to realize I was meant for him, too.
Every hard, scary, and mean piece of him.
“Get back in the truck,” he said. “You don’t have the right shoes to be out here.”
I reached for the boots that were on the back of the truck wedged between a toolbox and the cab of the tow truck, and stepped into them one by one.
He looked at me incredulously and said, “You’ll walk right out of those. They’re size fifteens.”
Fifteens? No wonder they were so big.
“They’ll work for now. I want to watch you get this car off,” I said. “I’ve been dying to know how it’s done. I started watching a show on Hulu that follows The Hail Raisers—also known as Hail Auto Recovery—and they don’t really focus on the getting the car on the flatbed part. But they do have a lot of excitement when they repo cars. Did you know that they opened a few branches in Dallas recently? The owner’s name is…”
“Dante. Dante Hail,” Webber grunted as he lifted a lever on the chain, and the chain loosened.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a boom,” he grunted again when he followed suit with the second chain. “It’s a mechanism that forces the chain taut.”
I nodded and continued to watch him.
He didn’t talk anymore until the car was on the ground. “Now you saw, get in the cab.”
Seeing the seriousness in his eyes, I reluctantly got back into the truck.
Just as I did, a man came from the shadows and walked up to Webber.
I reached over and pressed a button that had a microphone on it and was gratified to hear that it was a radio of some sort that allow me to hear what was going on at the back of the truck.
“Well isn’t that fancy,” I said giddily.
“Mr. Webb,” the man said to Webber over the loud rumble of the tow truck’s motor. “Nice to see you again.”
Webber grunted and pulled out a card and handed it to the man in black.
I couldn’t see his face, but I did see a small tattoo on the inside of one of his fingers as he took the card.
“Who’s your guest?” the man asked.
