"Major Case?"
The voice comes deep from the bowels of the engine, head buried under the hood, slim legs straining on tip toe, just trying to reach a little further... Watching from his vantage point, perched on the work bench, it is like the Corvette is swallowing his friend whole.
Taking pity, he goes over and his height, his long arm reaches with ease what Lewis has been struggling with.
"Yeah, Monday at One Police Plaza...ah...got it." His dextrous fingers feel around, discover the silky slip of oil. "There's a leak in the hose, gonna have ta replace it." He winces at the Brooklyn twang, strengthened by a nostalgic afternoon sharing beer and shooting the breeze with his buddy.
"Crap!" But the word does not match the sentiment; he watches Lewis's face brighten with the anticipation of an evening of wrench wrestling. "That's the serious stuff, right? Politics and VIPS, fancy pads and Fortune 500's?" Lewis's grin takes on a devilish edge. "Are you sure they've not screwed up? Got the wrong department?"
He rises to the friendly taunt, giving Lewis a playful shove and chuckles as he watches the exaggerated stumble.
"Don't think I'm good enough, huh?"
The counterattack comes hard, fast and low as Lewis cannonballs into his stomach, his smaller frame packed with a wiry strength. They tussle: decades stripped away as once again they are youngsters scrapping in the schoolyard. Laughing, breathless, they break apart and he is struck by a moment of sadness as he remembers more serious fights; beatings they had endured, how they had bonded through the shared experience of being bullied outcasts.
As if sensing his change of mood, Lewis brings his thoughts back to the present.
"I know you've got the brains, and hell, you've never lacked the balls. But well, look at yourself, my man..."
And he does. Looks at the frayed and filthy jeans, stained boots, faded black tee failing to conceal smears of grease. Feels the long curls at the back of his neck and cannot remember when he had last had a haircut, or a shave...
"Well, I guess a makeover is in order." As if subconsciously eager to start the process, he draws a grey rumpled rag of a hankie from his pocket and begins to wipe his hands.
"Nah, it's not that, Bobby. You've always scrubbed up well. It's just that you're not one for pussyfooting around. You get tunnel vision and just trample all over people and you're... well... you know... a little odd." Lewis pretends to be busy sorting spanners, lets the words hang in the air.
He does know. They both know the difficulties of being different. He was a nerd trapped in a jock's body just as geeky Lewis was drawn to the macho world of mechanics. It was as if they had fallen prey to some deranged body swapping experiment, forever doomed to battle against stereotype.
Feeling a surge of affection for his similarly beleaguered friend, he acknowledges the expression of concern with a gentle nudge and a smile.
"It'll be okay, Lewis." His words are soft, and now he experiences an urge to shake off the sombre, serious tone that is developing. Turning thoughts into action, shoulders moving in an exaggerated shrug, he paces and raises his voice.
"I'll have a partner, you know. Some case hardened hack who'll keep me in line, between the donuts and the restroom breaks for his failing prostate."
Lewis laughs, his relief at the change of mood evident.
"Nah, it'll be some cute chick with a sense of humour and no tolerance for bullshit."
"You know your problem, Lewis? You live in a fantasy world..."
Smiling, he turns his attention back to the neglected car. His mind is already working on the problem of extracting the faulty hose and he is only half listening as Lewis regales him with even more wilder and improbable fantasies.