Pushing Leaves Towards the Sun

Friday Evening

For the second time today, Band Central Station ran out of hot water as Billy and Lindy upstairs, and Spy and Roxie downstairs, tried to wash the itch off their bodies from working with insulation all afternoon. Billy stared at Lindy, which he was especially prone to do while she was getting dressed or undressed, and said, “We need a bigger water heater.”

“Or a second one; one for each floor,” she added while pulling a pair of flannel-lined jeans over her slim hips.

“Plumbing is not my forte. I might be able to swap ours out for a larger one, but running the piping for a second tank is over my head.”

“Well, tell Santa that either way, more hot water is on my wish list.”

“Noted,” he replied.

They all met downstairs and turned on the TV, more for background noise than to watch any particular channel. Siskel and Ebert were in the middle of a review for Rain Man. The phone rang and Billy picked it up, expecting Gus from the repair shop to be checking in. It was.

“Mr. Shepperman?” Gus inquired.

“Yes, and Billy is fine. How’s my Jeep?”

“We had some trouble with that one, Billy. We hoped it was just the clutch, but when we opened it up, it wasn’t so simple. Lenny, my boss, wants to talk with you.”

“What kind of trouble?” Billy inquired.

“Sir, it’s best if Lenny explains it. He runs this place and when the assigned mechanic saw that things weren’t so simple, Lenny took a look at your Jeep personally. Here he is.”

“Mr. Shepperman?” Lenny inquired.

“It’s Billy. What’s wrong other than the clutch? The engine ran, it just wouldn’t get into gear. It has to be the clutch.”

“Are you a licensed New York State mechanic, sir?”

“No,” Billy conceded.

“Well I am. Been one for over fifteen years. Been a long time since I’ve seen what you’ve got, neither. Very rare. Six or seven years since one’s come through like this,” Lenny explained.

“Six or seven years since what?” Billy asked, getting impatient.

“The clutch is shot, sure as you say. But it didn’t go quietly. How long did you drive your Jeep after you started having shifting problems?”

“I didn’t drive at all after the clutch went out. It went all at once and I pulled right over,” Billy argued.

“Well, you did something, ‘cause the clutch took out the transfer case and the transmission too. Metal fragments in all your fluids. You got what we call a triple header. Isn’t going to be cheap to fix and I have to order a lot of the parts We don’t stock ‘em.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Billy was now getting angry. “There’s no way that three things decided to let go all at the same time.”

“Well sir, you can come take a look. But, I can’t store your Jeep forever. I’ve got three hours to pay my mechanic at $85 an hour from pulling apart your damage and making an estimate of parts and labor for the full repair. That’s $255 plus $40 per day storage fee if you decide not to have us put it back together for you.”

Billy was now fuming. “That’s ridiculous. Nobody said anything about a storage fee.”

“It was in the service contract you signed. I have it right here,” Lenny explained.

“How much is the repair? You haven’t even told me that yet,” Billy pointed out.

“With new parts, the full cost out the door is $2,565.12.” Then to add insult to injury, he added, “Oh yeah, plus the tax.”

“Good God!” Billy shouted into the phone.

Unfazed, Lenny continued, “I did a little checking and I might be able to come up with some used parts locally and save you about $130 off that bill. I’ll have to find out for sure after you agree to have us do the work. Otherwise let me know who’s coming to tow this vehicle off my lot and when.”

“Billy was now so angry he did the one smart thing. “I’ll call you back in a bit,” he said and hung up the phone. Then he screamed, “You mother-fucker! You cock-sucking son-of-a-bitch, miserable piece of shit! You total scumbag! This is the biggest fuck-job I’ve ever heard of!”

Spy let out a smirk of surprise, then asked Billy, “How do you really feel, Billy? Don’t hold back.”

Billy glared at him, and then said, “That miserable piece of shit wants over $2500 to repair my Jeep. I doubt if it’s worth much more than that. The son-of-a-bitch wants $300 just for looking at it. And, he’s charging a storage fee for every day I don’t pick it up! I want to kill that mother-fucker!”

Roxie suggested, “You don’t really want to kill him, Billy. But I can teach you to give him a good sidekick to the balls. That would make you feel a lot better and there’s less jail time for assault than for murder.”

Lindy wrapped her arms around Billy and gave him a big hug. “I know this really sucks for you Billy, but we’re going to have to decide what’s best to do. You love that Jeep, but the dark red Ship of Fools has had many adventures. Maybe it’s time to put her to rest and find new wheels, or do you really want to bite the bullet and pay for this repair?”

I want to bite the son-of-a-bitch that is trying to rip me off; that’s what I want to do.”

“Well now honey, you’re starting to repeat yourself. If you don’t have any new names to call him then maybe you’re not ready to think this through rationally. We’re not going anywhere tonight. Let’s open up a bottle of wine and chew on it. We can light a fire in the wood burning stove and Spy, Roxie, and I will help you come to a logical decision. How does that sound?”

Billy wasn’t winding down. He remained angry, but tried not to take it out on his friends.

“Lindy offered, “It sucks honey, I know. But, either way you’re going to have to spend some money. Repair The Ship of Fools or buy a new vehicle. Do you feel like car shopping in the snow?”

Spy offered, “Once it’s fixed, it should run for a long time. What’s left to break?”

Roxie added, “Billy, you’re very attached to your older things. Your motorcycle was Oso’s. You’ve had your Jeep since before I knew you. If the Jeep means that much to you, then get it done. Otherwise, maybe it’s time to think about what you’d rather drive.”

They were all silent for what seemed like a long time. Then, Billy picked up the phone and called Lenny back. “Do it,” was all he said, then he slammed down the receiver.

Roxie picked out a bottle of wine, a Sonoma County Cabernet from Buena Vista, while Lindy stacked a few logs into the wood burning stove. She stoked it until the fire gained new life. The four of them sat mostly silent on the L-shaped couch with the flames flickering in their eyes. Lindy was the first to speak. “I’d love to find a way that those bastards can’t rip anyone else off. Without getting Billy mad again, there must be something we can do like contact the Better Business Bureau.”

“Great,” Billy muttered. “How are we going to prove he’s ripping me off? The Jeep is on his property, he can do anything he wants to it in order to show that it’s broken the way he says it is. Even I can take a hammer to something and then say it’s broken.”

Spy pondered this, then offered, “You can sue him.”

“I signed a contract. A jury of my peers might agree with me, but would a local Newkill judge? I’ve never been to court. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Also, a lawyer would cost even more money. I still want to be able to afford to continue my flying lessons. I’m so close to getting my Commercial License and my Instrument Rating. I’d love to get even with that fucker, though. I just don’t know how.”

Lindy rubbed the back of his neck which made him feel a little less stressed. “My counselor always told me to write down my feelings.”

Billy asked, “You mean write a song?”

She nodded and replied, “If that’ll make you feel better.”

“Spy offered, “I’ll get you started. It’s been at least two years since I wrote Mand-Made Roadblocks, and that was a lot of fun. I hope this is just like falling off a bicycle and I can get right back on it.”

Billy still looked puzzled and angry. “Seriously?”

“Sure, you’re talking about taking him to court. How about instead, you wrap your accusation around a brick and hit him with it? In a song, I mean. You’ve got a large audience. You wanted to hammer something until it’s broken—how about his reputation? Make sure he doesn’t get any more business and that would be great revenge.”

Billy sat up. “I think I like where you’re going with this!” His creative juices started flowing so he added, “There will be no sympathy, for a store that took more than it deserved from me.”

Lindy grabbed a guitar from a stand in the corner. Roxie topped off everyone’s glasses and they brainstormed together. Billy tapped out a rhythm on the coffee table in front of the couch while Lindy strummed. Spy wrote down promising lines as the four of them blurted them out. Another Sonoma County bottle of wine was opened, this time from Hacienda. Finally, before everyone was more than ready for bed, the rough draft of Street Justice was born:

Your windows are made to be smashed
Your office is going to be trashed
Take care to be fair or beware ‘cause I swear
You head isn’t to big to be bashed

How good will it feel
To wrap my appeal
Around a brick in the middle of the night
Since you won’t pay
Then I have my own way
And my revenge will be quite a sight

There will be no sympathy
For a store that took more than it deserved from me
Only one thing was wrong, you charged me for three
But who gets the last laugh is important, you’ll see

How good will it feel
To wrap my appeal
Around a brick in the middle of the night
It’s a message for you
That I can screw with you too
When I heave this brick with all of my might

Let others take heed
Feel the anger you breed
When the carrot doesn’t work
I’ve got a stick too, you jerk
See the consequences of your greed

How good will it feel
To wrap my appeal
Around a brick in the middle of the night
It’s a message for you
That I can screw with you too
When I heave this brick with all of my might
Since you won’t pay
Then I have my own way
And my revenge will be quite a sight