Martin went into the garage on the ground level.  He passed a glossy black 2009 Ford Mustang, with chrome bumpers and a chrome grill.  On one side of the car, there was a bold reddish “AC/DC,” diagonally upward, on top of a yellow lightning symbol, on the door.  And, on the other side, there was Jeff Gordon‘s bold yellow 24 on the door.  Cowboy was a huge Jeff Gordon NASCAR fan, and the wall of the garage had a huge Jeff Gordon poster with Jeff Gordon, his car and himself after the race in Daytona.  This was Cowboy’s Mustang. “Doc” Smith, another friend of Martin’s,”acquired” it from a deceased drug dealer from Detroit, and Cowboy dragged the car home in his tow truck from the pawn shop where Doc worked. Cowboy worked on the Mustang for a solid year and a half, ordering custom and replacement parts and obtaining a custom engine block. Martin proceeded past the Mustang, and down into the garage in the basement.

“What’s up, Cowboy?” Martin asked.

Cowboy was working Martin’s VW Bug underneath.  The Beetle was covered in black cloth, while Cowboy was finalizing the repairs on the chassis. “Just working on your car.  You know you should be more careful with the pot holes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Martin smirked, shuffling toward the car.  As he approached, Cowboy kicked him squarely in the shin with his foot. “Tell that the Detroit highway repair workers.”

“No lookie, dude. Not until I finish this last little bit.”

Martin tried to look again, and he got another shot in the shin.  That one had smarts to it.

Cowboy tightened a couple of more bolts, with the ratchet wrench, and slid out from underneath the car.  Cowboy was covered in oil, streaks across his face and his blue workshirt.  “She’s all done,” he bellowed.  “I did a little tweaking here and there.  Now she’s a beaut.”

Martin was ready to thank him, but he hesitated. “Tweaks?”

Cowboy approached the Bug, and faced Martin.  “You’ll love this,” as Cowboy lit a cigarette.

(To be continued…)