"Sweet home Alabama! ... Where the skies are so blue!", Addison sang aloud to the radio as it blared from atop a stool. "Hmm hmm hmmhmm.", hums came instead of words as she concentrated on the sight before her. Perched on the front bumper of a '92 Ford truck, half her body leaning over it's engine, she was investigating the owner's complaint of 'it aint gettin' no power', as the seemingly know-it-all relayed to her. With a satisfied sigh, she rose up and hopped down from the bumper, "Looks like we'll be ordering an alternator."
The statement was spoken to her boxer, Jack, the only company currently at her shop, Paxton Auto-Tech. Grabbing a shop towel, she wiped off the majority of the grease and grime she has collected from under the hood. She placed the towel in her back pocket, as per habit, and wheeled her cart over to the side wall where she had her toolbox. It was taller and longer than she was. Filled with dozens of compartments, each tool had a special home inside as did other things Addison wanted to keep safe. Being Saturday, she could not order the needed part today. It would just have to wait till Monday. She pulled out her phone and punched in Billy's number, the 20 year old owner, who was expecting to have his vehicle back by this evening.
After explaining the situation to him, Addison was off the phone in under a minute. She took a quick glance around the garage. The two bay doors were up to let in the warm early Spring breeze. It was that perfect time of year when neither the AC or the heater needed to be ran. Jack was sprawled out in a patch of sun, lazily watching cars a pedestrians go back and forth. Her shop wasn't on a main street so the dog didn't have too much to entertain him. Just a near empty parking lot and an even emptier street beyond. There is a gated lot out back where she parks cars that had to be kept over night. This is probably where Billy's truck should have been placed, but since it was already Saturday afternoon and she had promised her dog a ride, it could wait till Monday to move. She began cleaning off her tools and placing them in their special spots. She prided herself in having the cleanest toolbox in the shop.
The only employees of Paxton Auto-Tech were herself and two other guys, one being her cousin Jimmy and the other a new guy in town, Phil. Jimmy and Addison had practically grew up in this garage, along side their father's the two brother's who started the garage. Addison glanced at their picture hanging on the wall, the two standing in front of the place when it first opened in the 70's. Both brother's were now gone, both victims of cancer at all too young of ages, in her opinion anyway. Phil had only lived in La Guerir for around three months. He had a good resume, so the cousins, needing an extra hand, agreed to hire him. Occasionally friends would stop in and help, out of boredom, most likely. For the most part, it was Addison and Jimmy. Jimmy lived in the suburbs, with his pretty wife and two children. While Addison resided in the tiny, but quaint, apartment above the garage.
Another classic came on the radio and Addison, pulled out of her thoughts, began to sing along once again. Between singing, in an out of tone 'shower voice', Addison laid out her plans for the rest of the day. Take Jack for a ride... File this weeks paperwork, since you have yet to do it... Bubble bath? Maybe...
Addison pulled out a compartment in her tool box. Several wrenches in a variety of sizes were aliened and in perfect order. As she placed a freshly polished one back in it's spot an object in the back of the drawer caught her eye. Furrowing her eyebrows with a frown, she reached in and removed the object that appeared to be a black shop rag. Gripping the bundled thing her jaw dropped, knowing immediately what must be wrapped inside.
Carefully she unfolded the rag to reveal a matte black gun. She shook her head slowly as she ran her thumb over the metal. A small, yellow post-it note was stuck to it reading, I know you said no, but it makes me feel better. -Jimmy. Addison recalled a conversation just last week. Jimmy had insisted on getting her a gun to keep at the shop. He claimed that crime could strike at any time and he didn't feel comfortable with his girl-cousin working alone in a auto garage. She had argued that he or at least Jack was with her most of the time and that she could take care of herself without the need of a firearm. Jimmy claimed that most mechanics who worked alone in a garage had one. His last argument was, "You just never know, Addy."
Addison had never been much of a gun person. In fact, she could count on one hand the number of times she had even fired one. All of those times had been under watchful eyes and aiming at a target. She let out a heavy sigh before wrapping the gun back up in the stained rag. It just didn't feel right to have a gun at the shop. She quickly concluded she would take it back to Jimmy right now.
Shutting the drawers on her toolbox a little harder than she normally would, she continued the duties of locking up the garage. Slipping into her a light brown work jacket, she placed the gun in the inside pocket, after only a brief moment of confusion as to where the best place for it would be. "Come on Jack," she called to the dog, who sprung to life and happily trotted out the door that was quickly locked.