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Enjin tries to figure out how'd he's ended up here, dragging poor Rudo along with him to this stinking, water-damaged garage, at this house isolated from everything. He just wanted a car. He just needs a car, to get Rudo to school, to get his ass to work on time, to not have to bike his way home in the hot night, listen to the cicadas chirping, crash on the couch past midnight, wake up without his back hurting like Hell.
Basically, a car would just be really fucking useful.
So when he'd seen the listing, for an actual Jeep, and for less than a thousand dollars? He'd messaged the seller and the guy said he was open to negotiating, that he just wanted to "get the thing off his hands", so he'd haggled it down to six-hundred and fifty, and they'd meet next week, at the end of July, once Enjin's paycheck came through.
Well, now it was August, he'd biked the fifteen miles to the designated address- Rudo sitting at his back, skinny legs pulled up, baggy jeans flapping out in the wind, offering to switch with him after Enjin stopped at the side of the road, red-faced, empty lungs.
Enjin, come on, just- it's like twenty more minutes, right? Let me do the rest.
He couldn't ask that of Rudo. Enjin could see it in his eyes, shifty and nervous. He thought this was a bad idea, but he'd insisted on coming along.
Just- just give a minute. I gotta catch my breathe.
It was a little touching, but he was the one who was supposed to worry, so it mostly just made the knot in his stomach tighten further.
Dude, I can see you lighting a cigarette.
He'd found the advertisement on Craigslist, which should've been the first red flag. The second was the location, far out of town, he'd looked it up on Google Maps because there was no way, but, there it was, a run-down, one-story house, blue paint peeling off the front, mosquito screen covering the entrance door. And the third was the seller themself, their email was a long string of numbers and letters, like they'd just mashed their fist on the keyboard before making it. Enjin figured it might've been a burner account or something, which was fine. He knew not to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted. But something about the way the guy would only respond in the early hours of the morning, kept insisting on "no funny business", struck him as paranoid.
He'd only talked on the phone with the guy yesterday because the guy had been cagey about his number, wouldn't give out his actual name, saying it didn't matter. It rang for so long Enjin was going to hang up, but finally, he answered. His breathing a stormy crackle over the mic. He didn't say hello or ask who he was, so Enjin just swallowed down the lump in his throat, asked if he was the guy with the Jeep, if it was cool he could swing by tomorrow, in the afternoon? He said yes, in the roughest, most shredded voice Enjin had heard in his life, and then hung up before Enjin could say he didn't actually have the agreed upon amount. He wouldn't pick up again, even though it'd been less than a minute since the call ended.
He still couldn't believe he didn't have enough fucking money. Well, not true, Enjin could believe he'd always be scrapping, scrounging for pocket change, for a little extra to make end's meet, pay rent on time. Especially with the new surprise Rudo's doctor had prescribed- his painkillers weren't doing what they needed to anymore, they were putting him on something stronger now. More expensive.
Don't be like that.
It wasn't Rudo's fault. Enjin couldn't blame the kid, always leaving the doctor's office with his head hanging low, those big eyes that looked like a kicked puppy's. Flattened down ears. Rubbing his wrists and whimpering in his sleep, gnashing his teeth so hard Enjin would probably have to offer up another paycheck for a mouth guard, lest the kid grind his molars into chalky dust.
He couldn't blame him, but, damn, if Enjin's wallet wasn't hurting. He wouldn't be surprised if he opened it one day and a moth flew out.
But they're here now and he just had to pray that the guy was chill and would accept an IOU, wouldn't mind waiting a few more weeks for a thin envelope with folded cash in the mail. He props up the bike with the kickstand, and Rudo hops off, a cloud of dust scattering into the air as his big shoes hit the ground. His pale face is colored pink at his forehead, high up his cheekbones. The back of his nape blooming with a sunburn.
Enjin's probably a worse sight. His arms feel red and raw, UV rays itching under his skin. If they were lucky the drugstore would have sunblock samples in little plastic packets, something Rudo could shove plenty of into his pockets while Enjin distracted the clerk, pointing out the nicotine gum brand all the way in the back, making a show of patting down his body, looking for the money he knows he doesn't have on him.
The cashier would just roll their eyes, Enjin shrugging and throwing them a careless grin. Walking out, whistling a tune, and giving an anxious Rudo a hi-five once the glass doors slam shut, bell tinkling.
Rudo always felt guilty about doing that kind of stuff. But Enjin would just dab a dollop of sunscreen over the bridge of his nose, ruffle his hair, downy under his fingertips. He didn't care what they had to do, as long as Rudo was happy, healthy- as much as the kid could be, anyways.
"Is this the place?" Rudo sniffs, wiping the back of his wrist over his sweat-shined chin.
Enjin sucks in a deep breath, his throat dry, scratchy and begging for a sip of water, which will undoubtedly have to wait until they're back home, because no way is he going to ask for a drink out here. He coughs, spits out a thick glob of saliva, Rudo wrinkling his nose at him. "No, Rudo, we're just stopping at this house in the middle of nowhere for no reason."
Rudo's eyebrows furrow, lips pulling up into a sulky pout. "Whatever, I was just asking. Shithead."
Enjin barks out a laugh, hand going to muss Rudo's damp hair, Rudo growling like some feral dog, smacking at him, but there's no real bite to it. "Of course this is the place. Now, don't say anything weird, don't accept anything from the guy, even if it's candy-" Rudo flushes at that, embarrassed. "And let's make this quick, in and out, remember?"
"In and out," Rudo repeats, his gaze wandering to the facade of the house, the weeds growing by the porch, the wood looking a little bleak, rotted. His little face is pinched, which Enjin always hates to see, so he shoots him a light-hearted wink, and a weak smile starts to tug at Rudo's mouth. Much better.
Enjin turns towards the door. The mosquito screen he'd seen on the map looks like it's had a hole punched through it, frayed edges of mesh bursting outwards. He tugs at the handle, his heel scuffing the wood as he jerks it back, and the screen-door snaps open with a loud clatter, Enjin cringing. "Shit."
There's a knocker, fake-gold plating flaking off, revealing the rusted iron underneath, and Enjin tries to relax before his fingers go around it, grip it tight. He doesn't understand what's making him so uneasy, hates this feeling in his gut that's telling him to get out, get out now, but he can't afford not to at least try and get this truck, not when they have no better options, no other choices.
He shakes himself like a wet dog, like all the nerves can fly off his body and evaporate. He fixes the charming smile he knows people love to his face, and knocks. "Hello?"
He waits a minute. Nobody opens the door. Enjin raps his knuckles against the doorframe, calls out a little harder this time. "Yo! It's, uh- Enjin. We spoke on the phone yesterday?"
Another minute. He starts pounding a fist against the door, irritation steadily beginning to thrum through him. "Hey, I'm just here to look at the truck!"
Rudo hovers behind him, grabbing at Enjin's sleeve with his forefinger and thumb. Enjin casts him a glance, and Rudo's mouth falls open to say something, but then the sound of clicking locks pulls both of their attention towards the door, which cracks open two inches.
The man peeping from the open sliver causes Enjin to take two steps back. His face is gaunt and pale, greasy black hair parted at the middle, a jawline that clearly hasn't been shaved for at least a week. He smiles at them. A smile that stretches his face like wax that hasn't fully dried. "Hey there! Sorry," his voice doesn't sound nearly as garbled as it had on the call, and Enjin wonders if it was just a bad connection. "I was… busy."
Enjin doesn't want to know what he was busy with, and he doesn't ask. "No problem," he answers breezily, subtly craning his neck up to see over the guy's head, into the dark, messy interior of the house. "Is the Jeep in the garage?"
Those dark eyes move past Enjin, settle heavily on Rudo. The guys fingers- with their gritty nails, the hairy knuckles- clamp around the edge of the door tighter. "…Whose that?"
Enjin hates how hungry the man's gaze is. He's seen that look before, seen it more times than any child should, and he steps in front of Rudo, shifting his arm a little further away from his body, blocking Rudo from sight. "My brother. He can wait outside," Enjin replies. It's not a suggestion.
"No, no, it's fine, come in…" He hears the latch unlock, the man's feet shuffling against the floor as he opens the door fully. The inside's dirty, he can look into the living room and see bags of trash piled up under the windows, the wooden paneling covered in a variety of stains- black, yellow, brown, red. The world's worst rainbow. When Enjin steps inside, he feels the soles of his shoe stick slightly. He can't help but cringe. Rudo follows, even when Enjin shoots him a sharp glare.
"I'll just show you where the car is," the man mutters, slippers skidding on the floor as he nudges an empty styrofoam cup out of his way.
"Thanks." Enjin lets his palm graze his pocket. Besides the packet of cigarettes, he's brought something else, something he'd hoped he wouldn't have to use but was becoming increasingly aware that its necessity was a distinct possibility.
The pocket knife is a comfort, he reasons. Who's going to protect Rudo if he can't even protect himself?
They stop at a white door halfway down the hall, and the man puts a heavy hand on the knob, but doesn't open the door. "I've, uh- I'm still cleaning it out in there," Enjin watches the guy's throat bob as he swallows thickly. "Gonna move soon, so…"
"…Yeah, I get it," Enjin answers. Although he's very sure he doesn't want to get it.
The man looks up, his eyes shiny, and Enjin notices for the first time only one of his eyes is moving, the other iris is still in it's socket. Glass eye, maybe?
"So don't mind the smell, okay?" The man says brightly, suddenly tugging the door open.
It smells- it smells fucking bad, Enjin thinks, attempting to suppress a gag. Rudo does the same, fails, making a gross, throaty noise behind the two of them. "Oh, that's disgusting-"
"Rudo!" Enjin does not need the guy to get offended, or something worse, and kick them out, despite the absolutely repulsive stench coming out the garage. He doesn't even recognize the odor- some kind of chemical? Vaguely reminiscent of vinegar, Enjin's burnt out matches he uses when he's too broke for a new lighter. But there's an undercurrent, too. Something putrefied, like spoiled meat, when maggots dig their way through trash, the pungent smell that occasionally clings to Rudo when he's gone dumpster diving the third time in one week.
"Don't mind him," Enjin tries to mediate, sees the peaky expression on the man's face. His eyes are watering, so he forces a large smile that he prays hides his tears. "He's, you know," he does some formless gesture, since it should be obvious. "Sensitive."
The man just stares and stares at the both of them, biting at a hangnail on his thumb, pulling at the skin till it tears into a thin, bloody strip, swallowing. "Okay."
He flicks the light switch on. It doesn't do much, a single, buzzing bulb poorly illuminating the space, revealing a dirty tool bench, blue plastic containers stacked up in the corners. A baby pink tricycle leaning against the wall, the floor tracked with tire treads, oil stains. In the center of it all is the mythical Jeep, Enjin heaving a sigh of relief he didn't know he had in him. He'd seen the picture, of course, did a reverse-image search and everything to be careful, but it's reassurance to see it anyways.
"Mind if I check it out?" He starts circling the truck, Rudo keeping close, and blinks in surprise as he rounds the side. The Jeep's a dusty yellow, faded to Hell, but the car door on the left is a grayish-brown, obviously torn off some other truck and repurposed. He raises an eyebrow and looks at the guy, who is tapping his foot impatiently.
Better to not question it, he figures.
"So," he starts. He lets his eyes fall to tires. They look hard, and he's not sure if the grip will be good. But he can probably just buy new tires, without a creep breathing down his and Rudo's necks in a dead-bolted garage. "What's the deal with the engine?"
The guy laughs, a nervous tittering sound that makes the fine hairs on Enjin's arms go on edge. "It's, uh, all stock. Besides the door, of course."
The guy's clearly lying to his face, but Enjin doesn't particularly feel like calling him out on his shit, especially as he spots the coil of rope trailing down over the edge of the tool bench. "Oh, okay, cool. What happened to the door?"
"Well," the guy scratches at his cheek, Enjin noticing thin, scabbing wounds around his graying temple. Too messy to be some belligerent cat's work.
Enjin forces out a dry chuckle, the air in the room becoming more and more suffocating with every breathe, panting out of his mouth to minimize smelling the foul miasma that seems to be condensed into the garage. "Doesn't matter, actually." He pulls open the mismatched door, and there's a metallic creaking sound as a result. "As long as the locks still work, right?"
The man finally smiles at this. "Yes! Right, they still work, you can check yourself."
Rudo peers through the back window, but it's too gloomy to properly make anything out. The inside of the car is, predictably, just as unclean as the outside is, Enjin spotting dirt in the footwell, scuff marks from big boot prints. Something from smaller feet. He'll just have to deep clean the thing at home. He crawls awkwardly over the center console, trying to avoid kicking the gear shift, before sitting in the front seat. It's high up, so Rudo kicks his feet as he clambers inside and sits next to him.
He runs his hands lightly over the steering wheel. He'd gotten his license at the start of summer, pouring over the rule booklet he'd picked up for free at the DMV during his breaks at work, falling asleep to it at night, the pages spread out over his eyes, dreaming of yellow dashes on the road, crunching metal. Finding red hair in between his seat cushions. Gob was kind, let him practice with his old clunker in empty parking lots on the weekends.
He wanted the license because it'd be convenient, of course, but he also loved the idea of lording it over Riyo, who, despite already being able to drive her dad's pick-up truck completely fine on her own, didn't even have a learner's permit.
It'd be nice to take her and Rudo to school together in the mornings, and he feels himself grin at the thought.
Rudo and him open and slam the doors, check to see if their bike will fit in the trunk of the Jeep (thankfully it does, because Enjin doesn't want to ask this guy for help securing it to the back), and Enjin gives a last, half-hearted attempt at interrogation by asking when the last oil change, disappointed when the man mumbles something about last year, definitely, maybe even further back, but the engine rumbles to life when the man gives him the keys and Enjin turns it on, so he can't complain.
"So, listen," Enjin starts delicately, pressing the tips of his fingers together. "Something came up, and- well, I don't have six fifty, I was wondering-"
The guy's eye, a little bloodshot, Enjin realizes, in the new light, widens. "How much do you have on you right now?"
Enjin blinks, momentarily stupefied, but quickly shoves a hand into his back pocket, feeling around for his wallet, thumbing the leather pleat open. "Uhh… five hundred, and…" Enjin turns back to Rudo, tilts his head, hoping he'll catch on to his meaning, but Rudo just gives him a dumb look, undignified, and loosely throws his hands up. Enjin feels his face flatten into a scowl, till Rudo acquiesces, grunting as he forks over some loose change, whatever is left from his monthly allowance. "Five hundred and five," Enjin finishes sheepishly.
He can see him thinking, deliberating. He's just about to launch into a tirade about how he'll totally pay him the rest at a later date, but the man interjects first.
"Five-hundred bucks, and, uh," the guy's face twitches as his good eye roves down Enjin and Rudo's figures, makes Enjin feel like a piece of meat on a hook. He jerks his chin towards Enjin's pocket. "Your pack of cigarettes. That sound good?"
Enjin dares a glance at Rudo, winces when he sees his mortified expression. But he can't keep taking Rudo to school on the back of his shitty little bike, and beggars can't be choosers.
He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sounds good."
At least this way Rudo won't have to give up the rest of his pocket money. Maybe buy a candy bar on the way back from school, once it starts again. He'll be a freshman next month, and Enjin knows he'll need the sugar to get through all those late night essays.
Enjin passes him the money, and the box of cigarettes, both slightly sweaty and crumpled in his anxious palms, but he feels how the man's hands are also perspiring, even more than his own, actually, which is pretty gross, but he's just glad the transaction is over and the dude is opening the garage door, the sunlight pouring in looking so beautiful it's like God let something slip through his fingers before sending it down Enjin's way.
Or everything just seems lovelier when you're sagging in relief from not having a knife in your intestines, hands duct-tapped behind your back. But it really is a nice day outside. Perfect to go for a drive.
Enjin pulls out, letting the engine run as he rolls down the driver's seat window, Rudo hopping out and hauling the bike to the back of the Jeep, shoving it in with all the grace of some bumbling sloth, barely fitting diagonally in the open space of the trunk. "Er, thanks for the discount, I guess." Enjin scratches at his nape, feels the flush of shame spreading back up there. He's mostly embarrassed of himself for being so broke, not for shortchanging the guy.
"Oh, no, thank you for taking it off my hands," the man says glibly. They shake hands through the window a final time and the man walks back to his house, gives them a look that Enjin can't help but compare to the eyes of a cat staring at a mouse through the other side of a fence, and slams his front door shut.
Rudo sits shotgun, and Enjin heaves out a sigh. The weight that always seems to be on his shoulders has alleviated slightly.
They're out, now. They've got the car, and their lives, and even though Enjin's pockets are lighter than they were when they first came, he feels weirdly proud of himself. He's doing what he's supposed to be doing. He's taking care of Rudo like he should. He's got a job, a car, and sure, sometimes he struggles to stay afloat, but who doesn't? At the end of the day, Rudo never goes to bed with an empty belly, even if Enjin's stomach needs to growl all night, gnaw at him till he falls asleep at dawn.
They're driving down the road in silence, both suddenly overcome by the day, Enjin lazily letting an arm hang limply out the open window while his fist is closed loosely around the wheel. "Rudo, crack open the other window, will ya? Still stinks in here."
"Okay, but I think it's stuck," Rudo answers, wiggling his fingers in the narrow gap that was already open. He curls his fingers, elbow jerking, and-
Bang!
The window slams down with a grating squeak, before Rudo accidentally smashes his hand against the side door. "Shit-! I'm sorry! Shit-!"
Rudo hisses through his teeth as he rubs his hands through his gloves. Enjin tries to keep his eyes on the road, but can't quite help but give Rudo a concerned one-over. "You okay? The fuck's up with the window?"
"I'm fine," Rudo grumbles. "It's the shitty window. You gotta, like- push it down so it'll open."
"Fantastic," Enjin mutters, already missing the drag of his cigarette, thinking of how much it'll cost to fix, budgeting in gas prices, microwave dinners. Hot water bills, since it'll be getting colder soon. Might have to bum cigarettes off Gob for a while, pray somebody offers him a puff at one of the parties he somehow always ends up at.
Dig in the trash alongside Rudo, if things get bad. Again.
Rudo's got that look on his face again, cheeks like a chipmunk, as if whatever he wants to say- as if the words in his mouth are physical objects he has to keep from sputtering past his lips. Enjin thinks Rudo wants to apologize, for the window. For tagging along when he didn't need to. For all the doctor and psychiatric visits Enjin pays out of his own pocket for.
"I've been thinking," Enjin starts. Chuckles a little at Rudo's shoulders jerking in surprise, the whites of his eyes bright in the sun. "Wanna name the car?"
It's clear Rudo had other thoughts crowding his head, but Enjin's happy to get his mind to better places. "What? Name it?"
"Yeah," he shrugs, waving his fingers out flippantly into the breeze, his pace leisurely. They've got nowhere else to be today, and they've got nothing but time. "Like, I was thinking of callin' her Baby. Something classy, y'know?"
Rudo snorts. "That's not classy, it's dumb. Also, Riyo would think it's stupid, too."
Enjin exhales sharply through his nose, his smirk becoming a little thinner at the mention of her name. "You're saying that like you think I value her opinion more than yours."
"Well, obviously not for something lame like naming the car," Rudo answers affably. "I'm just saying, so you know both of us would think it's lame. If you named the car like that."
Personally, he'd already been quite attached to Baby, but it doesn't really matter. Still, his voice comes out the slightest bit sullen. "Floor's yours, if you got any other ideas."
Rudo cups his chin between his thumb and index, brows furrowing, Enjin can almost hear the little cogs working in his brain. He takes stuff so seriously, sometimes. It's endearing.
He has his eureka moment. "Let's call her Frankie!"
Not bad, but, he's curious. "Why Frankie?"
"'Cause the door's definitely not the only they took from some other chop car. Wouldn't be surprised if she was a mishmash of a dozen other Jeeps. So it's kinda like Frankenstein, right?!" Rudo's grinning at him, a smile somewhat odd in it's proportions, maybe stretching his face too far back, canines sticking out. But to Enjin it's still one of his favourite sights.
"You know what? I love it, I hereby officially decree that she shall be called Frankie, first of her name, for now and forevermore," Enjin announces, just for the two of them, adding a theatrical flourish just so Rudo will laugh, even if it's at him. The kid deserves to have crow's feet when he grows up.
They settle into a comfortable silence. No sounds but the wind rushing past the open windows, their own breathing. The sky is cloudless, the kind of blue that hurts your eyes, and the sun is at it's zenith. It's nice, Enjin thinks, and briefly he fantasizes about taking Rudo and Riyo and driving far away, until they're all some starry speck in some distant horizon, away from all the bad things that haunt them in town. But life's never that easy, as Enjin's come to learn.
"I think that guy was a serial killer or something," Rudo says lightly, bubble of quiet unpleasantly bursting. His face hidden from Enjin's view as he stares out the open window.
His fingers tighten around the wheel. "Yeah," Enjin says thickly. "He was weird, wasn't he?"
Rudo turns and looks at him. Big, red eyes, like bloody pulp, focusing on him. Still with that same grin, like he's been smiling the whole time. "We're probably lucky we got out alive, huh?"
He can't help it. It's a little thing, just a brief, wheeze of a laugh, but it demolishes all of the sense they share between the two of them, which wasn't much in the first place. So they both laugh, laugh until their stomachs start to hurt, laugh until their eyes start to water with hysterical tears, laugh until their throats are hoarse. Maybe laughing so they don't start to cry. And they laugh the whole way home.
When he's getting the bike out the trunk, after Rudo's ran back inside the house, because, his show started ten minutes ago, and, please, Enjin, he'd loaded the bike in already, it was only fair that Enjin haul it out, he notices a big stain. A kind of murky brown he insists to himself is probably soda, even though he is secretly relieved that Rudo is already in the living room, that Rudo didn't see this. And when he's cleaning out the car on the weekend, Rudo yelling at him from the front door about how the hell to turn the hose on, the knees of Enjin's jeans' dusty, sweat dripping down his forehead, he finds a shoe wedged under the seat. Bright pink, too small to be anything but a child's shoe, with a daisy strap.
And Enjin just tries to think, since he knows if he throws it in the trash, Rudo will find it. And all Enjin wants is for Rudo to keep the last shreds of innocence he stubbornly, pointlessly clings on to.
So that night, when Rudo's deep in sleep, Enjin snakes his arm out of Rudo's vice grip and quietly gets out of bed, walks into the woods behind their house -wearing nothing but his work shoes, leaves crunching underfoot, a thin tank top, misted by cold air, and the sweatpants he grew out of a year ago- and hurls the little shoe into the darkness, where it lands soundlessly, lost to himself.
The rest is only for the nocturnal animals to know.