The Fixer

by Flynt Coal

2 - Lessons Learned

The day came and went relatively quickly for Sable Loam. Just like Troubleshoes had said, Sable got a call from the Purple Heart Veterans’ Car Donation Service on his lunch hour and Sable gave them all of the required information (again, just like Troubleshoes had said, it didn’t take long at all). When all was said and done, the guy on the other end of the line told him they’d pick it up from his mechanic that evening, and that was that.

Something about the whole thing just didn’t sit right with him. It occurred to Sable then that he’d left a bunch of his stuff in the Jeep. Of course, most of it was pretty replaceable (the most important things he had in it were his phone charger and a reusable water bottle), but that wasn’t the only reason Sable felt unsatisfied with how everything turned out. He’d bought that Jeep when he got out, and it had been by his side ever since.

So before he knew it, Sable had called Troubleshoes, and after giving him the rundown, asked, “So would you mind if I came by?”

At that, Troubleshoes had given an amicable laugh. “Not at all. I left everything inside the vehicle as is. Truth be told, kinda forgot about it when I got in touch with the donation people. Come on by whenever you like.”

Now, Sable stood in the lot at Hard Luck Towing. The ride sharing app that Celestia had recommended got him here quickly enough when he was finished work for the day, and Troubleshoes had been helping another customer when Sable arrived. So, after silently taking his key fob (which Troubleshoes had wordlessly placed on the counter as soon as he saw Sable come in) Sable wandered out to the lot by himself and soon enough was able to find the old gal.

It still looked as good as he remembered it, with only the smallest of dents next to the driver’s side door (let it never be said Sable didn’t take good care of her). It looked so pristine, it was hard to believe that Sable would never drive it again. Unlocking the door, Sable gathered all of his leftover things from the cup holders and the glove box and put them in his bag. He sat there in the driver’s seat a little bit longer when he was done, relishing his final moments behind the wheel. Then he turned to head back to the mechanic shop.

As he did so he spotted something curious: a surprisingly nice black Mercedes SUV with a broken window and a few small holes Sable immediately recognized as bullet holes. He found himself wandering closer, taking a good hard look at the holes to see whether he could tell what caliber the bullets had been.

Is this guy involved with gangs, or something? he wondered before dismissing the thought; Troubleshoes didn’t seem to be the type. The vehicle probably just belonged to some unlucky customer not used to the area (the vehicle itself was certainly too nice to belong to any of the local gangs). Depending on where you parked in Sunnytown, having your car be collateral damage to a shootout wasn’t unheard of.

Come to think of it, the fact that they’re having it repaired here in Sunnytown instead of some garage in Northside, Bella Vista or San Palomino probably confirms that, he mentally added. He hadn’t been in Canterlot long, but he’d been here long enough to get the meaning of the local phrase, “Go south, get burned by the Sun.”

Already forgetting about the damaged SUV, Sable made his way back into the building. He found Troubleshoes handing off a set of keys to a very grateful-looking customer. That kind of smile on the other man’s face was rare in Sunnytown; evidently Troubleshoes was a lifesaver to more than just Sable. The big man in question smiled when he saw Sable come in.

“Hey man, you do what you need to do?” Troubleshoes asked.

“Yeah,” Sable answered. “Just wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve done.”

Troubleshoes just shrugged. “Was nothin’, man.”

“No really. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty with this. Especially seeing as you haven’t charged me for it.”

“Well, I wanted to. Us vets gotta look out for each other, right? Hey, you want a cookie before you go?”

“A cookie?”

Troubleshoes gestured to the counter, where Sable noticed a moderately sized plate of what appeared to be homemade cookies were sitting with a layer of plastic wrap over them.

“My Ma lives just a couple of blocks away, and she sometimes likes to stop by with a batch,” Troubleshoes said with a chuckle. “Even after all these years, she’s afraid I’m gonna go hungry if she’s not always feeding me. Naturally I can never finish ‘em myself, so I leave them out for the customers.”

Sable looked at the plate. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had homemade cookies.

“Go on, take one,” Troubleshoes insisted. “They’re just gonna go to waste otherwise.”

Sable relented and took one of the chocolate chip cookies out from under the clear plastic wrap. It was perfect; warm, soft, chewy and incredibly sweet. Sable nodded and grunted his approval.

“That’s the general consensus, yeah,” Troubleshoes laughed.

Suffice to say, it didn’t take long for Sable to finish it off, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to say no when Troubleshoes told him to “take a few for the road.” Even so, a slight feeling of guilt still nagged at him. I leave them out for the customers, Troubleshoes had said, and if he was being pedantic, Sable wasn’t actually a paying customer.

“You’ve gotta let me do something to make up for your trouble,” Sable found himself saying. “We should go out for drinks sometime. I’ll buy us a round.”

Troubleshoes shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

“Hmm. Lunch then; on me. A new diner opened up near where I work. Actually looks decent by Sunnytown standards. I’ve been meaning to give it a try.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything, man.”

“I know, but I want to,” Sable said. He then thought to add, “Us vets gotta look out for each other right?”

Troubleshoes was quiet for a moment before saying, “Ah, what the hell. It’s been too long since I got to just sit down and shoot the shit with another vet.”

“There you go! Lunchtime tomorrow work?”

“Sure thing.”

After hashing out the details, Sable gave his adieu and headed back outside, where he started to text Celestia on the off chance she was on her way out of the office. He was surprised at just how delighted he was at the prospect of his lunch tomorrow. Something about it just felt...right; like some invisible force (like magic) was pulling him this way.

“I have to say, I think it’s nice that you’ve made a friend!” Celestia exclaimed in a half-teasing tone as she drove along the next morning.

Sable, who had been looking out the window at the rundown buildings of Sunnytown from his spot in the passenger seat, turned to look at her. “I don’t think this is going to be a regular thing. This is just me repaying a little kindness. I doubt I’ll even see Troubleshoes again after today.”

“That’s a pity. It seems you haven’t gotten to hang out with any of your old military buddies for a very long time. Outside of the ones you work with at the Blanks, anyway, and even then you only hang out with Sombra.”

“Yeah, things have just been too busy lately,” Sable said, thinking over his plans for tonight’s planned training session with the triplets.

Celestia glanced over at him after they stopped at a red light and based on the open concern in her eyes, Sable thought he knew what she was going to again suggest. Apparently she thought better of it and simply said, “Welcome to getting older. I can’t even remember the last time I was able to have a simple night out with my friends.” Celestia then sighed. “I have so many meetings today I probably won’t even have time for a proper lunch.”

Sable nodded and grunted in sympathy. She was working so hard as a superintendent, and here she was still driving him to work every morning. I don’t deserve her.

In a few more minutes their car turned a corner and the bland, featureless walls of the Blanks came into view. As they pulled up to the curb by the entrance, Sable looked out the passenger side window to see Tirespin standing there with another cleavage-showing top. She was alone, like a predator lying in wait. The moment she spotted her prey, she smiled and pretended to adjust her top so she could fondle herself just a little.

Sable paid her no mind, instead turning to his girlfriend. “Hey,” he said, and before Celestia could get out a reply he pulled her into a deep kiss. Celestia returned it eagerly enough, and Sable poured every ounce of love and adoration into it, gently caressing her face as they parted.

“Have I told you yet just how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me these past few days?” he said.

Celestia smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I do. And I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned!” Celestia said, giving him a shorter but no less passionate kiss. “Now go on before you make me late!”

Sable did just that, saying his final goodbye of the day as he got his bag out from the back seat. He lingered on the sidewalk there to watch his favorite woman in the world drive off, then turned toward the school, bracing himself for whatever tactless come-on Tirespin had waiting in the wings.

But to his surprise, Tirespin wasn’t standing where she had been a minute ago. Instead the girl was simply gone, and Sable wondered for a moment whether he’d even seen her there at all. So shaking the cobwebs from his head, Sable went inside to prepare for his first class.

Said first class went by relatively uneventfully―he had given a particularly troublesome student named Garble detention for the third time that week―but after first period classes were over, Sable got an unexpected visitor in the form of Red Horse.

The orange-haired woman was short and stocky, and had been a USAF engineer before getting her job as the Blanks’ shop class teacher. Despite being a general hardass (a necessity at the Blanks) she was probably one of the most invested teachers at this school, and it showed. More than a few of even the most troubled students at the Blanks had grown comfortable enough to confide in her.

“Hey Sable, got a sec?” Red Horse asked.

“Sure. What’s on your mind, Red?”

Sable could see the look of open concern in her eyes as she asked, “You haven’t seen Tirespin at all today, have you?”

Clearing his throat, Sable asked in turn, “Why are you asking me? She’s not in any of my classes.”

Red Horse glanced out towards the hallway before saying, “Look, she told me how she feels about you. And before you ask, no, I didn’t say anything to anyone about it because I know you’re an honorable man who would never take her up on any offer she’d give you.”

“You’re damn right.”

“Yeah,” Red Horse said, a blush creeping onto her face as she said. “Plus, I may have been creeping on some of the photos on your girlfriend’s social media pages, and hoo boy you’d need to be a goddamn supermodel to be able to compete with that! Uh… any chance she’d be into women, by the by? Because if things don’t happen to work out between you two….”

Sable folded his arms. Despite her many virtues, Red Horse had her vices; she was probably more of a womanizer than most men Sable knew.

“How about you just focus on what you came here to ask me about?” Sable suggested.

“Right. Thing is, Tirespin didn’t show up to my shop class this morning. That’s never happened before.”

“Hmm… I’m pretty sure I got a glimpse of her when I arrived this morning.”

The worry in Red Horse’s voice was palpable as she asked, “And did she seem… upset when you saw her?”

“Upset?” The image of a coy grin and a hand on a breast flashed in Sable’s mind. “No, can’t say she looked upset. Why?”

“Well, I passed her in the hall as I was heading to the shop classroom,” Red Horse said. “It looked like she was crying.”

As the clock drew closer to noon, Troubleshoes found himself looking forward to his lunch with the ex-Ranger Sable Loam. Having finished all the bodywork he’d wanted to do that morning early, Troubleshoes had taken one of the cookies from the front desk (they were still good, despite being colder and harder than they were yesterday when they were fresh) and gone to the back office. There he went about the tedious and more often than not depressing task of managing his business finances.

It wasn’t always down to just him to work the finances. His mother, Down Luck, used to help him with a lot of it, just like she’d done for his father, Hard Luck, before he’d passed away. But his mother wasn’t as sharp as she used to be. It wasn’t that she had full on Alzheimer's (not yet anyway), but she’d been forgetting more and more over the last year, and with all she was doing to help Tirespin, Troubleshoes had decided the family business’s finances could be one less burden for her.

They were tight, as they were every year, but multiple breakdowns of equipment along with severe water damage from the freak tropical storm that had come through during the summer had eaten significantly into his budget. He wasn’t sure how he would keep in business without either taking out a loan, or selling the business. Neither option was particularly good: the money-lending in this town was a goddamn extortion racket, and selling Hard Luck Towing was a temporary solution at best. His humble family business wasn’t exactly going to sell for much, not here in Sunnytown, anyway; plus, there was no guarantee he would be lucky enough to find another job that would pay well enough to support himself, his daughter, and her daughter.

His granddaughter. Now there was a thought that Troubleshoes still had to get used to.

All things considered, Troubleshoes wasn’t exactly unhappy to have a granddaughter. Yes, he wasn’t happy with how careless his daughter had been, and the two of them had had plenty of fights on the subject, but it wasn’t all bad. Little Cinnamon Breeze was almost the cutest little thing he’d ever seen: the only thing rivaling her being Tirespin herself when she was a baby, innocent and perfect. Too bad they don’t stay that way forever.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the bell at the front desk, and looking at the clock, Troubleshoes figured it was probably the customer whose red Plymouth was ready for pickup that morning. So, putting on his “friendly mechanic face”, Troubleshoes went out to greet him.

The friendly mechanic disappeared when Troubleshoes got out and saw that the man waiting for him wasn’t the customer he was expecting, but a familiar sadistic face behind a pair of dark shades. Withers smiled at him as he took a bite of one of his mother’s cookies, which bothered Troubleshoes more than it should have.

“Hey there, Big T,” Withers greeted around a mouthful of cookie, before moaning almost orgasmically. “Mmm, this is some good shit.” He took another bite, not bothering to finish chewing before speaking. “My compliments to the chef.”

Troubleshoes saw the intimidation tactic for what it was, and was having none of it. “What do you want, Withers?” Curiously, Troubleshoes didn’t see Biff with him.

Withers finally swallowed the cookie in his mouth. “Oh, just checkin’ on how our car is doing.”

“It’s barely been a day, Withers. I haven’t even had time to order the replacement parts.”

“It’s not your productivity I’m concerned about, Big T,” Withers said, somehow making his shit-eating grin actually look serious. “It’s your discretion.”

Troubleshoes furrowed his brow, and seeing his apparent confusion, Withers reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tablet. With a few taps he pulled up a somewhat grainy photo and showed it to Troubleshoes. Immediately Troubleshoes recognized the lot of Hard Luck Towing, and spotted the SUV Withers and Biff had dropped off the day before. But Withers pointed a finger at the familiar man in the picture who seemed to be studying the bullet-riddled side of the SUV with interest.

“Who’s he?” Withers asked, calmly studying Troubleshoes from behind those dark sunglasses.

Troubleshoes just glared at him. “You been spying on me?”

“You’re under surveillance, yes. Sorry, Bloodhound’s orders.” Withers chewed his lip in a salacious manner. “Well, that and I like watching you work.”

Troubleshoes reflexively cracked his knuckles as Withers continued, gesturing again to the man in the picture. “Now, about this fine specimen. He’s not really my type, but he sure looks fit, huh?” Withers gave him a significant look. “Almost military fit, wouldn’t you say?”

The only thing Troubleshoes gave him was a harder glare.

“So I’ll ask again: who is he?” Withers asked, almost jealously.

“A customer,” Troubleshoes answered, perhaps a little harshly, but he didn’t care. “And yes, he’s ex-military but he’s not a threat to you. Guy’s a teacher at a goddamn high school, for Christ’s sake!”

Withers raised his hands defensively, but still smiled that slimy smile. “Whoa, lay off the throttle a little, Big T. Just lookin’ out for your safety is all! Wouldn’t wanna lead any of the people we pissed off to you, after all!”

“If you want to do me a favor, take the veiled threats and creepy attitude and leave me to work on your damn vehicle!”

“Oof. I’m picking up a lotta hostility from you, Big T.” Withers frowned and tilted his head like a confused puppy. “You don’t like me, do you?”

Troubleshoes folded his arms and said, “Pssh, picked up on that, did you?”

“Why not?” Withers asked, leaning casually on the counter and licking his lips. “I like you.”

“You really want to know why I don’t like you?” Troubleshoes asked, stepping around the counter so he was fronting on the shorter man. “Because I knew plenty of punks like you when I was training as a SEAL. Thought they were such hot shit. Couldn’t wait to put some bullets into ‘those Muslim towelheads’, quote-unquote. You know what happened to them? They couldn’t make the cut. Didn’t have what it took to even survive training, much less make it to BUD/S.

“Not like me. I passed with flying fucking colors and have done shit that our government likely won’t let me talk about for as long as I live.” Troubleshoes then jabbed a large finger into Withers’s chest. “So you get the fuck out of my shop, and you tell the Bloodhound that if he wants to intimidate me, send someone with an actual bite to go along with all the barking!”

For a moment, Troubleshoes could see over the top of Withers’s shades and saw a look of genuine fury in his eyes so psychotic that Troubleshoes adjusted his stance ever so slightly, just in case. Instead, the much more familiar cocky smile formed on Withers’s face as quickly as if a switch had been flipped, and something about that was even more disturbing.

“Alright. I see how it is,” Withers said, taking a step back towards the door. “Seems to me that if we’re going to have a successful working relationship, I’m going to have to teach you some lessons in respect!”

“I’m about to teach you a lesson right now unless you get the fuck out.”

“And I will. But I want you to keep a close eye out for my first lesson.” Withers grinned as he opened the door. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Before Sable Loam knew it, lunch period had arrived, and he went out to the curb where Troubleshoes was to pick him up for their lunch. He wasn’t alone. A particularly troublesome pest called Tirespin had stalked him through the halls and outside. Likely she thought herself unseen by the man, but Sable had enough experience to know when he was being followed.

“Have something you want to say, Tirespin?” he asked without even looking back at her.

His well-trained ears detected a slight hesitation in her footsteps before she answered, “Oh I have a few things I wanna say, teach!” Tirespin walked around the larger man so she was standing in front of him, and glared at him with such fury in her eyes Sable almost couldn’t see the pain buried there. Almost. “The first of which is you’re a fucking bastard piece of shit!”

Sable let out a patient breath. “Okay. And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

With a bitterly disdainful “pfft,” Tirespin said, “As if you don’t know. What kind of man just leads a girl on only to break her heart like that?!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tirespin pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I saw you making out with that woman who dropped you off this morning!”

“You mean my girlfriend?” Sable calmly asked, his blaise attitude seeming to make Tirespin even angrier. “The girlfriend I told you about when you made your first inappropriate pass at me?”

Tirespin fumed for another moment when she finally latched onto the inconsistency she believed would give her the upper hand.

“I thought you said she was your fiancèe?”

Well, she’s got me there, Sable thought before saying, “We’re serious enough that she may as well be. It’s only a matter of time before one of us pops the question.” Sable elected not to mention exactly how much time that would be, however.

“I can’t believe I thought I had a chance with you!” Tirespin exclaimed.

“You have no one to blame for that but yourself.”

With a petulant stomp, Tirespin cried, “Ugh, you are such an asshole! You and that pastel-haired bimbo! How many other guys you think she’s bending over for other than you? Girl like that probably gets plenty on the side!”

Sable folded his arms, bringing out the stern glare of the hardass teacher. “Tirespin, all things considered I have been exceptionally patient with your antics these past few days,” Sable said, his voice taking a dark tone that made whatever Tirespin was about to say next die in her throat. “But even my patience has its limits, and I’m very close to reaching those limits now.” Sable held up a finger. “One more piece of attitude from you and you’ll be having a nice long chat with the principal.”

For a moment, Tirespin seemed unsure of what to say next, and for a brief moment Sable thought the matter was settled.

“Good!” Tirespin exclaimed, trying to maintain some of her cool. “Maybe I’ll tell him all about our loving relationship. Let him know how you bent me over your desk and plowed me like an animal!”

“I really hope you’re not trying to blackmail me, Tirespin,” Sable said, his hard glare unflinching. “You should know from experience, that would only end in your expulsion from this school.”

The E-word made Tirespin momentarily go pale, but she pressed on, though less surely than before. “It’d be my word against yours.”

“And Sombra has known me for years. He also knows an incident just like this is what got you sent here in the first place.” Sable’s look finally softened as he said, “C’mon Tires. Way I hear it you were on the path to making a better life for yourself. Don’t make the same mistakes again.” He then added for good measure, “Think of your daughter.”

What was left of the calculating seductress Sable had seen over the past few days had completely evaporated. In her place was something vastly different and far more honest: a child throwing a tantrum.

“And what the fuck do you know about that, huh?! Nothing! You’re just another old fuck who thinks he knows what’s best for me when he can’t even get his own life together!” Tirespin raised a middle finger which Sable noticed was shaking. “Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!”

“TIRES!” A booming voice called out. Both Sable and Tirespin turned to see the towering figure of Troubleshoes get out of a simple sedan without turning off the engine.

“The hell are you doing here?” Tirespin said in a tone of icy disdain far more vitriolic—far more familiar—than the pained rage she’d been hurling at Sable.

“What am I doing here?!” Troubleshoes asked, stomping forward and grabbing the girl by the arm. “What are you doing here? Because it looks to me like you were cussing out one of your teachers!”

“It’s none of your Goddamn business.”

“Like hell it is!” Troubleshoes exclaimed, shaking her a little before letting go. “I didn’t raise you to act out like this!”

“You’re right—you barely raised me at all!”

Sable could only step back and watch as this verbal sparring match between apparent father and daughter unfolded. And doesn’t that just explain a few things?

“How would you like to be grounded, young lady?” Troubleshoes said.

Tirespin just waved a hand dismissively. “Sorry, you gotta be an actual parent to me to do that!”

The barb clearly stung, but Troubleshoes did a damn good job at not letting it show. “Think about how disappointed Gram-Gram would be at your behavior. She really believes you’ve turned your life around, Tires.”

Some of the wind went out of the girl’s sails at that, and Sable decided to interject with what he hoped would put an end to the confrontation.

“I’m going to have a little talk with Principal Sombra after classes today about your future at this school,” he said sternly. “If I were you, I’d be on my best behavior from now on.”

The thought of actually getting expelled seemed to deflate her all the more, and Tirespin looked between the two authority figures flanking her both verbally and physically. “Fine,” she finally said, barely above a whisper. Sparing one final stinkeye at her father, Tirespin turned and trudged back toward the school, fully looking the part of the dejected child she really was.

Sable looked over at Troubleshoes, who watched her go with sad eyes and an unguarded frown. “Sorry about her,” he said. “She hasn’t been causing you too much trouble, has she?”

“She’s far from the worst troublemaker at this school,” Sable said diplomatically.

Troubleshoes nodded. “Fair enough. Wanna get going?”

Sable affirmed that he did, and the two of them climbed into Troubleshoes’s brown sedan. Apparently a Cadillac dating back to the 80s, the vehicle looked old but was very functional, and the gray seats were surprisingly soft. As they pulled away from the curb, Sable thought to ask, “So, has your daughter always been this… volatile?”

“No, she really only started around when I got out,” Troubleshoes explained. “Truth be told, part of me thinks she has every right to hate me.”

“Don’t see how that could be true. Seems like you love her very much, in spite of how she’s been acting.”

“Remember when I told you I don’t drink?” Troubleshoes asked, and Sable nodded. “Didn’t always used to be that way.”

Troubleshoes said nothing more, and that was fine by Sable. He briefly entertained the idea of asking where the mother was in all of this, but ultimately decided not to pry. Besides, the context clues alone told Sable all he needed to know.

It was a few minutes later when they pulled into the modest little parking lot of Windmills Diner and Bakery.

“Huh…” Troubleshoes said as he looked up at the replica of an old Dutch windmill built on top of what was otherwise a normal looking diner.

“Yeah, apparently it’s a retraux of an old restaurant chain that went bankrupt in the seventies,” Sable explained as the two of them got out of the car.

“Interesting,” Troubleshoes said, before grinning. “Did Don Quixote put them out of business?”

That got a laugh out of Sable and the two of them headed inside. After sitting down at a table and getting their menus, Troubleshoes asked Sable if he had any good stories from Afghanistan. The image of a child’s body briefly flashed through Sable’s mind before he pushed it out. He decided to go for something considerably less maudlin.

“Well, let’s see… oh!” Sable chuckled at the memory before sharing it. “Early in my career I was in Baghdad. We were on maneuvers going through the desert, and I was riding in the back of a BFV. Less than forty minutes away from base, we crested a hill and I hear the TC say, ‘Look out for that…’ WHUMP!” Sable slammed the table before continuing as the TC, “‘Ah, never mind….’”

“Oh no…” Troubleshoes muttered.

“Turns out there was a nomad walking down the road, and we’d just steamrolled several of his goats. I hear the driver ask, ‘Should we stop?’ and the TC replies in the most exasperated tone, ‘Just keep going.’”

“Jesus,” Troubleshoes said with a chuckle.

“Oh, the vehicle was a goddamn mess. The front and sides were painted red, and guess which rookie had to clean it?”

With another laugh, Troubleshoes said, “That’s pretty funny.”

“I sure didn’t think so at the time,” Sable chuckled. “How about you? Navy SEAL. Must have something interesting that isn’t classified.”

“Actually, I do have one that’s pretty good, so long as you don’t mind it being a little raunchy,” Troubleshoes said. Sable gave him a deadpan look that said he was far from minding, and Troubleshoes began.

“Also early in my career, a buddy and I were on leave in Turkey―keep in mind this is back when the country was not nearly as radicalized as it is now. Anyway, we’d been in the hump for months, so the first thing we wanted to do was go somewhere to get some decent beers, chow, and sleep.”

“Of course,” Sable said with an understanding nod.

“We talked to some of the guys at the local USAF base―I think it was Agana? It’s been a while, I can’t remember. Anyway, we get recommended a good bar and restaurant and head straight over there. Now, what the guys didn’t tell us was that this place had a reputation: namely, that it was a popular spot for us enlisted men because the waitresses were all desperately broke, horny Turkish college girls on the hunt for an American boyfriend. My friend and I figured that out the moment we walked in, when half a dozen hungry eyes immediately zeroed in on us. What was more, the restaurant was completely dead. We were probably the first customers they had in hours.”

Sable chuckled, having a pretty good idea where this story was going.

“So we sit down, order some steaks, and the girls immediately got to work trying their damndest to get me and my friend’s attention. Now, I was engaged to my fiancèe back home at the time, and made damn sure they knew it. Naturally, that meant their attention immediately focused on my very single friend. And when I say attention, I mean hard core attention.

“These girls are all over him. Climbing onto his lap, fondling themselves, opening their tops. One even climbed onto the goddamn table we were eating off of to pose for the guy, who for his part was just trying to have his surf and turf.”

“You’re shitting me,” Sable said in disbelief.

Troubleshoes chuckled. “I swear, I would have thought I was watching a bad porno if it weren’t for the fact that this was literally happening in front of me. Every girl in that bar was doing everything to get my friend’s attention… except for one, who just kept to herself by the bar. Well, when it came time to leave, my friend decided he was gonna take one of these girls home with him. So he walks past the half-dozen girls with their tits out and asks the one by herself at the bar… and she says yes.

“The other girls are furious. They’ve put in all this work to get his attention and the one girl who barely does anything gets picked. I ask him as we’re leaving ‘Why her?’ and he tells me, ‘She’s the only one who let me eat my fucking dinner in peace.’”

Sable burst out laughing, and Troubleshoes couldn’t help but join in despite having clearly told the story countless times before. The two men suddenly heard someone clearing their throat, and turned to see their waitress standing there with their meals. The round older woman placed their plates on the table with a look that was decidedly less friendly than the one she gave them when they first came in, and Sable wondered how much of the story she’d heard.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, clearing his own throat as the woman sighed. It then occurred to him that the accent she’d spoken with when taking their orders had sounded vaguely Turkish.

“I don’t think she liked my story,” Troubleshoes said when she was gone, and before he knew it they were laughing again.

The two of them dug into their food and ate in companionable silence for a bit, but Sable’s mind kept racing. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like he needed more information on the man sitting across the table from him.

“So, what was your rank?” he asked.

Troubleshoes swallowed a bite of steak before answering, “Chief petty officer. Army equivalent’s sergeant first class.”

“I’m familiar with what a CPO does,” Sable said. Indeed, for some reason he felt like he recently had a conversation about it. “Have to say, you don’t strike me as much of a hardass.” Even when he was chewing out Tirespin earlier, Troubleshoes had been calm and level-headed.

With a smile, Troubleshoes said, “Well, neither did that old TV painter—what was his name? Used to have that show on PBS?”

“Happy Tree?”

“Right. Point is, people can surprise you.” Troubleshoes shrugged. “Besides, there’s more to being a good chief than just yelling your troops into submission.” Curiously, Troubleshoes then gave a distasteful frown. “Not that the current Mess knows anything about that.”

“Oh?”

With another shrug, Troubleshoes just said, “Forget it, man. You don’t want to hear me get into it.”

“Actually, I kind of do.”

“Well the thing is, the culture surrounding the Mess has changed,” Troubleshoes said. “Fact is, most chiefs now don’t do their jobs right, and that creates trust issues with the sailors under them. I don’t know what it is. These days chiefs either become too enamored with the perks of the job, or too focused on forwarding their own careers, that they don’t do the one thing they’re really there to do: lift up and be there for their sailors.

“Hell, I was just reading an article the other day on Navy Times that talked about how the number of suicides have increased in the Navy over the last few years. Apparently nine sailors committed suicide last month, and the first question that came to my mind when I read that was ‘Where the hell was their chief?’ I know that every problem a sailor might have can’t be solved by the Goat Locker, but I can’t help but wonder how many of those sailors didn’t feel like they could go to the men and women who could have helped them the most.”

Sable nodded along, his respect for the huge man across from him growing with every word. “It’s good that you care so much.”

“I feel like anything less would have been an insult to my own Chief back when I was still a screamin’ seaman, visiting crazy Turkish restaurants,” Troubleshoes said with a single laugh. “My Chief was the reason I chose that direction for myself. As much of a hardass as she was, I always knew I could go to her whenever I had some problem keeping me from being at my best.

“When I got a chance to talk to her after I got my crow, she told me that sailors, when led well, won’t feel like they’ve been hired or gained… they’ll feel like they’ve been adopted.”

With a smile and an image of three certain girls in his mind, Sable said, “Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean. Lately I’ve become a sort of mentor to some… former special forces. They’ve been through a lot, and helping guide them toward being the best version of themselves has been… well, it’s one of the most rewarding things I think I’ve ever done.”

Then Troubleshoes said something that surprised Sable. “It’s funny, something about you reminds me of her a bit. I think Chief Tumblehome would like you if you ever met.”

Sable smiled. “That sounds like high praise.”

After a while of eating and making more small talk, Sable and Troubleshoes got the bill and started heading out.

“I have to say, this has been fun,” said Troubleshoes. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Absolutely,” Sable replied, realizing just then why this lunch seemed so inexplicably important.

Because it wasn’t just a lunch... it was a job interview. And as far as Sable was concerned, Troubleshoes passed with flying colors.

It had been three days since Tirespin’s heart had been broken. Three days since the man she thought would make her happy took that beautiful potential and squashed it beneath his boot. Whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking liar. Three days later the wound still felt as raw as when it first happened. Hell, nine months later and the pain of Cinnamon’s father disappearing from her life was still the exact same.

Fucking Sable Loam, turning me down like some cheap whore barely worth his time, Tirespin thought bitterly as she trudged down the street on her way home. It was raining, and Tirespin was getting soaked, but she was still too angry to give a damn.

But even as she focused all her hate on Sable, the little voice in the back of her head—Tirespin had always called it her Inner Critic—saw fit to remind her as it always did, But you are a cheap whore, Tires. How else do you think you ended up a mother at sixteen?

Tirespin did what she always did whenever the Inner Critic came calling: pushed it deep down and tried to think about something else. Like her father, for instance. The deadbeat actually had the nerve to just show up out of nowhere to tell her how to live her life! Tirespin took some of her anger out on a piece of refuse lying on the sidewalk—a fitting substitute for her father, really. After all, the man barely even talked to her in their daily life, and he chooses that moment to come in and try to be a father to her?

He barely talks to you because you’re barely home anymore, the Critic chimed in. You’ve been spending your nights either at Gram-Gram’s or with one of your friends.

Well… he could at least call! Tirespin rationalized before the Critic replied, You blocked his number because you were sick of him checking in on you. Worrying about where you are and what you’re doing. Because what kind of terrible parent does that?

Tirespin kicked the empty can again, much harder than she had before. But this time it wasn’t Troubleshoes she imagined felt her wrath. It was the worthless, teary-eyed idiot looking back up at her from the reflection of the puddle in the gutter. Right where she belongs, the Critic said.

Quickly averting her eyes from the pathetic face in the water, Tirespin looked up to see a somewhat unsettling sight: a group of three young men were walking down the sidewalk towards her a good distance away. Gold chains hung around their necks and baggy clothing hung limply around them.

Tirespin looked around uneasily: the rest of the street was barren. Gangbangers were pretty common in Sunnytown, and typically they wouldn’t bother you unless you gave them a reason to, but something about this trio she couldn’t quite put her finger on made Tirespin uneasy. Maybe it was the way they all had their hoods up. Of course, it is raining, but still….

So she crossed the street as casually as she could, trying to make it look like she just wanted to throw something into the trash bin on the other sidewalk. To her dismay, the trio of gangbangers mirrored her move, crossing over to the same side. Tirespin nonchalantly reached into her purse and felt around for her pepper spray.

“‘Ey girl, why you look so down?” one of them said as they approached. “I bet you got a pretty smile.”

“I don’t have any money,” Tirespin said as she kept walking past them. At least, that was what she tried to do. Instead, another one of them cut her off.

“Bitch, do we look broke to you?” he asked in a distinctly cholo accent.

Tirespin turned to try to go back the way she came, but the third Gangbanger—a big white guy who looked a little slow—was standing in her way. Heart beating faster, Tirespin backed up against the front of a boarded up storefront—plenty of those around—and looked at the hateful, leering faces of the young men who had her effectively boxed in.

“The hell do you want?” she asked, by some miracle keeping her voice steady.

The first one took a step towards her, and Tirespin felt the walls closing in. “I told you,” he said as he reached up and brushed aside some of her hair slowly, almost tenderly. “I just want to see your smile.”

The man’s hand started to venture from her face to someplace lower, and that was when Tirespin decided she needed to get out of there. So she slapped aside the man’s wandering hand and brought her pepper spray to bear. The man let out a surprised scream of pain and fury as he retreated back, his wandering hand now groping for his eyes.

“YOU BITCH!” he roared, but Tirespin was already running past him as fast as she could.

She heard the footsteps of the other two right behind her, so Tirespin pushed herself to run faster. Her chest was already burning, but she didn’t have far to run. Around the corner was a street that usually always had foot traffic even in weather like this. Someone there would help her if she could make it.

But she didn’t. She felt hands grab her from behind and before she knew it, she and her assailant went down hard. Tirespin rolled onto her back and tried to use her pepper spray again, but the apparently not-so-slow white guy grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground. Tirespin tried to kick him off but the cholo grabbed her legs.

Tirespin desperately struggled and thrashed, any further plans of escape buried by the sheer terror building to a crescendo, which came out in a terrified scream. A hand shot to her mouth, and terror gave way to despair when she saw the man with the wandering hand staggering towards her, struggling to see through teary red eyes. He nonetheless was focused in her direction with terrible anger.

“Shoulda just smiled for me, bitch,” he said as he reached into his pocket for what Tirespin could only assume was a switchblade.

Whatever it was, he never had a chance to get it out. The sound of squealing tires suddenly filled the air and before Tirespin knew it a familiar sedan plowed into the man with the wandering hand, sending him flying a respectable distance. The door to the car opened and out of it stepped the hulking form of Troubleshoes Clyde.

“You pieces of shit get the hell off my daughter!” he said with frighteningly calm fury.

“Oh shit!” the Chicano exclaimed as he and his actually pretty fast white friend took off running.

Troubleshoes’s vision was a cloud of red as he chased the two young punks down; his mind a laser focus. Nothing else mattered at that moment other then beating those bastards senseless. The two were fast and agile, nimbly turning down a nearby alley and knocking over a bunch of garbage cans in a desperate effort to slow him down. But Troubleshoes was like the Terminator, single-minded and relentless.

The pair of thugs reached a chain-link fence at the other end of the alley leading out to another street. The fast white one clambered over it like a possessed monkey, but the Latino kid was just barely too slow. Troubleshoes grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and pulled him screaming to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” the thug pleaded.

“Oh, you’re gonna be in a minute.” Troubleshoes crouched over him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stomp your sorry ass.”

“It wasn’t our idea! I swear!” the thug insisted, his pupils tiny. “Some guy paid us to do it! Paid us good money to rough her up a little, but we didn’t know….”

Troubleshoes slammed a fist into his face hard. “Didn’t know what? That she was somebody’s daughter?”

All the young gangbanger could muster was another feeble, “I’m sorry…” through bloody lips.

“Now who was this guy? He have a name?”

But the gangbanger could only look at him with wide, scared eyes. “I don’t know!”

Troubleshoes hit him again. “What’d he look like??”

The gangbanger sobbed, “I don’t know!”

Internally, Troubleshoes felt just as scared as the pathetic asshole beneath him, but his face betrayed nothing. Tirespin, what the fuck have you gotten yourself involved with?

Troubleshoes grabbed the gangbanger by the sweater and shook him violently. “You’d better know something and fast, or I’m gonna kill you right fucking here!”

“H-he… my man Ring Finger asked him why we were doin’ this, and the guy said i-it was a lesson for somebody else, that’s all I can remember!”

It was then that Troubleshoes remembered the words, I want you to keep an eye out for my first lesson. You’ll know it when you see it. He remembered the smirking face that had spoken those words: the cold eyes of a psychopath hiding behind a pair of shades. Troubleshoes’s face went pale when he realized it wasn’t Tirespin’s life that was coming after her… it was his.

“Dad?” A timid, trembling voice cleared the haze of red in Troubleshoes’s vision, and the big man looked up to see Tirespin standing there, staring fearfully at him as she hugged herself, shivering.

The bloody ruin of a gangbanger on the ground was forgotten in an instant, and Troubleshoes immediately went to embrace his daughter. “Oh Tires, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Tirespin gave a shaky nod and said, “Yeah…. We should go.”

She gestured behind him, and Troubleshoes turned to look. A small crowd had gathered on the street on the other side of the fence that Dumb and Dumber had tried to escape over. Many of the curious onlookers had their phones out, and were holding them up in a way that made Troubleshoes realize he was likely to be the star of the next viral video.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Troubleshoes put his arm around his daughter and together the two of them made their way back through the alleyway to the street where Troubleshoes’s car was still idling.

Mr. Wandering Hand had managed to crawl over to the sidewalk and was doubled over in pain. “My leg… you broke my fucking leg….”

“Be thankful I didn’t break more than that,” Troubleshoes warned as he and Tirespin got into his car.

The two of them were quiet as they drove off, the sound of rain and police sirens prevailing. After a few minutes, Tirespin said, still shaking, “S-so… not that I’m ungrateful, but… what are you doing here?”

“I was on my way to pick you up from school,” Troubleshoes said. “It’s a miserable day.”

“Yeah. You got that right.” A few more minutes of silence went by before Tirespin asked, “So, what was that guy talking about?” She looked up at him, and the fear in her eyes was heartbreaking. “Who paid them to come after me?”

Author's Note:

The stories that Sable and Troubleshoes tell each other over lunch are based on true stories (with the names and countries they took place in obviously changed).

As always, don't forget to make sweet tender love to the TvTropes page

Comments

[RolkFlameraven]

I am looking forward to Tirespin meeting the triplets.

I'm also looking forward to the triplets getting to know Withers as well, but for very different reasons.

[WhitewolfStormrunner]

9974353 That makes two of us, but more so on the latter one.

Withers is gonna be... well, bucked... when that happens.