Parts of the Family

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jwhouk
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Parts of the Family

Post by jwhouk »

PARTS OF THE FAMILY
A Wapsi Square Fan Fiction by Joseph Houk

The NAPA parts delivery guy had finally shown up with the front A-frames for that '03 Buick front suspension. Unfortunately, that was the only thing that was going right for Brian so far today.

He signed for the parts with a sigh. He was still waiting on some tires from his other supplier, and fresh tanks for the arc welders hadn't come in yet, either.

It was getting tougher and tougher to be in the auto repair business. The technology it took to fix cars nowadays was getting more and more complicated.

Not that he didn't relish the challenge, of course. He'd always loved to tinker with things. He shocked his dad when, at age 6, he had completely disassembled his tricycle. Of course, it took him a while to get it rebuilt, but that was part of the challenge.

His shop wasn't all that big – only seven other employees, and himself. One of those was his middle son, Peter – and last he'd seen him, he was in the supply room.

"Pete!" he called out, poking his head into the room, the walls lined with various replacement parts. "That Buick suspension part just arrived!"

"Be right out," came the response from behind a stack of boxes. "Trying to find that spare flint for the torch lighter."

"Marcus might have one," he told him. "I think he's almost done with that fender replacement on that VW." He peeked around the boxes, seeing his son closing a drawer on a storage cabinet.

"Hope he has one, dad," Peter turned. "If not, it might not matter that we have that suspension part. I'm going to need to do some spot welding to get the mounts in place."

"Wonderful," he said with an eye roll. His son whizzed by him to get out to the main shop.

Brian turned and went into his office, just outside the entrance to the parts supply room. They had seen a slew of suspension repairs – surprise, surprise, this was Minnesota in the springtime. The particularly harsh winter they'd seen in the Twin Cities had made the roadways a pothole-filled adventure. As a result, people were coming in with all sorts of suspension issues.

That made him think for a moment. That PT Cruiser needed a new sway arm, and he was damned if he'd ever seen a crack in one of those like he'd seen with that car. The older lady – Mitchell, was it? – claimed she had hit a chunk of pavement from the edge of an overpass in Eden Prairie. Whatever it was, it had basically split her car's rear frame. How she managed to drive it after that was nothing short of amazing.

He looked on his desk. The work order had been on his desk that morning.

"Great," he said to himself. "One more thing I don't have time for." He started searching his desk top for the invoice. Shuffling papers, he didn't see it.

An envelope caught his eye. It was addressed simply, "Daddy". The handwriting, he recognized – it was his only daughter's writing. Shelly was the only one who called him that in their family. He flipped it over – he'd never opened it for some reason.

With a shrug, he grabbed a letter opener from the top drawer of the desk, and slit the envelope open. Inside was a card – some goofy little drawing, typical of Shel. The inside was blank – except for a hand-written note from her:

Daddy,

Sorry I haven't been by to see how things have been as of late. I've had to deal with some life changes – no, I'm not pregnant.  Just some work-related things.
I've done some searching into our family tree, and I think I may have found a distant cousin of ours, who runs a coffee shop over on Franklin. Does the name "Aldaco-Guzman" jog any memories at all?


Brian thought for a moment. He couldn't recall anyone on his side of the family with that surname. He wasn't even going to start guessing with B's side. Beatrice had always explained that she came from a very long and complicated lineage.

If not, I understand. She's apparently related to mom on her dad's side – which isn't necessarily a good thing. Something about a witness protection program.
Anyways, I did some research about Grandma Phyllis. She's a real bookworm, from the sounds of it. I found some records from the old Abbot Hospital on Stevens. They never said where she was buried, though the death records do state the obvious.


The obvious, of course, was that his mother died giving birth to him. He never knew his mom – sadly. His dad was always tight-lipped about it, something he never talked about with him or his step-brothers back when they were living in Brainerd.

They'd moved to Minneapolis when he was about five – the tricycle had been a gift for his sixth birthday, his first in the big city. Dad was stoic about the whole disassembly. Mom was a bit more angry about the whole thing, but Dad had placated her.

That was the first time the two of them had worked together on rebuilding something. The very idea of working together to fix things was how he got the idea to start a repair shop in the first place.

He turned back to the card:

Anyways, I miss working with you and Pete at the shop. Sometime soon, I've got to bring Justin over to meet you guys. He's that police officer I told you about – great head on his shoulders, and he puts up with ME, which is a plus. ;)
Oh, and I think I found a repair manual for that old Indian you've been meaning to get running. I'll drop it off when I can get a copy for you.
Love,
Shellybean


Under that toughened exterior was a wonderful woman, he thought. He shrugged with a laugh. Don't know where she gets that from, though.

Brian put the card down, and noticed that the invoice he'd been looking for was underneath where the card had been. Typical.

The rest of the day went a bit smoother – the tanks had come in, as had the tires he'd been waiting for seemingly forever. On top of that, they'd found an intact complete rear suspension for a PT at a local scrapyard.

When he finally shut off the shop lights for the weekend, he went back into his office and picked up the card again. He had a thought, pulling out the top drawer of his desk. There, under a pile of receipts and old business cards, was a photo.

He had more hair back then, and Bea had that beautiful long hair of hers. He'd always called her "my princess", and she loved him for it. Had it really been nearly 35 years since they'd been married?

The sound of a horn honking brought him back to reality. He put the photo back in his desk and got up to see what was going on in the shop.

All work in the shop had stopped for the moment, as a Minneapolis Police Department cruiser had pulled in to one of the service bays. A short-haired, bespectacled cop was talking to Peter.

Normally, something like this would have worried him, because Peter was occasionally known to play fast and loose with parking signs – and speed limits, for that matter. However, this officer looked familiar. The wave he received from him confirmed his suspicions.

This was Shelly's boyfriend.

"Justin… Epimetius, I believe?" he said, walking up next to his son.

"It's 'Epimethus', and yes," he nodded back to Brian. "You must be Shelly's dad."

"Yeah, and I'm the older brother she warned you about," Peter chuckled. "Some idiot cracked his side view mirror while he was responding to a call. They sent him over to us because we had the part on hand." He looked at Justin. "Conveniently."

"Conveniently," Justin gave him a side-long glance. "My sergeant likes to play 'setup' with me sometimes." Brian raised an eyebrow at that. "It's a long story."

"Anyways," Peter looked down at the invoice clipboard. "We do have a replacement mirror in stock. We can get that on for you quick." He tore off a copy of the invoice, handed it to his father, and headed off. "I'll go get that started."

Brian was left looking at his son, then down at the invoice, then up at the officer.

"So you were talking about feeling 'set up' at times," he said.

"Right. It was kinda how Shel and I met."

"Well, I have some time to hear about this, if you care to share," Brian motioned towards his office.

"One second," he said. He keyed the portable microphone on his radio. "482-bravo 21-niner, be advised, unit is 10-7 at 3802 Lyndale South."

A moment later: Copy 482-bravo, 21-niner clear.

"Okay, I'm good for a bit," he said, following the older man to the back room.

There, he related to Brian about the kick-boxing class, and how she just so happened to see him directing traffic at the HolliDazzle parade a few years ago. His sergeant played along with Shelly over a made-up call regarding her old gas grill.

"We've been seeing each other since," he ended the story with a shrug. "I still stop by her studio to get in a workout after my shift, and we go to dinner. Usually, I'm too tired to do anything else, though…"

"Son, I'm not naïve," Brian dismissed the cop's reluctance with a wave. "Shelly's an adult, I know she's not a virgin. Although I will admit, I didn't think she'd ever go for a police officer." He considered for a moment. "Of course, I don't think I really know what she would go for."

"She can be a bit complicated, that's true," Justin acknowledged.

The two of them talked for a while about their lives – Justin had been on the Minneapolis Police force for about seven years now, and he couldn't complain much about the job. Brian related how he'd been running the shop now for about 25 years.

"I couldn't support three boys and a girl delivering parts in a small place like Brainerd. We moved down here, I got a lead on the service manager position, and a few years later the owner was looking to sell." He shrugged. "I just happened to have some cash left from Beatrice's estate to allow me to buy it, and I've somehow avoided complete financial ruin." Justin smiled at the statement.

"Sounds like you've done more than avoid it," he said. Just then, Peter came to the door.

"The mirror's been replaced, Justin. We'll bill the MPD through our contracting process. You're all set."

"Thanks much," he said, rising. "Oh, before I go, I have something for you, sir," he pointed over to Mr. Wahnee. Brian followed him back into the shop, and over to the cruiser. Justin reached into his car and pulled out a book. "Shelly told me to drop this off for you."

It was the Indian Motorcycle maintenance manual that Shelly had mentioned in her card.

"How in the heck did she manage to get a hold of one of these?"

"She knows someone," Justin said with a smile. "Enjoy."

Brian was still looking at the book, incredulous, as the police cruiser pulled out of the shop.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
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Dave
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Re: Parts of the Family

Post by Dave »

I continue to be amazed at the creative talent that shows up, hereabouts.

Youse guys are amazing.
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Sgt. Howard
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Re: Parts of the Family

Post by Sgt. Howard »

... wow... beautifully done... a full credit to fleshing out the wapsi experience. I just finished reading this to Annie- she is equally impressed.

... old Indian manual... my grandfather taught me to ride on one. He bought it surplus right after WWII- at scrap metal value! New in the box. Shift over the tank, clutch on the left foot, spark advance on the left twist, no front brake. As it was set up for sidecar, it had a reverse gear. A real deathtrap- I loved the stupid thing! Many happy memories there... but right now I am going to purchase the roofing lumber for Annie's greenhouse.

Cheers!!!
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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jwhouk
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Re: Parts of the Family

Post by jwhouk »

Obviously, Pablo can throw most of this out with a strip or two, but I figured I'd have some leeway with the story.

(And, in case you missed it: Phyllis = Phix, Beatrice = Bia.)
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
kingklash
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Re: Parts of the Family

Post by kingklash »

Nice. I'll root around for some basic info on Comanches for some background. And on the Wahnee family. Great bunch, that branch of my family.
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lake_wrangler
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Re: Parts of the Family

Post by lake_wrangler »

Upon revisiting this thread, it occurred to me that...
Sgt. Howard wrote:... old Indian manual... my grandfather taught me to ride on one.
Wouldn't it be easier to ride the motorbike, rather than the instruction manuals??? :?
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Sgt. Howard
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Re: Parts of the Family

Post by Sgt. Howard »

lake_wrangler wrote:Upon revisiting this thread, it occurred to me that...
Sgt. Howard wrote:... old Indian manual... my grandfather taught me to ride on one.
Wouldn't it be easier to ride the motorbike, rather than the instruction manuals??? :?
.. but they are cheaper to insure...
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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