Upsie-Daisy

  Table of Contents

  Upsie-Daisy

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Thank you!

  Pickup Notes, just a sample

  Also By Jane Lebak

  Upsie-Daisy

  A Lee and Bucky Adventure

  By Jane Lebak

  Auto mechanic Lee Singer considers New York City her personal playground, with lots of big engines and complicated tools and today a car that got towed in because those "severe tire damage" signs mean what they say. It only adds to the fun when she pops the trunk and finds it full of styrofoam heads.

  It turns out the client isn’t a madman with a decapitation fetish. Instead he’s a marine roboticist, and if you send foam objects down to the ocean floor, they shrink under the pressure. Wait, he builds robots? And he’s hot? This requires definitive action.

  A little verbal sparring ensures that not only is he going to take Lee to dinner, but if their date goes well he might just show her his hydraulic manipulator arm. (That’s not a euphemism, by the way. His team actually has a submarine in a warehouse near the West Side Highway.)

  This Lee and Bucky novelette takes place about four months before the first full-length novel, so whether you’re new to the series or just teetering on the edge of a great fiction discovery, you’ll have a great time.

  Jane Lebak is a novelist and humor writer who pays someone else to change her oil and has never made a shrunken head. This story is also included in the anthology Where The Light May Lead.

  “Upsie-Daisy” Copyright © 2016, Jane Lebak

  All rights reserved. If you think of new rights, those are reserved too.

  eBook Edition April 2017

  This story first appeared in “Where The Light May Lead: A Reflections of Faith Anthology”

  By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the authors. So there.

  Cover design by Perry Elizabeth Designs

  Layout: Jane Lebak, http://www.janelebak.com

  Did you know guardian angels have a sharp sense of humor? It’s a requirement for the job, otherwise they’d run screaming instead of dealing with us. If you’re new to the Lee and Bucky stories, welcome to the world of sarcastic mechanics and pun-slinging angels. This story takes place about four months before the first of the full-length novels.

  Chapter One

  Friends wearing blue uniforms and frowny faces

  I am totally going to get us on TV with one stroke of this pen. Or rather, because of this pen that nearly gave me a stroke.

  “It still writes.” The customer service rep is logging this as the strangest call of his life. After he hangs up, he can retire because he’s officially Heard It All.

  My own customer, meanwhile, is waiting on the other side of the desk, sliding his car key back onto a key ring already holding what appears to be fifty of its closest friends. If my call works as intended, he might not have to pay for a tire to replace the one this pen single-handedly destroyed.

  “Let me get my supervisor.” The customer service rep puts me on hold, I guess to go retire.

  I give a thumbs-up to the customer. “We’ve been escalated.”

  My boss, Max, comes out from his office. “I’ve got an idea,” he says, pushing me away from the register. “I’ll check him out, and if the pen people decide to pay for it, I’ll issue a refund.”

  For some reason my customer accepts this nonsense. I mean, it’s a done deal, right?

  The supervisor gets on the line. “How can I help you?”

  I guess the first customer service rep was so excited he couldn’t explain coherently. “Okay, so I’m Lee Singer,” I say, “and I’m an auto mechanic at Mack’s Garage.” (Max didn’t want to call it Max’s Garage because people would automatically think he “maxes” out your credit card, so he gave himself a name change. Kind of like he did with me, since no one wants someone named Juliet to service their engine.)

  The supervisor on the phone just mm-hmms me to go on, so I do.

  “Our customer came to us with a punctured tire, and when we did the repair, we found one of your pens had punched right through the tire tread and penetrated all the way into the middle!” I wait a beat to give it just the right emphasis. We are so going to land a TV commercial with this. “The pen destroyed the tire, but it’s totally undamaged! It even still writes!”

  The supervisor says, “...and?”

  “And you’re going to want to tell everyone about that!” I laugh. “You should put it on a TV commercial. Your pens really are mightier than swords! You can disable a whole car and then sign the credit card slip to pay for the repair afterward.”

  The supervisor says, “Um... I’ll make a note about that and pass it along to our marketing department.”

  He’s lacking the requisite enthusiasm to bring the marketing team onboard. “Can I talk to them myself?”

  “No,” Max grumbles behind me, “because you’re supposed to be doing your job.”

  “They’re all in a meeting,” says the supervisor. “I’ll give them your phone number.”

  I give him my cell number and lock the pen in the register for safekeeping.

  “That’s the most expensive pen I ever bought.” The customer chuckles. “Don’t I even get to keep it?”

  I say, “If they don’t want it, it’ll be here waiting for you.”

  But I can’t see that they won’t. TV, here we come!

  Oh, wait. My boss is shoving a work order into my hand. What I meant to say is, Oil change, here I come!

  While I’m getting the car on the lift, I’m humming Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop,” and when I do stop, I turn to see my guardian angel leaning against the car.

  You might think he’s there because he likes me, but sometimes I think it’s only because he likes Fleetwood Mac. Likes it the same way a dolphin likes water.

  “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, we’re gonna be on TV!” I bounce on my toes. “Isn’t that the coolest thing?”

  Bucky starts to reply, then stops, starts again, pauses, and finally he squares his shoulders and raises his brown and yellow wings. “I’m not going to be on TV.”

  I head under the car to drain the oil. “Because no one else can see or hear you?”

  He nods. “It’s an impediment to television. I’ll take consolation in the eternal love of God Almighty instead.”

  I chuckle. “But you still won’t be on TV.” With the oil cap in my hand, I hesitate. “Does Heaven have TV?”

  Bucky doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

  I frown. “What do you do?”

  “You should rewind our conversation about fifteen seconds.” He tousles my hair and then disappears, but I hear his words in my head anyhow. The eternal love of God Almighty.

  As if they’re exclusive. I haven’t been in love with anyone for years, but when it did happen, I totally recall watching television together.

  Anyhow, by the time I’m done changing the oil, my phone rings, and I snatch it up because it’s got to be my call to fame and fortune.

  Instead it’s my niece. “Aunt Lee?” says Avery. “Um, I was wondering, are you anywhere near Borough Hall?”

  Now that’s a loaded question. “Why?”

  “It’s kind of a long story, but I’m standing in front of, um, I think it’s a court house.”

  Max might...might...give me a payday loan in cash to bail her o
ut, but she’s only twelve, so I don’t think it’s really likely. “You aren’t in handcuffs, are you? With a couple of friends wearing blue uniforms and frowny faces?”

  “Aunt Lee! No!”

  She’s not giving me much to go on. She should be in school on the other side of Brooklyn, and I’ve got zero idea why she called me and not her parents. “Help me out, then. I’m obviously too old to get your young, hip ways.”

  “You’re what, thirty?”

  “Twenty-nine,” I say. “On the cusp of dotage. Help my feeble brain: what do you need?”

  A pause, and then, “I need you to come get me.”

  Okay. Now we have some action.

  Bucky, I need some help. Please go check on her and make sure she’s in a safe place.

  I feel him wink out, and I hurry to write the sticker for the oil change. “What’s going on, Avery? It’s going to take me about half an hour to get to you.”

  Her voice wobbles. “I didn’t... It all got crazy, and then...”

  Bucky reappears. “Tell her to go across the street to the Dunkin Donuts, and you’ll get her there.”

  “Look across the street. Is there a Dunkin Donuts?” When Avery snivels yes, I say, “Go and buy yourself a donut. Sit by the window. I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  I glance at Bucky. Can you grab five bucks from my wallet and stick it in her backpack?

  He smirks at me. “Kind of like an angelic Robin Hood?”

  I roll my eyes. “Grab a table. Root through your pockets and your bag and see if you can scrounge up something. I’ll do what I can.”

  I back the car out of the garage and into our lot, then head back inside to my Boss Who Is So Tight He Needs A Shoehorn To Cough. Sticking my head into his office, I say, “I’m taking my lunch break now. My niece had an emergency and needs me to go pick her up.”

  Max shrugs. I’ve already worked straight through to two-thirty in the afternoon, so what is he going to say?

  I leave him to do what he does best and extract money from a customer, and I head into the parking lot where I remember I didn’t drive to work this morning. That stinks.

  I glance at the loaner car Max keeps for his customers, a car older than Avery and far more unpredictable. There’s also the Wrecker, which you’ve got to admit would be a pretty awesome way to go pick up your niece from Borough Hall. “Honey, just watch out the window for a tow truck that looks like it participated in World War II, on the losing side.” I’m not sure that thing even has a passenger-side seat belt. There’s also any assortment of vehicles that need a test-drive, which would be awesome except for the way I get tongue-tied when I need to tell my older brother that his daughter witnessed a car fire from the inside of the vehicle.

  Ah well. I unchain my bicycle and pedal a mile home to where I parked my car. It’s shaping up to be a great day.

  My niece huddles in the front seat as if she’s about to crawl all the way into her jacket and zip herself inside it to hide forever. “Mom’s going to kill me,” she keeps saying. “I hate everything. They’re so dumb. I’m going to get grounded for the rest of my life.”

  The first thing I did, by the way, because I’m not entirely stupid, is text my brother to let him know I have Avery with me and that she’s safe. Well, as safe as she can be when I’m driving, but I try not to tell my brother about my driving record. He probably suspects. Anyhow, no matter what else happens, at least he’s not going to worry about her being alone in downtown Brooklyn. He can worry about her being with me instead.

  He could also worry about the weird assortment of chemicals she’s cramming into her body right now. I guess Bucky did manage to raid my wallet because she’s got some kind of multiple coffee drink thing with whipped cream and a domed top as well as a donut so bright you could see it from the top of the Statue of Liberty. Food shouldn’t come in that color. Nothing should.

  Although I’d eat it, for the record. I’m hungry, and if there’s one thing Brooklyn is not famous for, it’s drive-through fast food. There isn’t any.

  While we inch along the city streets from stoplight to stoplight (with the Rumours Album playing as a thank-you to Bucky for delivering a five dollar bill) the caffeine/sugar infusion helps Avery finally launch into the actual story. “So it’s like this class trip we were supposed to be taking, like we do every Friday, and we took the train, and on the way home I’m hanging out by the door with my friends from the volleyball team, and they started going on about how I’m Little Miss Perfect, and they said I’d never gotten in trouble in like my whole life, and then...”

  She stops her endless sentence to stuff in the rest of her donut. She looks up. “So when the train stopped at the next station, I wasn’t really thinking, the doors were open, and no one was looking, and I just...I just took a step back out of the train.”

  Oh, that’s such a brilliant idea. I said, “And everyone in your class started screaming?” I’ve already got my phone in my hand – I’d better text Avery’s mother too in case the school calls and she has a coronary.

  Avery swallows hard. “I don’t think they even noticed. I mean, it was crowded. I was near the door, so I just stepped out. I stood behind a column. And the train pulled away.”

  So just like that, my niece found herself free in New York. Free with no money (well, none yet) and no idea how to catch up with her class. She should have just gotten on the next train and headed toward home. By age twelve I’d have been able to navigate the subway system on my own, although I’d probably have asked Bucky.

  I say, “So why didn’t you just take the next train?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I got out of the station and ended up on the street, and I walked around for a while, but then I realized how much trouble I’m going to get in.”

  I don’t say anything while she makes straw-sucking sounds to inhale the last frothy bits of coffee concoction from the bottom of the disposable cup. Heck yeah she’s going to get in trouble. Getting off the train in the first place is going to land her in hot water with the school. Not to mention her parents.

  “You didn’t think this one through,” I say.

  Avery’s mouth tightens up in a frown, like she’s trying not to cry.

  “We’d better come up with a way to get you out of the frying pan.” Avery picks up her head with a shock as I pull off Atlantic onto 5th Avenue. “There’s got to be one.”

  Chapter Two

  I love hurling myself into these interactions

  I bring Avery back to the garage because I’m not sure what to do with her. My brother and sister-in-law have included me in a group text flying back and forth trying to answer that very question. I’m not actually involved in it, other than, “I can keep her with me.” Randy thinks he should go get her and ream her out; Corinne thinks Avery should cool her jets in our waiting room until someone feels good and ready to go get her.

  “Have you got anything to do?” I ask as we head indoors. It’s slightly warm for November, but kind of windy. Avery’s huddled up again in her jacket.

  “There’s some reading I can do.” Her mouth twitches. “I’ll download the book to my phone. Dad won’t cut off my head if I’m doing homework, right?”

  “Decapitation typically increases the difficulty of reading. I’m not speaking from personal experience or anything.” I point to a chair. “Hang out there. Don’t talk to any of the creepy people.”

  The only customer in the waiting area, a 95-year-old woman with a silver-tipped mahogany cane, glares at me and rises from her chair.

  “I mean the employees,” I say, “and especially my boss.”

  Avery sniggers. The porcelain-haired woman sits back down without pummeling me with her cane.

  From the back, Max bellows, “Lee! Get in here!”

  I love Max. Maybe it took me sixty-one minutes to clock back in rather than sixty, and he wants to drive it home that he knows of my perfidious lateness. Hey, Boss? You pay me hourly.
If I were to take that extra-long lunch, I’m still not getting money for it.

  At his desk, Max holds up a letter that just arrived in the day’s mail.

  I mutter, “Oh, good grief.”

  This happens about once a week. My mother hates where I work. I have no idea what she thinks she’s going to accomplish, but whenever she’s got a stamp left over and five spare minutes, she writes to Max as if she were me. And for all that it’s annoying, it’s actually preferable to the other way she spends her time: setting me up with every unattached male she comes across.

  Max shakes the letter in my face. “You mailed me your resignation again.”

  Yep. That’s my mom’s favorite hobby: trying to turn me into a woman. Real women, as you know, don’t grease ball bearings.

  Max frowns at the paper. “I’m having a hard time understanding why you keep resigning when you show up to work every day looking like you enjoy the place.”

  “I also enjoy cashing the paychecks.” I lean over the desk to get a look. “How bad is it?”

  I wonder if whatever job my mother thinks I’m going to get is worse than anything I’ve ever done before. I’ve only been a mechanic for a couple of years. Before that I put in my time in a few entirely different fields, jumping ship whenever a better opportunity came along. Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll hand Max a real resignation if someone dangles the right job in front of me.

  “Effective immediately,” Max says, scanning the paper, “you’re going to be inspecting elevators.”

  Nope. That’s not going to entice me from the wrenches. “Now there’s a job with some ups and downs.”

  “At least I know you won’t leave me to become a comedian.” He grimaces. “Resignation not accepted.”

  I fold my arms. “Can I at least have the letter?”

  Shaking his head, he goes to the corner filing cabinet and pulls out a sheaf of papers an inch and a half thick. “I hear an actual comedian made a fortune transcribing her mother’s voicemail messages and turning them into a book, and someday I’ll do the same with your mother’s letters. Maybe retire.”