It had been a particularly hard day, with a Jeep whose oil filter had refused to budge (until Hex took a horn to it) and an old Ford pickup whose engine had completely seized up. He had gotten it up and working again, but it had taken almost a full day’s hard labor. He’d given Lyle Jenkins as good a deal as he could but hours was hours. Montrell did not envy Lyle Junior the hiding he’d get when his dad got home: that puma was a vindictive bastard when riled up, for all that he was a good customer, and pouring sugar in his dad’s gas tank was one idiotic prank, for a punk kid to pull.
Still, if Lyle didn’t meddle in the gator’s private life, who was Montrell to butt into the Jenkinses’?
He tried to put them from his mind, focusing instead on the bubbles percolating around his scaly bulk. He had started to doze, his long jaw resting atop the gently roiling water, when a deep harrumph made him open one eye, just a slit.
He couldn’t see anything yet, not from this angle, but he could put pictures to sounds, turning grunts and rustles into a mental movie of faded and stained denim parting to reveal white skin even thicker than his own scales. Coveralls dropping to the dirt and dried grass, exposing a big ball of gut and thick heavy pecs, with the blue-black cock peeking out from behind its white hood. Two horns would be gleaming dully in the starlight, two mismatched eyes dull with exhaustion.
The bulk of his coworker swung into view, confirming the mental image. “Hey, Trell,” rumbled the rhino, hefting himself into the hot tub, making the fake wood paneling creak under the added strain.
This was what he looked forward to most days. This was why, though equal partners in their homegrown car-repair shop, Montrell was glad that Hex preferred to be “in charge:” locking up and doing the books every day after the last customer had left. Montrell was no good at math anyhow. Which meant that he could head out back and get the tub warmed up.
“All done out there?” He gestured with his snout at the looming shadow of the
building behind Hex—business and home in one.
“Yup. And since tomorrah’s Easter…” The big rhino eased himself down further into the water, raising the level considerably. Montrell continued to let his head float, half-submerged, as he felt something brush against his outstretched legs.
Montrell asked no further explanation, and the rhino offered none. They may not be devout churchgoers, but when the whole county shut down even a pair of hardworking grease monkeys could take a day off. The work was in getting the people on the road; no one came in on the day of.
Montrell reached out, letting his claws graze along the rhino’s thigh, making both men sigh contentedly. From his low position, he could see a sheen of oil spreading out from Hex’s body, and couldn’t help but smile toothily. “Ya fergot to hose off again.”
Hex shrugged, draping a heavy arm across his buddy’s shoulders. “So we’ll hafta clean the filter a little. Boo-hoo. It’s not the worst we’ve done to it.” He was leering now, bare leg pressed up against the gator’s, one hand slipping along the tub’s bench to slide under Montrell’s tail.
They let the water relax their aching bodies in the comfortable silence, limbs moving easily into more comfortable positions.
“Ya know,” Montrell said, his breath puffing out through the slow tendrils of steam, “I ain’t ready for bed.” His fingers found their target and Hex sloshed water out of the tub with his sudden upward thrust.
”Hurrmph!”
Overhead and all around, drooping cypress and Spanish moss made a suitable bower. Only the occasional splash or grunt escaped their haven as faint starlight glinted off water-slicked hide and scales. There would be plenty of time for sleep…tomorrow.
*
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Montrell and story are
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