About Lost and Found 4: Deeper Submission

by Syd McGinley
40 pages / 17500 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-592-9, 1-60370-592-9
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Dr. Fell is anxious: things are going too well. He's let a boy into his life, and the world didn't end. He has a job, a home, hell, he even has a dog. So why does he have such a bad feeling about what will happen next?

Ben, twink, and his boy all claim he's just being his usual grumpy self. They all say he's happiest refusing to enjoy what he has. But, when unwelcome news from the past proves his feeling was right and shakes them all up, Dr. Fell does something that may jeopardize his whole future.

Sample

Dave looks like something out of a garage porno. He’s in blue, half-unbuttoned coveralls and sprawled against his truck. His sleeves are rolled up showing the dark hair on his forearms.

The stream of curse words is not what I hoped to hear though.

“Language, boy.”

He lifts his head from under the hood, and scowls at me. He remembers his place in the scheme of things just in time.

“Sorry sir, but, damn, I’m going to have to buy another fucking part.”

His sulky look is spoiled by a grease smudge on his cheek. I squash the urge to reenact something from Lube Jobs and Grease Monkeys 2 (yeah, having a DVD player at last has been fun) and ask him what’s wrong.

He goes off into some long mechanic jargon explanation and I only catch the two hundred dollar bit. Dave wants to teach me basic engine maintenance so I can look after my own Hog -- and I agree it’s shameful to not understand your own bike -- but I’m a carpenter, not a gearhead. Dave grins.

“Sorry, sir. Yes, I do need it, and, no, I shouldn’t keep running the truck without a new one. And yes, I can probably get a cheaper part at the junkyard. If...” He bats his lashes and looks at the Hog.

“You’re not borrowing it.”

He’s been begging to borrow it for weeks, and has even got his learner permit -- without permission from me, the little shit. And he has a point -- the gas for the truck is gutting his paycheck.

“How can I get to work?”

I grimace. It means setting off at dawn. “I’ll drop you off. I’ll do errands and we’ll go to the junkyard after work tomorrow afternoon.”

Dave groans. “Sorry, sir. I know you don’t like coming into town.”

“I’m not a hermit, boy, and yes, I know what twink says about me coming in from the holler for my store bought victuals.”

Dave giggles. “Oops, did you hear that? He called Mama P your city kinfolk, too. I did smack his butt for you, sir.”

“Good. It’s okay, boy; I’ll go to the barber and the library, and maybe use the pool at the Y. And get one of those fancy townie sammiches for lunch.”

“Oooh,” says Dave. “If you go to the deli, will you get me a Reuben? I’m always starving when I finish work.”

“I meant McDonalds, boy, but I guess I could see if Arby’s has them on the menu still.”

Dave’s lost his grouch about the engine part -- in truth he loves messing with his truck, and it’s only the unexpected cash outlay that’s pissed him off. He gives me his wickedest smile, and undoes one more button on his overalls. Shit, he even has “Dave” in mechanic letters on the pocket.

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