“Yeah, Franklin,” Clark added. “You can do all that from home! No need to come in.”
“We’re totally fine here,” Ezra assured. “Stay home and take care of the move! We know you have a lot going on.”
I strolled around the store, grabbing the occasional comic just to flip through the pictures. As I listened in, Franklin offered a few more tasks he might help with, but his employees kept deferring, insisting they had things taken care of.
“Glad to hear you’re free,” I said to Franklin, jumping into the conversation as I joined them at the counter. “I’m trying to help organize this mess in the garage, and I think I’ll need your help.” I held up the issue of Ghost Rider I had grabbed from the shelf. “I can barely tell one comic from another,” I explained to the employees.
“Wait a nanosecond,” Clark said. “You’re going through the garage?”
“The locked-up, secret garage?” Ezra added, then frowned to himself. “I was certain there was some kind of supersonic aircraft stored there.”
“Last week you were guessing time travel machine,” Clark said.
Franklin laughed. “You boys wish. There is neither a TARDIS nor a SpazFragg in storage, I’m afraid.”
They all laughed, and I furrowed my brow. SpazFragg? Did he just insult them?
“It’s mainly just old comics,” Franklin added. “Doubles and backstock. But I’ll definitely turn to you two to help sort through it. After the first round of cleaning and organizing, I’ll need someone with a bit more comic knowledge to help me out.”
The guys slipped into a conversation about a new Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic, and I realized I could probably have chilled in the back for a solid hour while Franklin went deep with his employees. It was pretty cool, actually, to see him get all excited like he was. He kept waving his hands in the air and shifting his weight from side to side, worked up and laughing with the younger guys.
There was just something nice about seeing people who were so sincere. I was used to men who always had their guards up and guys who were so busy trying to front and intimidate each other, they’d never even consider joking around or celebrating something like a superhero comic. But seeing Franklin in the store, I knew he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, or to put on some kind of macho act.
It was relaxing.
Instead of actually grabbing a chair in the back and chilling at a cool twenty-five dollars an hour, though, I butted my way back into the conversation. Maybe I was feeling a little jealous that I couldn’t keep up with the superhero talk, but if I was only going to have a few more days of Franklin time, I wanted to make them count.
“What do you say?” I asked when the conversation lulled enough to get a word in. “Back to the garage?”
Franklin turned to me, then nodded. “Right! Lots to do, lots to do. And the busy bee gets the worm! I mean the honey is for those who wait!” He scrunched his face up, then sighed. “Is that the expression?”
“With great garage comes great responsibility,” Ezra piped in, earning another round of laughter from all three guys.
Franklin and I made our way back to the alley. After peeking inside and showing me the store, he had a bounce in his step that wasn’t there before, and I grinned to myself as I watched him wiggle his hips from side to side as we walked, kicking his sneakers against the pavement.
“I hope that conversation wasn’t too tedious for you!” he said brightly. “I know comic book talk can seem a little boring if you’re not in the know.”
“Maybe I’ll pick up on a couple things,” I said. “The illustrations in that Ghost Rider issue I checked out were pretty badass.”
Franklin’s eyes lit up as we approached the garage. “They do have some amazing illustrators working on the new issues. Here, remind me, and I’ll grab you a few from the backstock to take home, if you’d like.”
“Whatever you want to give me,” I said, “I’m happy to take it.”
Franklin swallowed loudly, then turned back to the work. “I was never the biggest fan of Ghost Rider myself,” he explained. “What drew you to the comics when you were a kid?”
“I didn’t read a lot of them,” I explained. “My dad said it was a waste of time and money.”
Franklin grunted. “I’m sorry to hear that. My parents were the same way.”
I shook it off quickly and returned to his question. “The motorcycles,” I replied as I started lifting boxes and moving them out to the sunlight of the alley. Dust clouded in the air, and I pulled my T-shirt up to cover my mouth when Franklin did the same. “I love a fast ride.”
“You drive a motorcycle?” Franklin asked. His voice was slightly muffled by his own T-shirt, pulled up enough to reveal his hairy stomach again. I let my eyes linger on the waistband of his boxers, sticking out, and the love handles I imagined grabbing to steady myself while he rode me hard. When an erection popped up to say hi, I forced my eyes away.
“Naw,” I answered. “I drive cars. But motorcycles always caught my eye when I was a kid.”
“Drive cars?” he asked. “Like delivery?”
I chuckled. “Kind of.” I held a squat box of comics in my hand and considered how much I should tell him. I felt like I’d been having such an up close and personal view of the life Franklin and Rory shared; it was a little weird to keep my own past a secret. Still, I knew if they had the whole story, they’d be pushing me out the door and demanding I stay away from their happy family.
“My best friend Daryl and I got obsessed with stunt driving when we were kids,” I explained. “His uncle even let us take his old car to the demolition derby tracks outside of our town and speed around. It turned out I had a real talent for it. Even the old dude who owned the track said so.”
“Stunt driving!” Franklin said, looking excited. “Is that what you were doing in Los Angeles?”
“Kind of,” I answered. “Lots of the same skills, for sure. But mainly, I was just speeding deliveries through the city and getting important people from one appointment to another.” I dropped the box on the pavement, then shrugged. “It’s not as exciting as flipping a car over a cruise boat for an action movie, but flying through the city is still a valuable skill.”
I didn’t mention the other parts of the story. The fact that Daryl found his way quickly to a life of organized crime and the reality that, even though I didn’t know the specifics of what I was carrying in my car for him, I knew that if I got caught with it, I would be in major trouble.
That was my other skill. I could keep my damn mouth shut. Need me to pick up some strange man, drenched in sweat and clearly panicking, then speed him across town to an undisclosed location? I’ll avoid the cops and get him there in double the time, and never say a word about it. Got a sensitive delivery that you need to slip by the authorities and maybe a few competitors, too? I’ll have the boxes unloaded before you even say my name.
I shook my head. “Anyway, I left that all behind. I’ll figure out some new job now that I’m in Seattle.”
Franklin nodded, then caught my eye. “I’m glad you were safe, anyway. I have to say, if Rory were speeding his car through the city every night, I’d be up at home, worrying myself to death.” His face tightened. “Or Ava. God! I’ll need to make sure she doesn’t take an interest in racing sports.”