Memories In The Rain

Standing over the steel guts of his car's exposed hood, Zamson scanned the metal parts in the engine bay beneath him. To some, a car's engine seemed like an impossibility made up of a complex mass of mystical machinery, a hunk of mechanical brain-teasers unfit for an average mind to make sense of, for they weren't skilled in the art of gears and motors.

In the case of Zamson Lovell, the realm of the automotive was a walk in the park. He replaced the spark plugs; first, a crucial engine component providing the spark that breathed life into an engine, then tweaked what was necessary to maintain the speed and performance that his car was most known for and feared.

It was how his ride earned the name Pandemona.

The garage boomed with music. A dark melody of solid bass fused with hardcore rap lyrics filled the bay area, almost hushing the mechanical sounds of Zamson tweaking his ride. Logan was soon to engage in a workout as he prepared his weight bench nearby. The rap beats hit with a rhythmical tune that coaxed Logan to nod his head to its rhythm.

A sudden beep alerted Zamson and Logan to someone barging through the door. The second the two realized that it was nobody serious, Zamson and Logan returned to their endeavors, humorously ignoring the importance of Shane arriving at an unusual time.

Shane sighed as he caught the two in their typical spots in the garage and neared Zamson without haste. "What the hell!" Shane's amusement danced in his voice as Zamson cleaned Pandemona’s engine. "You're still working on that thing?"

Zamson stood up with grimy clothes in hand. He attempted to remove what grease and grime stained his hands. The attempt was short-lived. "Gotta stay busy on what's important when not busy working the non-important."

"That non-important pays the bills." Shane glimpsed at Logan laid out on the weight bench, his giant dumbbells rising and falling. "But not for long," he looked back at Zamson, "Provided that you bite."

Zamson smirked. Shane couldn't fool him that easily. "I'm not interested in being your delivery boy this time."

Logan chimed in. "Count me out!"

Shane frowned. They shot him down before he could even get down to business. "Damn, you two be rude as f*ck, won't even give me a chance to lay it all out."

"Because we know what to expect," said Zamson. "Some ole bullsh*t."

"Ah." Shane waived a clever finger. "Some ole bullsh*t loaded with profit."

Zamson chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, figured. Sorry, homie. Gonna have to pass."

"Forever," added Logan.

Their sudden disinterest tickled Shane. It wasn't the first time. Their reluctance would fade away with time, patience, and a few choice words to attract their attention; money sealed the deal, provided the payout was appealing enough.

"Real f*ckin' funny." Shane gave them a moment to calm down, turning about to wander the garage somewhat. He didn't stray too far from Zamson. "The last gigs were, as the righteous would say, prosperous, or were they not?" He threw his arms up, presenting the garage to them. "It landed you this glorious hideout for all your unconstitutional needs."

"You don't say?" Zamson replied. He didn't expect Shane to answer that. It would be foolish to do so, and the most Shane thing to do. "But your last gigs nearly got our d*cks stuffed in a casket."

"Nobody said they'd be easy," Shane calmly protested. Zamson and Logan went silent, mainly because Shane tried his best to keep a casual face of innocence for as brief as it lasted. "Okay. So, one of them was a little too hot."

Zamson smirked and shut Pandemona’s hood, then walked to the end of his garage. "F*ckin' what?" With an amused look on his face, he found the sink and twisted on the hot water faucet before soaping up to wash his hands. "A little too hot? Check your temperature. You straight took us halfway across the states with a d*mn corpse's head in the trunk of Pandemona!"

Shane coolly gestured a hand. "Just hearing you say her name like that always gives me the fuzzies. And that was a very wealthy collector who paid beyond top-dollar for that nasty-a** thing of a head," he added. "That alone has us set for life, but the gigs kept coming."

Zamson furrowed his brow. "What kept coming were the death priests that guarded that crypt."

"Wardens of a very important crypt." Shane persisted in a nonchalant stance as if Zamson's perspective on their prior adventures of running errands was overly dramatic, which they weren't, but Shane perceived otherwise. "The two of you took care of them just fine."

"We used you for bait in the end," Logan said.