The Yellow Pine

Chapter 7 - Big Man About Town

The heavy wrench clattered noisily to the concrete floor. "Gawd dammit!" Sucking the blood of his oil-spattered knuckles, Lester Byrd frowned at the stubborn bolt sticking halfway out of the frame sitting in front of him. One day, this hunk of cursed metal would be a fine piece of historic machinery, painted with flames and with dual chrome exhaust pipes pumping superheated fumes out onto some dusty road. But, for now, it was just a hunk of junk, and a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, as far as he was concerned. Every vintage car he had refurbished had sold for a hell of a profit, but at the moment, with his knuckles bleeding and his head pounding, he wondered if this one would be worth the trouble.

A cheap radio crackled with static in the corner, before the signal returned weakly and the DJ's voice blared out into the stuffy garage. "And, if you're of a mind to see it," the broadcast continued as though it had never been interrupted, "the shiny, new town of Cambria will have open shops and businesses in a few weeks. Our sources tell us a bunch of folks have started moving in at the top of ol' Black Mountain, and the first new town around these parts in, oh, hell, decades, is starting to really shape up." The DJ's cheerfulness irritated Lester, and he muttered under his breath, "Yeah, shut up and back to the music, already," as he grabbed the traitorous wrench back up with a yank. Twisting the off-set bolt with all his strength again, he grimaced fiercely and willed it to come loose.

Lester had one, and probably only one, thing in common with Debra Jo. He was the only other local to make the move up the mountain to Cambria from the nearby Tri Cities. Unlike Debra Jo, Lester's upbringing in Cumberland had been rough and unpleasant. His father was one of the many drunks who spent their days roaming the small town's streets, harassing the good people and generally being a complete and utter embarrassment. That was, at least, except for the times when he was at home, fighting with Lester's meth-addled mother or beating on the kids for daring to exist. Luckily, as far as Lester saw it, he'd been killed after falling asleep on the train tracks behind their house when Lester was ten. The family was relieved to be out from under his violent fists, but soon found that the meager funds he'd provided with odd jobs and panhandling were sorely missed. In an effort to keep herself supplied, more than any desire to provide for her four children, Lester's mother had started selling meth, as well as using it. Addicts don't exactly make the best businessmen, and it wasn't long before she got caught and sent off to prison. At twelve years of age, and the oldest of his siblings, Lester found himself suddenly facing the daunting prospect of being sent to the system and probably separated from his kin forever. Just as the CPS workers started packing the kids' meager belongings up in black trash bags, a beautiful, restored vintage 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air pulled up to the house. A man he hadn't seen since he'd been about seven years old stepped out with a determined air. "Uncle Harland!" The children bolted past the stunned workers and out into the ratty lawn to embrace their father's brother. "Oh, my Lord, kids. You've all gotten so damn big!" His booming voice carried far and echoed back at them from the mountainside. One of the CPS workers approached cautiously. "You're their uncle? So, you know what's happened?" "Yes, I do. And I intend to take these little ones in and give 'em a right home. Now, where do I need to sign or whatnot?"

It didn't take but a few days for the paperwork to all be put in order, and for Uncle Harland and his wife Dorabelle to take custody of his nieces and nephews. The newly-retired couple abandoned their plans to travel the country in an RV, and spent that money on a decent house in what the locals called "The New York Section" of town, with enough left over to buy out the failing garage/gas station combo that sat at the end of Main Street. Over the course of a year or so, Harland had renovated the old station and had begun refurbishing vintage models for a tidy profit. Just like that, the Byrd children had gone from the poorest of a very poor town, to some of the richest.

While his younger siblings thrived in their new lives, for Lester, a lifetime of abuse and neglect had done irreversible damage. He spent more time in detention than in class, and it seemed like he went out of his way to cause trouble every chance he got. He was a sullen, frustrated child, followed by an angry, rage-filled teenager, and finally grew into a cranky, unpleasant young adult. After the only two friends he'd ever managed to make went off to join the Army, Lester moped around town for weeks looking for trouble. Then, one day while he sat on the bumper of his pickup watching the cruisers roll up and down the road, Uncle Harland pulled up next to him and got out. "Lester, I've been meaning to talk at you. Gotta 'nother?" Uncle Harland gestured at the can of beer in the nineteen-year-old's hand, ignoring the fact that he was underage and drinking in public. Handing him a cold one, Lester waited for the inevitable lecture. "I want you to take over the garage." Lester blinked. This was not at all what he had expected his uncle to say. "Now, I don't mean right now, I'm still having too much fun, but I'd like to start showing you a bit more about what I do, so's you can do just as good a job when it is time." Lester swallowed thickly. He loved working with his uncle in the garage, and it was pretty much the only thing he really knew that he was good at, but he'd never considered taking it over. Like a family business. Like a family. "Sure, I guess," he replied sullenly, trying to sound like it didn't matter a lick to him. Despite his efforts to hide it, Uncle Harland somehow knew he'd touched his troubled nephew. He smiled warmly. "Well, good then. Don't drink too much tonight. I don't want to hear that you're too hungover for work in the morning. I just got in a new frame that needs bangin' out, and I'm gonna need your help."