Chapter 12 - The Man Behind the Showroom Glass
Saturday morning, I put on a clean gray work shirt and went to the dealership. I wasn't hiding from Mercer. I wasn't looking for a confrontation either. Dani had assigned me the final inspection of the green pickup, and an old vehicle's paint deserved the same care whether its owner knew my name or not.
The truck was under warm showroom lights beside a display about Arizona tradespeople. Its owner, a landscaper named Roland, had agreed to let the dealer showcase his restored vehicle for a local service-worker appreciation event. It was a marketing idea, but the truck's history was real. He had used it to put two kids through school.
I checked the hood with a small inspection lamp. No haze. No exposed primer. The scratches were still there if you knew where to look; a detailer's job was to preserve what was sound, not pretend time had never passed.
Harper brought Mercer over at ten. He was laughing at something a salesman said until he recognized me.
"You," he said.
"Morning, Mr. Mercer."
"What are you doing here?"
"My job."
Dani walked up beside me. "Miles handled the correction work on Roland's truck. He's done the difficult paint jobs for your stores for nearly four years."
Mercer looked at the glossy green hood, then at my stained fingernails. The silence lasted long enough for Roland to walk over from the refreshments table.
"That's the man who saved my old girl?" Roland asked. He shook my hand hard. "I thought I'd have to repaint it."
"It had enough good finish left," I said. "You took care of it."
Mercer regained his smile for the people watching. "Of course. We value skilled labor."
It was almost funny, hearing the phrase from the man who'd called work trucks an embarrassment. Almost.
Harper said, "Miles and Sonoran Finish are why a good part of our used inventory is ready on time."
Mercer guided me behind a display stand, away from Roland and the guests. His voice dropped.
"I didn't realize you worked for one of our contractors."
"I didn't realize you needed to know."
"We can clear up that little association issue," he said. "Privately."
"How?"
"Withdraw your complaints. Park the truck in the garage. I'll see that the ledger disappears."
May you like
"And the neighbors you've fined?"
His eyes narrowed. "I'm offering you a way out. Don't make me regret it."
