It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

Compromising on the Nazi Deathtrap (1)

"You cannot pay me enough to get rid of him," Matthew started as soon as he landed in the angled wooden chair.

Mr. Yang raised an eyebrow. "Such hostility already, Mr. Robinson? I haven't even said anything."

"I'm assuming this is about my car?"

"It is," the man spoke lowly. "Can you close the door –"

"You cannot, in good conscience, pay me enough to get rid of him," Matthew stated again.

Mr. Yang raised a hand, pausing. "Before I ask my next question, let me assure you, I am most certain my conscience will remain clean no matter what I pay you to remove that...relic from my property."

"Poor choice of words."

The older man blinked.

"Relic." He knocked his knuckle on the angled wooden chair. Matthew hummed, glancing around the room.

Mr. Yang glared.

Matthew's stomach boiled. The secondhand smell of burned cigars settled it slightly.

"Now then...my question. Him?"

"Lloyd. His name is Lloyd," Matthew spat.

Glaring, he clasped his hands together on the desktop. "If it wasn't clear by my personal guidelines concerning the forest preserve property as well as the house, I – in fact, I think I've told you you're not driving the children around in that."

He sat back. He didn't answer.

"Regardless of what I've said, environmental matters concern me significantly, and it seems detrimental, even contradictory, to have my children driven around in something that is not only out-of-date, but also wouldn't pass a common safety or emissions test."

Matthew rolled his eyes, warranting another stare-off between the two. "He's all I have, sir."

"Then I suggest you find something else," the older man replied coolly.

"No."

"I will not let my children be driven around in something that doesn't have airbags."

"Thank goodness the route I plotted to Brookfell doesn't feature any major roadways," Matthew noted nonchalantly. "It's especially good, too, I don't take any major roadways to and from any important shops, as the children have insisted I start taking them. And it's especially good that I know, mostly, how to fix him." He wrinkled his nose, sneering. "I'm a slow driver, too, so you don't have to worry about that."

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Yang sighed. "Mr. Robinson, this isn't a matter of sentimentality. This is about safety."

"I understand that, and that's fine, but you cannot make me get rid of him."

"Stop referring to that Nazi deathtrap as 'him'!"

"What Nazi deathtrap?" called Elliot from the second floor. The sound of stampeding feet pounded the floor as he appeared in the open doorway of the office. "Start over. I want to listen."

"Elliot, out," Yang began, standing.

He sniffed and gagged. "Gods, what is that smell?"

"We're talking about Lloyd," Matthew clarified.

"Oh." Eli turned to glance into the hallway before turning back. He pinched his nose. "What's wrong with him?"

"It's not a 'him', it's an 'it'," Yang explained, his words enunciated and frustrated.

Elliot blinked. "So what's wrong with Lloyd? Why's he a Nazi deathtrap." He climbed into the other angled wooden chair.