By Kage Baker

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She had to convince him she found him really, really attractive and would do anything, no really anything if he'd tow her car off the street and have a look at it. He made her prove it. She never minded hand jobs so much, because at least she was in control, and it was better than him touching her with his black-rimmed fingernails. He roared with laughter when he saw the transmission fluid running down, and informed her, without even opening the hood, that she'd need a new transmission. He told Shadow what it would cost, and her heart sank; she hadn't paid that much for the Impala in the first place.

She kicked one of the Impala's tires. The nearest gas station with a mechanic was all the way down on Highland and Franklin. The mechanic wasn't interested in helping her. She had to convince him she found him really, really attractive and would do anything, no really anything if he'd tow her car off the street and have a look at it. He made her prove it. She never minded hand jobs so much, because at least she was in control, and it was better than him touching her with his black-rimmed fingernails.

He bounded up the steps of their house, opened the door for her, slung down his duffel and stood rubbing his hands together, eyeing the food greedily. As she closed the door, he was already pulling off his jacket and knitted cap. Where he dropped them they became a soaked mass of rotten wool, and the duffel was black and sodden too. He hitched his suspenders, sat down at the table, rolled up his long sleeves. Grinning, he helped himself to the food. Knife in one fist, fork in the other, he ate heartily, steadily, and set the fork down only to gulp the red wine.

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