[b][center][h2]Joel Nicolosi[/h2][/center][/b]

Joel knew better than to expect much from disembodied voices on the phone or radio no matter how attractive they sounded. For all he knew Dustynn was 5’2” and pushing 350 so when she came out it was a pleasant surprise. “What’s up?” He said returning her greeting with a light nod and then watching her fumble around with the hood release. [i]At least she knew where it was[/i], which was another plus. She seemed rather excited about his arrival, but also didn’t appear to recognize him at all from his win in the race a few weeks ago, [i]another plus, three for three, off to a good start[/i]. He thought, but didn’t say much as the notion to talk some trash crossed his mind. He liked her black hair though knowing when not to run his mouth was a discipline on which he prided himself. Talking smack and then not being able to deliver was a cardinal sin for technicians and he didn’t want to tarnish his stellar street cred on a busted old Focus in a trailer park. 

He felt around briefly for the latch release and raised the hood up surveying about what he expected: The drab brown of years of road dust over everything, the smell of burnt antifreeze where it had been boiling with the defroster and the oily aroma of the valve-cover gasket leaking. He glanced at the battery unsurprised. It looked like a chia-pet with all the corrosion that had grown over the terminals and some nitwit had hardwired the aftermarket radio directly to the post. Stepping back around to the driver’s seat he took the keys from Dustynn meeting her eyes again and catching a whiff of cigarettes on her clothes. A sense that was confirmed when he sat down in her car. [i]Can’t win’em all[/i]. He shook his head a little and smirked. The car was about as bone-stock, basic as it could be offered with roll-up windows, no cruise control and a five-speed transmission. He rocked the shifter a little to make sure it was out of gear and tried the key to see if anything happened, but the gauge cluster didn’t even flinch. 

“Battery’s dead.” He said walking back over to the Jeep and swinging open the tailgate. He returned with a small waterproof bag that jingled lightly from the tools inside and laid it over the Ford’s dirty engine before climbing back up his bumper to raise the hood on the Jeep as well. One more trip and he came back with the bottle of Coke. “I usually don’t recommend doing this,” He said twisting off the top and taking a short swig, “But it works in a pinch.” He dumped some over the corroded terminals and watched the acid in the cola eat away the blue-white fungus that had grown all over the top of the battery. Once it was gone he wiped the residue clean with a rag and disconnected the leads finding the date code for battery itself. It was only a couple years old and as long as they weren’t killing it regularly, would still hold a charge. “I bet your radio doesn’t work half the time.” He said as he cleaned the posts with a small wire brush and checked the positive and negative cables for damage. He held up the silly fuse someone wired-in from the stereo for her to see. 

Once he was satisfied, Joel reconnected the the leads and went back to the Jeep for his jumper cables. Climbing up the big tire, he attached the cables to his own battery and then the others to hers wiping his hands casually as he hopped back up to the Jeep’s driver’s seat and started up the old Chrysler 4-liter engine giving it a couple revs for good measure before jumping back down leaving it idling. “Just give it a few minutes.” He said glancing at her and then back at her pitiful engine bay mentally noting everything else that was wrong with the car purely out of habit. He crossed his arms as they waited. “So who killed the battery?” He said somewhat teasingly with a fake air of accusation in his glance.

[@MissCapnCrunch]