2007-07-02: More Cars


Trina_icon.gif Manuel_icon.gif

Summary: Trina runs into yet another person who… knows Jack. Is there anyone the man doesn't know?

Date It Happened: July 2, 2007

More Cars

Street Car Show - Queens

She's spent most of the evening hanging off of Tito's arm, trying to blend in. Banned from really talking about anything even remotely interesting (namely all the pretty cars around her), it's made for a pretty lame party so far. Trina Mah, however, keeps her promises. Tito delivers her parts for her Mustang and doesn't charge her; she delivers humility to a little white trust fund baby with a souped up Honda Civic. Unfortunately, the brat hasn't shown up yet, and so she's left to just sigh every often as she rests her head against her 'escort's' shoulder.

So here they are, at a local car show. Unlike those held by the rich automobile enthusiasts, this is the sort left to those who mostly steal and barter their parts. Most of the light provided is from street lamps, but a few of the poles have had a wire here or there hijacked in order to provide electricity to the stringed Christmas lights that hang closer to the cars themselves. While there is no racing to be had tonight, the engines are left running and the night air is filled with the sound of engines being gunned to show off X, Y, or Z feature. Trina's dressed the part to be here: pale denim skirt hacked super short and frayed at the hem, kelly green camisole showing occasional flashes of midriff and plenty of cleavage, and worn ox-blood cowboy boots with their modest heels dressing her feet. About her neck, a Cherokee-style bone choker is tied, featuring a burgundy-hued natural stone set in antiqued silver. Her dark hair is left to fall about her face in natural cascades, meaning that it every so often blows right across her face in the cool wind that is blowing this evening.

And then finally, *finally*, Trina's moment is at hand as the kid in his Civic comes rolling up with his double exhaust pipe roaring. Hopefully this won't take long.

Unlike most, who bring their cars to these kinds of shows to show them off to those who want a stroke of their own ego, Manny brings his to the show…and yet, continues to work on it. The young man lays on the ground for the moment, working on…something under the white '67 Shelby he drove to the show.

As usual with these kinds of shows, the occasional passer-by stops to look at the car, and Manny's all too happy to tell his stories of how he got the parts to make it or what he had to do to get the car in the shape it's in in the first part, but for the most part, he doesn't have the patience to deal with all of them. A little tinkering here or there, and the young man slides out from under the car, pushing himself to his feet. On the white beater he has on, he wears the dirt and oil like badges of honor, not even pretending to dust himself off.

It's a small conversation. Trina knows her part in this little humiliation game. Once the car pulls up in the only space left on a street-facing row, she makes her way off of Tito's arm and towards the car at hand. It's all Tito can do to not flash a grin in the kid's direction. Whitey'll trust the girl when she lays the bait. Of that, he's sure.

With strokes across the hood that look like loving caresses, Trina secretly imagines how long it would take her to scrape every inch of obnoxious orange paint of the hood of the foreign car that invades their midst like a spy of alien allegiance. It's enough to get the kid out of his car. "Pop the hood," she coaxes. "I love the sound of muscle." It's nonsensical to call this car anything of the sort, and she fights the urge to frown and shake her head as the kid races to pull the release and then back to the front of his car to lift the hood in place. From there, it's a long string of part names that don't exist, followed by sounds of adoration. And then, there's the coup de grace as several people have finally gathered about, listening to this absolutely ridiculous spiel. "So. A 2005," she offers, fluffing her hair. "How did you get around the recall on the fluctuator block? That's a bitch of a rebuild." Blue eyes open wide, as if impressed. "Did you do it yourself?"

The kid's putty in her hands. He straightens up, pulling the collar up on his shirt. "Yup," he lies, unaware of the grand error in judgement that he has made. "Took me a whole week."

And that would be when Tito and his entire crew roar to life, hollaring and guffawing and just plain gut-laughing. It's the beer-bellied Tito with his long black hair, however, who finally manages words. "Good one, pendejo! Wanna point that fluctuator block out for me?!"

Embarrassed beyond belief, the man-idiot turns to Trina, the Delilah before him. Traitorous bitch, his eyes seem to scream.

Her job finished, the smile fades. She almost feels bad. Almost. Business is business, and the kid really shouldn't be here, pretending to know more than he does. True glory comes with knowledge gained by countless hours with a power tool and a car here, not with cash and an awesome mechanic. Shrugging, the dark haired motorhead offers an apologetic lift of one corner of her mouth. "Next time, sugar, try studying before you jump into the final exam." And now, with her favor complete, she turns to Tito with eyebrows raised, making sure he considers the transaction now complete. When he gives her the wave to go on, she doesn't waste a second in waiting. The brunette turns around and starts walking to at least see what's out here this go 'round. Plunging her hands into her back pockets, she walks with a wide sway, picking her way across the parking lot in front of the dark store front with a vixen's grace. Behind her, there's a whole hell of a lot of yelling and then the squeal of tires as Dumbass tears home.

She pauses when she sees a partially rebuilt 60s Shelby Mustang on the lot. She doesn't remember that one being out here when she was here last, about a year ago. She doesn't see the owner immediately, so she doesn't see a problem with going up along side it and peering into the window to get a glimpse of the interior leather's condition. Honestly, what harm could come of it? Lifting her hand to rest on her eyebrows in order to block out the gleam from the lights above on the glass, the motorhead is momentarily lost in her appreciation.

A short chat off to the side distracts Manny just long enough for Trina to inspect the car. While the exterior still needs some work, Manny's restored most of the interior; small nicks here and there in the black leather, but for the most part, the interior looks a lot better than the outside of the car would imply.
Shaking hands, less than enthusiastically, with the guy making small talk with him, Manny looks over at the woman inspecting his car, clicking his tongue for a moment before looking over, "Hola?" He leans back against the hood of the car, arms folded across his chest.

Suddenly brought back into the present by words spoken in close proximity, Trina snaps upright. "Oh!" she exclaims, hands quickly coming up shoulder height to show that she's not touching the vehicle. There's a nervous laugh as one hand twists at the wrist once in a single-pass wave. "Hey," she manages after a second to think about it, chuckling a little at her own jumpiness. "Nice wheels."

Manny laughs a little bit, "Gracias. Helps to have somethin' with a little speed in it." He looks over, curious, "Just lookin', or would you know what I was talkin' about if I got into the details?" He knows some just show up to go 'ooh, ahh,' but somehow, he's got a different feel about a girl who knew to show she wasn't touching the car.

The corner of Trina's lip-gloss-painted mouth curls up into a smirk at that. "I think I'd have a clue," she responds after looking the younger motorhead over with a fleeting, discerning narrowing of her eyes. Short skirts, after all, do not dictate anything over auto brains. Her knowledge thus properly defended, her attention goes back to the car. "You goin' for a straight restore, or you drag-tweakin'?"

Grinning a little, Manny shrugs just a little bit, "For the most part, goin' more for a racer's restoration. I want the car lookin' right, but I'm lookin' for more power in the engine even than a Shelby's supposed to have." He laughs a little bit, "GT 350, lookin' for a 500 engine. But…" He laughs a little, shaking his head, "Those aren't easy to find."

"They ain't," Trina agrees with a nod. "Though, what she's *supposed* to have ain't easy to find either. Not in normal folk's price range." There are always people who can afford the astronomical costs of just buying freshly restored or never been opened vintage parts. Then she tilts her head towards the hood of the car. "Gonna show me what you got runnin' in there?"

Manny laughs, "Price range…riiiiiight…" Manny smirks a little bit, grinning and pushing off the hood, reaching to pop it open and pushing it up, "Mostly just replaced parts…some things I'm pretty proud of though." Unlike most, Manny's engine isn't running; but then again, he WAS working on the car. "Like I said, 350 engine. 6 speed manual I got after winning a race against an … old friend …" Reaching into his pocket, Manny pulls out the keys, spinning them lightly on his finger, if just out of distrust of most of the types around him.

Peering inside with a careful eye, Trina silently assesses the condition of the parts within. Not that she could really talk that much smack, even if she had the desire to do so. Her car *just* got back on the road today. "I always like the simple, straight restores. Then you don't gotta worry none about the odd pieces here and there. Because, fuck almighty, trying to retrofit some of the shit is just insane."

Manny laughs a little bit, nodding, "For sure. If I can find straight parts, great…but, ah, I don't exactly have a whole lotta money. Most of the parts in here I got through races. Or the mon won cuz of 'em."

"Money's the devil's noose. If you ever *wanted* money, you sure as hell picked the wrong kinda car to be driving," Trina replies without hesitation. Then her slender hand goes out to shake that of the young'un in front of her, no trace of delicacy about it. "Trina, by the way," she finally introduces herself.

Manuel grins and takes the handshake, this one with a notably more enjoying expression on Manny's face, "Manuel. Manny, really." He grins a little bit, having to respect a girl who knows cars and doesn't bother with the delicacy that all the cheerleader types do. "Got a car out, or d'ya just show up to the shows?"

Hand shaken, Trina reclaims hers so that she can squat and get a good look at the motor from a fresh angle. One blue eye closes as she peers at the gleaming new bits, mixed in with the older ones in Manuel's engine. "Nah. My baby's restin' at home after a day on the blocks. She's a '65 Mustang V8 ragtop getting over a little run-in with a Camaro with a temper."

"Aw, man…how bad was it?" Manny actually sounds concerned, like it was a loved one that got hurt, not a car. He grins a little bit, backing out of Trina's way so she can check out the car all she likes.

"Fucker got her suspension and tire well pretty bad. Tapped her frame outta line. She's been outta commish for a …month, maybe? S'hard to keep track," Trina bemoans, resting her forearms on her knees as she peers in. "But me 'n my man, Jack, got it fixed up right decent." When she talks, it's apparent that her attention isn't entirely on the conversation. Rather, it's on perusing the engine. That is, after all, the point of these things. To look at cars. And restoration of Mustangs just happens to be a passion of hers. It deserves the lion's share of her focus. Standing back upright, she takes a closer look at one of the engine assemblies. "You may wanna check out that belt, right there." To explain, she points a finger in the general direction of the fan. "Can't see too good, but looks like you mighta caught it on something. Looks like a little tear in there." It's difficult to tell in the poor light provided by the single strand of Christmas lights dangling fifteen feet above them.

Manny winces a little bit, patting Trina's back lightly…then the name Jack is mentioned, "Wait…wait, Jack? Jack, as in…Jack Derex? Owns a bar, races cars?" The mention of a tear in the belt, though, gets Manny's attention, "Really? Shit…" Using what light he has, Manny looks under the hood to where Trina's pointing, squinting a little bit to try and see it.

There's a laugh as her pretty boytoy gets properly identified. However, it's more of a disbelieving chuckle, Trina still pointing out where she thought she saw an uneven run of rubber. She rests her hands on the edge of the car's front end so she can lean in further to try to help more. "Yeah," she finally manages, an eyebrow lifting with a tiny bit of suspicion. She shouldn't be terribly surprised, honestly. Jack's proving to be more popular than Jesus, and only slightly less well known. Though, being proudly proclaimed NYC's most eligible bachelor probably doesn't make for a low profile lately. However, Manuel speaks of racing. Most people don't know about Jack's expeditions with Julia. "Y'know him?"

Laughing, Manny just shakes his head a little, "He, ah…" Manny taps his chin a little bit, thinking of how to phrase it, "Yeah…I rode shotgun with him in a race with that same old friend of mine I won the transmission from…" This one? Umm…worth a lot more than a part to his car, but he won't mention that, "Course…it got me in hot water with the rest of his gang, but let's not get into that…"

"Cars like these burn trouble for breakfast," Trina replies. "Just gotta tell 'em you love 'em, and they'll take care of you the best way they know how." Finally reaching her hand into the dark corner of the engine, Trina allows her fingertips to caress the length of the belt in question. Her blue eyes, meanwhile, stare upward as she focuses on the sensation. "Yeah. Definitely a snag on the fan belt. Ain't bad, though. You got some time to get to it, long as you ain't ridin' it too hard." Pulling her hand back out, she turns up the hem of her already short skirt for a moment so she can wipe down her hand and get the grease off. "Jack's a multi-talented man, s'for damned sure," she finishes. And Manny'll only ever know the half of it.

From there, the talk becomes more of a 'small-ish' nature, peppered with lovely discussions on parts and finishes… and mostly just ending with both motorheads going their separate ways, knowing that they're likely to meet again.

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