Change at Jamaica Station

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine            

Boys under the Hood            2018 Bushwick, Brooklyn

"How then, please tell me, does that work out in your mind?" Hamish asks with a heavy cockney accent. He is staring at the man seated closest to him at the round table where six of them would normally be playing poker or eating large quantities of food, preferably barbeque ribs, or Joe's stone crabs flown in from Miami; but this morning the middle aged Hamish is questioning three men in their twenties. A collection of grease and gravy stains, the old wooden table looks war torn, the smell of seafood lingering as strongly as the smell of whiskey. They are on the second floor of Tri-State auto body shop in a dilapidated part of the old Brooklyn area, Bushwick. Down on the street a group of young hipsters are laughing as they make their way to the renovated condos, gentrifying some of the community, but the juxtaposition is stark when you turn the corner, and see the run-down shop and its surroundings. On this street, there are shadows around the burned-out buildings, and drug dealers outside the bodega on the opposite corner, but here on the top floor, the sun shines in one large window and frames Hamish's large, intimidating body perfectly. He is in black jeans and a tight black tee shirt that show off his muscular arms with a tattoo of a mermaid holding a wrench menacingly on one arm, and the logo for Manchester United on the other arm.

Hamish Watson, skin as worn as an old soccer cleat, piercing blue eyes and a scruffy salt and pepper beard, pours himself another three fingers of Bushmills whiskey in a tall slightly dirty glass and hands the bottle to Anthony Carcaterri. Anthony notices that fingerprints are on all three of the other glasses that he pours the last of the bottle into, then he adds ice to the glasses from a bucket. He watches the ice float around in his own glass, avoiding eye contact. He puts the bottle of Bushmills down on the table harder than he expects to, but none of the other men blink, or make a move to pick up a glass. It's ten in the morning, and it has been a long night.

"Ham, we couldn't get there any earlier, traffic coming down from Montauk. I know it was 1:35a.m. when Les and I got there. I looked at my phone. Cell phones always tell the correct time." Anthony answers him in a slow, deliberate voice, trying to maintain calm control over the conversation, if not the situation.

The three young men all have heavy accents, all arriving in the U.S. three years ago from England. Leslie Waters, the older and most qualified mechanic of the group, arrived first and secured a job with Hamish after he repaired his vintage Harley motorcycle on the spot. He started by doing odds and ends, then eventually made a handshake deal with Hamish to let him 'rent' the garage, for a fee and some extra favors that Hamish would need help with. Within three months, Leslie sent for his two younger brothers, Reed and James and close friend, Anthony.

However, only Leslie has been gainfully employable, and has a reputation as genius with an engine, or any machinery. This sunny morning Les is the only one downstairs in the shop working on a car. Hamish stares hard at the other three and considers; they had seemed perfect when he agreed to employ them for his late-night businesses, not the sharpest tools in the box, but afraid enough, and green enough to be loyal. They still got lost wondering around the area, not sure why a Whole Foods would be so close to the dangerous street they live on. They referred to the upscale grocers as 'Whole Paycheck'. Aside from a few odd fights with the college educated in the community over small things like parking motorcycles, and dog droppings, they seemed to get on well enough at the small local bars. The area still has a nostalgic tolerance for 'originals' like Hamish and his crew.

"And I tell ya, Ham, James and I dropped it off between 10:30 and 11:00. We left if right under the tree you marked." Countered Reed, the tallest of them all, who stood side by side with the smallest, James. All the Waters brothers had reddish hair, and Hamish referred to them as 'the gingers.' They had the same facial features, light blue eyes, and straight noses, but James was barely a hundred and fifty pounds, while Reed was an impressive two twenty. Anthony was built like Reed, but with dark skin, hair and eyes. They all wear jeans with grease stains and soiled tee shirts in faded colors of blue or red.