Chapter Twenty-Seven - Smooth Idle
For two days nothing happened, plus the weather got a little warmer. Conditions were approaching ideal. We got to try out both cars on the track. Slick, uncharacteristically, had no complaints; of course, he still wasn't driving all out; he was expanding the envelop or 'stretching the jock' as he put it. He looked at the front of my coveralls when he said it; but he didn't stare.
Randy, meanwhile, was doing things he thought needed doing, although nobody else thought so. Mostly he was getting in the way, but he was decent about it, not saying much and not doing any great harm. The morning after our talk, he rearranged the tool drawers. Things looked tidy and clean, but they were hard to find. He had arranged the tools by size, not function.
Late on the second day Ches approached looking serious. “Racer, take number one onto the track and run it at eighty steady, no brakes. Let it get hot.”
I did as he asked and returned to the pit. “It's like there's this intermittent pull. Just a tug at the wheel. Not all the time and it's hard to feel, but it comes after a turn.”
Ches frowned. “Slick didn't notice it. I noticed it. You noticed it. I bet even Randy would notice it. But Slick didn't and he used to complain about feeling to much 'tread' on slick tires.” He left shaking his head.
Randy wandered in wearing some coveralls he had found. They were a half dozen sizes too big and looked like a clown suit on him, but at least he could bend over in them without threatening to split a seam. “Can I watch?” he asked.
“Sure, get on that creeper and slide under.” He lay face down on the wheeled mechanic's creeper. “No, on your back, so you can see the car.”
“Oh … right … I should have known.” He repositioned himself and inched the creeper along with his hands and feet under the car and stopped next to me. “So, what are you doing?” Up close, I could see an appeal to the kid that I hadn't noticed before. He had an honest face and looked a lot younger than I thought.
“I'm rechecking the steering linkages for like the tenth time. They seem right, but Ches and I can feel something going on that shouldn't be.” An idea came to me. “Can I ask you to do something super useful - but really boring?”
“Sure, Racer. What?” He was more than willing.
“Sit in the driver's seat and turn the steering wheel when I tell you to.” In his eagerness to help he managed to tear something. I heard a ripping sound as he slid out from under the car.
“Ok,” he called and turned the wheel rapidly from side to side.
“Hold it on center,” I called out. “No brakes. I'm going to rotate the wheels and watch the U-joints.”
“The what?”
“The universal joints in the tie-rods. The angle needs to be no more than thirty degrees.”
It took a while to do both front tires. “Ok, turn slightly to the right.” I checked again.
“Is that all?” Randy called down to me.
“I warned you it was boring. But you're being really helpful.” It took a while, but while checking the left turns, I noticed a little kink in the action, a little binding of the joint in its rotation. “Awesome!” I said to myself loud enough for Randy to hear.
“You found something?”
I rolled out and got to my feet, stretching and flexing a little, after lying on my back for almost an hour. Those creepers are not like soft beds. “I believe I did.” Randy beamed sharing my pleasure.
“Ches, the right U-joint binds just a touch at about fifteen degrees left deflection of the wheel. I'm thinking maybe, just maybe the joint weld might could ...” I wanted to be careful what I criticized. The weld was Ches's work.
“Be misaligned,” Ches finished my sentence with no nonsense.
“Just a little. Hard to measure. I might not even have measured it right.”
He detected my weasel words. “I'm bettin' you measured it perfectly. Go to lunch. I'll have a look.”
I invited Randy to eat with me and he instantly agreed. I noticed one leg of his torn coveralls flapping around his ankle. “Maybe you want to change to street clothes?”
I had no intention of getting him out of his clothes, but that's what happened. In what we used as a little locker room, a place to put your wallet and stuff, not much more, he shed the coveralls and showed off a body I had no idea existed under the clothes he wore. I turned away to avoid staring. Oh, man, was he ever my type from the neck down. Slim but muscular, he was wearing underwear as tight as a sausage casing showing perfect curves and bulges right where you'd want 'em to be. That prickly feeling you get when an erection is coming on flashed through my groin. I quickly picked up a parts catalog and tried to give a shit about types of gasket material.
“Ok, I'm ready,” he said, wearing his regular clothes.
“We gotta find you some coveralls that fit,” I told him.
We walked over to the food vans that were lined up near the front gate, got our food, and sat at some picnic tables near one of the parking lots. Randy was easier to talk to than I expected. He was slightly effeminate in his manner, which wasn't normally something I like, but he was nowhere near 'flaming'. He didn't want to talk about celebrity gossip or fashion trends or anything like than. In fact he didn't volunteer anything; I had to pry personal stuff out of him. He was from Columbia, South Carolina and his father was in the army so they moved a lot when he was a kid. I figured he was still a kid, but he turned out to be a couple of months older than I am.
“Yeah, but I'm twenty and look sixteen,” he said, “while you are twenty and look awesome.” I'd never had quite that big a compliment before from somebody who was my age and almost a stranger. “You're blushing,” he laughed. “I haven't blushed in years.”
“You and Slick ...” I didn't know where I was going with that and stopped.
“I let him do what he wants. I had to get out of Lumberton, North Carolina. It's near Fort Bragg where my dad is stationed. I'd have done anything to get out of there.”
“So you're not ...”
“I'm totally gay. Not a straight gene in my body. If that's what you're asking ...”
“Wow ...” I said. In a way I wished I could be as up front with stuff like that as Randy was. Of course, he didn't really have to say he was gay, it was pretty much obvious. Kind of like an Asian saying, “I'm Asian.” It didn't really need saying.
He balled up the residue from lunch and tossed it in a garbage can. “I'm meeting Slick now,” he said, raising his eyebrows telling me the meeting was for sex.
I got back to the pit and saw Ches re-welding the U-joint to the tie rod. “Don't go sneaking away, Racer,” he called without looking up. “You were totally correct.”
“A lucky find,” I said and he glared at me.
“We don't need any false modest here if we're gonna have a safe operation. There's enough risks to driving. Don't need any mechanical failures that are preventable. If you see something wrong, say something about it.” Lesson learned. Ches was a no-bullshit boss. I liked that.
I got back to the motel after work and texted B. J. “You recovered from the bus ride?”
“I'm horny,” he replied. “Miss you tons. When u comin home?”
“Don't know. Cars still being tested.”
“Go to voice. I want to hear you.” He said he wanted to hear me, but he did most of the talking. Nice words, too, about love and sex and love and sex. I didn't want to quit, but there was a knock at the door.
“Deputy!” I said.
“Call me Adam. I need some help. Can you come with me to the Asian Spa?”
On the drive to the Spa he explained. “It's stupid doing undercover work in a town where EVERYBODY knows me. So I need to convince people that I'm human, more or less, and also off-duty, and just looking for what everybody else is looking for. So if YOU come along, and they already know they can trust you, maybe they'll trust me, too … and give me some evidence that they're running a rub-and-tug. The trouble is … they're the best restaurant in town. It'd be real shame to put them out of business.”
“Adam, are you sure you should be a deputy sheriff?”
“There's good laws and there's other laws. You know? Truthfully, now, what's wrong with a rub-and-tug? As long as it's clean and safe and the workers are willing ...”
Minutes later I got introduced to the proprietor as Adam's 'buddy' and we listened to the standard talk. “You been here before. You know rules. You shower all over first. Use anti-bacterial soap. No happy ending. Clear? NO HAPPY ENDING!” The same young woman winked at me as we paid our massage fees.
“Meet me in the shower,” Adam said as he entered his room.
My room was two doors away in a part of the place I hadn't seen the last time. I wrapped myself in a towel and set out. It took me a while to find the shower and notice the man facing the wall under the spray.
“It's me,” Adam whispered, turning around. I could have told him I recognized his ass, but are you supposed to tell that to a cop? I blurted out, “You shaved your pubes?” That obviously implied, one, that I knew he had pubes that last time and, two, I knew he didn't have them now. In other words, I had been checking him out. Pretty closely. Which I had, of course, but we're talking about a cop here. I guess I embarrassed him; he turned away, letting me check out his ass some more.
Ok, less than half an hour before I had been talking to B. J., telling him how much I missed him and wanted to be with him, telling him I loved him and all and here I was checking out the cop's ass. And thinking what an ass! Made for fucking!
Stop! Stop! Stop! I ordered myself. Do NOT get an erection! I turned away and scrubbed hard with the smelly soap, halting the process with a chubby.
“You and Slick shave. I just thought I'd try it,” Adam said in defiant self-justification.
“We don't shave. We trim. It's polite, Slick says.”
“Whatever … Let's go ...” We dried off and walked down the dimly lighted hallway wearing our damp towels. Adam was listening for something and trying door knobs. I was trying not to bump into anything.
Voices!
“Quick, in here!” Adam urged, pulling me into a room and closing the door. The voices got louder but were indistinct. “Racer!” Adam insisted and pulled me into a closet of some kind. He pulled me by the towel and ended up in possession of my towel. “Shhh!” he whispered and locked the door from the inside.
“I don't see your problem.” The voice was loud and clear, only the thickness of the closet door away.
“You don't understand. I can't get it up for a woman. Zero erection. It doesn't matter what they do. I'm not turned on.” I recognized Randy's voice.
“Jeez, I should have asked Racer to come tonight. His dick is like Old Faithful.” It was Slick!
“So why didn't you? You got the hots for him. Admit it.”
I made a move to open the door, but Adam restrained me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Shh!' he whispered.
“Lie down and grease up,” Slick ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Randy answered flippantly.
We heard the telltale sounds of sex. “They fucking,” I whispered.
“Duh!” Adam whispered back, and then he said, “Sorry.” He was poking me with his cock. He had a hardon!
“Owww!” Randy complained.
“Shut up and take it!” Slick whined. He didn't sound angry, just frustrated with a fuck that wasn't going too well.
“Open your eyes! Admit it. You're thinking about him,” Randy hissed. “You're fucking me and wishing I was Racer!”
There wasn't any more talk, just the sounds of body parts slapping into each other and finally Slick's grunting acknowledgment of a climax. We heard the sounds of dressing and then the door closed firmly. We emerged from the closet and pretended our cocks weren't erect, covering up as best we could with our towels. The towels didn't hide a thing.
“Ok, let's get massages,” Adam said and walked hurriedly to his room.
It took me a while to find my room. The girl soon came in and barely touched me when my cock exploded. Man, the cum flew. She giggled. “Short fuse on that fire cracker!” she laughed and left.
I found Adam in his car and got in. “Nothing happened,” I reported.
“Racer, a ton of stuff happened. We gotta talk.”
