On Assignment

by Steve Jennex

Book Opening:

The car certainly isn’t going to go anywhere again soon, not without a pricey mechanic dressed in coveralls and a big BMW logo on his back. When a set of wheels costs what this one does, you almost expect it to come with its own mechanic right in the trunk. But the trunk in this baby is empty. I’m sure I would’ve noticed a spare mechanic when I was hunting around for tools.

There aren’t any of those, either. The trunk is bigger (and smells a lot better) than my apartment, but either someone cleaned it out before I got behind the wheel, or the folks at BMW don't want owners messing around under the hood. I’m pretty handy with the tools myself, when the tools are present, but my handiwork is limited to tinkering with some of the outboards down at the marina when the money from my day job isn’t so good. This sucker is a lot more complicated than an old Evinrude with a sticky float.

Not that I’d be able to go on much further, even if the car hadn’t packed it in. The blood from the hole in my thigh has turned my pantleg a deep, sticky red. There’s so much of it, it’s leaked into my shoe. It’s like walking around on a wet sponge. Thank God for the aspirin and the flask of Southern Comfort on the front seat. And as if my leg didn’t hurt enough, the sun seems intent on killing me first. The heat out here on the sand is unbearable, and anyone who knows me well knows I don’t like the heat.

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