Coppers, robbers, cowboys and Indians
Hanging round the corner
Of the street you lived
How come it felt so far away... just a stone throw away

Your best friend wasn't someone you worked with
And money from your old man
Would burn a hole in yer pocket all day...
Not a single debt to pay

Gotta getaway

“If you look to your left, bay three to be exact, you will see that we are now servicing Barbie cars.” Kyle laughs at his own joke as we pass a neon green Beetle. “Trace, man… you oughta look into getting one of those. You might actually be able to reach the peddles.”

“Oh eat shit Kyle.” Trace mutters and pulls his hat over his eyes.

Clearly, someone is not handling their hangover too well.

I’ve gotta admit, despite the bickering and stupidity that tends to surround my friends, I’m so fucking happy to be back here. I mean really… whats not to love about the place? I get to do jack shit, drink as much and as often as I want, and nobody says a damn thing. And to top it all off, everybody leaves me the hell alone.

And I know it probably sounds all weird and shit, but I like hanging around the garage. The walls are decorated with all these old ass signs and hubcaps. Motown, the Beatles and other shit from the 60’s and 70’s is always blaring from the speakers. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I just walked into 1965 or something.

It doesn’t get any better than that man.

“Oh fuck me.” Kyle stops suddenly and I nearly run into him. “Joe’s here.”

Joe Burke.

Otherwise known as the scariest mother fucker in Memphis.

Believe it or not, he wasn’t always all intimidating and shit. As a matter of fact, he used to like me, Trace and Kyle. Then there was a slight mishap where we almost burned down the garage, and well… Joe hasn’t exactly been our biggest fan the last… I’d say, ten to twelve years.

But he did hire Kyle, so it’s not like he wants to pull his twelve gauge on us. Well… I take that back. I know he merely tolerates me and Kyle. I’m pretty sure he’d set Trace on fire if he could, but everybody hates Trace, so it’s understandable.

“How we doin’ boys?” He nods when he spots us, not even a hint of a smile on his face.

“Hey Joe. How’s it goin?” Kyle gently places his bag of tools down on the floor and I bite back a laugh. It’s almost sad how he tries his damndest to kiss Joe’s ass. I know for a fact that he usually tosses that shit around like it’s worthless.

“Not bad. How was Brewster’s yesterday?” A look of sheer panic appears on Kyle’s face and I’ve got a real shitty feeling we’re in for a Joe Burke scream-fest.

“Uhh… Bu- I mean… uhh… Maggie said it was ok.”

“Hmm.” Joe watches Kyle for another moment before rising from his seat. “I need to put a new alternator in the Bronco. Why don’t you go ahead and get the old one out of there?” Kyle nods quickly and disappears into the back of the garage.

Man… where the fuck is Burke? Joe’s so much easier to deal with when she’s around.

“You two need something?”

“We… umm… we were just gonna hang with Kyle… help him out if he needed it.”

“You wanna help, huh?” Joe chuckles and shakes his head. “Alright then. Ayala… that Corolla over there needs a new set of wiper blades, an air filter and power steering fluid. Timberlake… you can do the tire rotation on the Saturn.”

If Joe didn’t scare the hell out of me, I’d say fuck this and be out of this bitch quicker than you can say tire rotation. Instead.. I will keep the peace by tucking my tail between my legs, and just doing the damn thing.

24 fuckin years old and Joe Burke still orders me around like I’m ten. Guess it’s good to know I’ll always have that constant in my life.

*******************

Fuck cars.

I don’t want to look at one, ride in one, or even hear one ever again.

I had every intention of bullshitting with Trace and Kyle all day, possibly having a few beers. I’m on vacation damnit. The point is to relax. Instead, Joe has turned me into his grease monkey bitch, and it got old after about five minutes. And I’m definitely not liking the fact that Burke hasn’t shown up yet. Cause she’d totally come in and do all of this work on her own. The girl knows her shit man.

“Dude… I am fucking done.” Trace mutters and throws his oil covered rag on the floor. “I am not built to do real work.”

“There’s the shock of a lifetime.” Burke rolls her eyes as she enters the garage, already clad in her grey coveralls. “You know those are on backwards, right?” She points to the wiper blades on the Corolla and I’m pretty sure Trace is going to spontaneously combust.

“Hey Mags…” Joe sticks his head out of the office and it takes me a minute to realize who he’s talking to.

It seriously weirds me the fuck out when somebody calls Burke by her real name. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever used it in the twelve years I’ve known her. Kyle introduced her as Burke, and that’s the way it’s always been. Nothing else seems to really fit, for some reason.

Come to think of it, the only person who calls her Maggie is Joe. But I guess every parent is obligated to call their kid by their given name.

Burke’s just a weird chick, man. I mean, it’s almost like she’s not even really a chick. Cause let’s be honest… how many girls do you know that are master mechanics and shit? Every other girl I know would run screaming in the other direction if a little bit of grease got within a ten foot radius of them.

“Burke… you have got to get me out of this shit. Your lunatic father is making me do actual work, and this bullshit will not stand.”

“I dunno Trace… Kyle leaving yesterday really put us behind, and that’s your fault, so…”

She’s fucking with him. Sadly, Trace is too god damn stupid to realize it.

“Look… I am not designed to do work. I was put on this earth to drink, fuck bitches and be awesome. I serve no other purpose. Your father needs to figure this out.”

“It really is amazing that you’re single Trace.” Burke rolls her eyes and moves toward the office.

Oh hell no. She isn’t going anywhere. She’s going to rotate these tires, and I’m going to sit on my ass and drink a beer.

“B… you wanna give me a hand?” I pout at her, and just when I think he resolve is crumbling, Joe bellows her name again.

“Timberlake… how you doin’ on that tire rotation?” He glares at me and I fight every urge I have to roll my eyes.

“Awesome, Joe.”

Ok, fine. Maybe I was wrong when I said he tolerated me. Clearly, the only person on the planet he actually likes is Burke. And I feel like she doesn’t even really count cause she’s his kid.

“I don’t know about you all… but I’m peacing the fuck out of here.” Kyle appears in front of me, covered in grease and god only knows what. “There are beers at Brewster’s that need me to drink them.”

“Tell ya what then, Kyle… why don’t you all go to Brewster’s and just let the damn garage will run itself?”

“Joe… this is why I love working for you.” Kyle grins and quickly starts to collect his belongings.

See… here’s the problem. My friends, are stupid. Joe… is not. My friends do not understand sarcasm. Joe does.

“Damnit… Kyle, you idiot. Go drop the alternator in the Bronco.” Joe rolls his eyes and stomps back into the office, slamming the door behind him.

“B… c’mon, you gotta get us out of this.” I plead with her. She continues to watch Trace struggle with the wiper blades, and I’m pretty sure she’s ignoring me. “Burke?”

“I’m thinking!” She snaps and rolls her eyes. “Pop gave me the day off so he could make you jackasses do the work. The only problem is, you’re all here and I’m bored. But on the other hand, watching you all attempt to do my job is fucking hilarious. However… I know I‘m going to have to re-do everything you all have done. Hence, the coveralls.”

“Burke… get me out of this, and I will pay your tab at Brewster’s every night until I leave town.”

“Deal.” She nods quickly. “Oh… wait… unless you’re leaving like, tomorrow. Cause you’re not screwing me out of free beer.”

“I’m here for at least a month.”

“Alright then. Deal.”

She ducks into the office and returns a few minutes later, gesturing for me, Trace and Kyle to follow her out of the garage.

I don’t know how the hell she does it, but Burke is a fucking miracle worker.

*************************

“And he’s all ‘that blue car over there needs this, this, and this’, and I’m just like… are you even speaking English right now? Cause this shit makes no sense!”

“He asked you to fill the power steering fluid, change the air filter and wiper blades. That takes like, ten minutes. How do you call yourself a man?” Kyle shakes his head and downs the rest of his beer. “Burke… you’re coming in tomorrow, right? Cause I can’t take another day of Joe, man.”

“Oh… yeah.” She nods slowly. “I have to call the bimbo with the Beetle and tell her that there’s a hole in her radiator, and I’m pretty sure the tranny’s shot, then she’s just going to cry and shit, and I so don’t want to deal-”

“Tranny? As in…” I don't know what the fuck transvestites have to do with cars, and I'm not so sure I want to know.

“Tansmission, you fucking moron. I swear to Christ, I don‘t-”

“Hold on… rewind.” Trace holds up a hand to silence her and she rolls her eyes. “I’d like to know more about this bimbo of which you speak.”

“Such as?”

“Is she fucking hot or what?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Ok, for example… the blonde at the bar, she is hot. The redhead over there by the jukebox, is bangable, but not hot. The blonde in the booth there, I’d probably feel her up, but that’s about it. And then Burke… there is you. You don’t even register on the radar. So, on a scale of you to the blonde at the bar, where does the bimbo rank?”

“Dude… Trace…” Kyle frowns and shakes his head. “Not cool.”

“Yeah man, don’t be a dick.” I chime in, but it’s clear as day that none of what he said is affecting Burke in the least.

It’s an odd situation, I know that. 99 percent of the time, I think we all forget that Burke’s a girl, her included. And yeah, Trace busts on her more than anybody on the planet, but there’s some lines you just don’t fucking cross. No matter how cool a chick is, you don’t say shit like that.

In some weird way, I feel like I have to protect her when Trace gets out of line. Like she’s my little sister or something. Granted, if it ever came down to Trace needing the shit kicked out of him for real, Burke would probably want to do it herself, and do a way better job than I ever could.

“I don’t know. A bimbo’s a bimbo, Trace.” She shrugs. “They all look the same to me. And for the record… never in my life would I want to be on your fucking radar.”

“I bet she’s hot.” He smiles knowingly and nods. “They always are.”

“That’s it… I’ve seriously met my idiot quota for the day. You all have fun.” She slides her tab across the table to me and smirks. “You got off cheap tonight.”

“You’ve got four weeks to bankrupt me, so it’s cool.” I wave her off as she heads for the door and exit’s the bar.

“You know we’re gonna go see the hot chick tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah man, whatever you say.” I laugh and finish off my beer.

Yeah… it’s definitely good to be home.

"Getaway"- Stereophonics