- And are you comfortable in these bandages, Muller? Take them off at least once, look, you can't even move your fingers!
Well, here we go again. Dudley, pulling on a silly face, incessant smirk, once again considered it necessary to voice his own, already proprietary, "joke". Either he was not strong in mind, or, more likely, there was too meager sense of humor, but Franz has already lost count, for the umpteenth time his partner repeated these words. This forever screwy sucker, in a good way, just couldn't think of them, and his assistant eventually learned quickly state is an empty remark. Plus, Franz could smell it from a mile away. Сheap beer, with which Dudley showed up at work more often than with a wrench, and therefore, this behavior did not surprise him at all. One might even say monotonous working days in a car service, paired with a drunken joker, he was even bored. And stupid jokes did not brighten them up.
- Listen, Muller… - Dudley swayed, waddling picking up a partner, which once again ordered, what is already in it there was a certain amount of beer - Isn't it time for us to have lunch?
- No. - Franz replied dryly, continuing diligently to rub with soiled machine oil tools - It's only nine...
"... and you already swelled up like a pig" - mechanically his consciousness is preserved in his thoughts. The Franz tried to put up with the fact that Dudley even at work he continued to suppress alcohol, but deep inside it was him disgusting. Seeing this drunk trying to "pin" his face was everything heavier. Franz himself did not know exactly where he got such a dislike for age drunkards, but the fact that the way of life strained him was extremely obvious.
- Damn it… - Dudley scratched himself, looking especially puzzled he back of the head with a dirty hand, thoughtfully lowering his drunken eyes to the floor - And what to do?
- I don't know. Muller snorted. Communication with mechanics him now I wanted the least, so he also strove to cling, like a bath sheet, and to distract him from his, albeit trifling, but work.
- Listen, Franz, do you want to replace me for a while? W-well, you know how to handle all these things, screws... - the man reinforced your iron clarification with indistinct gestures on the fingers.
"So, I knew it." Franz frowned, amazed at such impudence. No matter how irresponsible his partner may be, he is nothing like have not contacted myself before. And let in his hand you could see the same, familiar red jar of "Duff", today, judging by everything, fooled him too much. However, Franz still remained on the side professional competence. You never know what an unpleasant situation will get keeps a car service center if he finds out that a drunk mechanic fell asleep right in the insole under someone's car. In any case, he knew the principles of work well enough, and situations in which he had to change the oil or something like that, Mueller was not intimidated at all. So after sighing, he finally came to the conclusion, that if Dudley temporarily self-destructs, that would be the best solution for them left.
- Okay, go ahead. I will change you... - Muller, still with the same dissatisfied face, glared at the mentor, who, staggering, meekly waited for his answer.
- Oh my god, thank you so much friend! I won't be in debt! - With the eyes of a faithful dog, Dudley put his fingers in the castle and shook or before Franz's face, very external, to prove the perfect seriousness of his words.
- Uh-huh ... - Muller turned away without any desire to see a drunken body moving backwards towards the back room, still clutched in the hand half-empty can of beer, and added only in an undertone - Blow you...
Very soon, Franz was left completely alone in the car service. The weather outside, like in October, today was surprised by the warm, but, alas, it had been a long time since he noticed the sun warming his bones. Muller was perpetually pale like a vampire, and his baggy overalls, the same gray, did something his appearance is more cheerful. And where did it come from, when days on end he heard at work, and at night he walked around the cold city, returning to himself one-room rented dwelling only in the morning to set aside a few hours for a sleep. Therefore, perhaps, Franz behaved so gray and dull.
Like even some spoke behind his back, dead.
But no one knew for sure who this man was, and in that was the meaning of his mortal existence - these gloomy, monotonous everyday life. Yes and who cares before that? Amazing, silent and surly assistant mechanic, made noise and did not smile at all, but was pleased with such a life, and random customers were not interested in any way with which legs he got up today. And why is it hands are tightly bandaged to the elbows, most of them do not ask decided, given that it may sound rude on their part. And Muller, of course, never talked about himself. "A Man from Nowhere, going nowhere" – this is the designation that was closest to reality.
From some distant thoughts hovering in his head, Muller was pulled out by a purple car that suddenly flew into the room. And what he "flew" into a car service was not an exaggeration at all. Franz even shuddered, when the car braked sharply, almost crashing into a shelf with tools, while uttering a terrible roar. The slight fear on his face was quickly replaced by irritation.
"What the hell was that?!"
- Oh my God... - from an open car window a deep growling voice was heard. - My apologies, sir. My car has a problem with the brakes..
Franz was in no hurry to show mercy to a madman who almost demolished half of his service, but he himself never openly resented no matter what the client turned out to be. Still, the main thing is that his pocket never empty. And personal indignation was now only empty for him waste of time.
- Sir, I... - the owner of the car, whose voice sounded very awkwardly, but respectfully, finally dared to open the door and step on the threshold of a car service. Muller is accustomed to paying attention to the smallest details, and therefore, of course, noticed that the man was trembling. It was not necessary to look into the eyes to to feel that he was in fear.
Franz hadn't felt like this in a long time. True fear for your own life... All these were relics of the past. And now nothing else in it could cause a reaction...
At least he thought so. Until this day.
- Problem with the brakes? – Müller, through square glasses examining the gold trim on an expensive car, came closer to him. But watch he did not rush to the driver, shaking with fear. Neat, polished he was much more interested in patterns to the point of brilliance.
- Y-yes. I confess, I have noticed something similar before, but I didn't pay attention to it. Only now... recently the problem has become clearer. I'm just afraid that at some point the brakes will come off and... I can't slow down anymore. This is becoming a problem... Could you watch it?
- Of course.
- Thank you very much...
If it were his will, Franz would never look at all in the eyes of people who came to the service. Dudley, who loved to scratch his tongue in time of work, successfully dealt with it instead of him. Mueller had only one job is to help him fulfill orders. But…
Franz swallowed and twitched his bandaged fingers nervously. This man, that he broke into a car service in his car, looked directly at him. Without tearing eye, he burned it with a look, and Muller felt this look even from the back. And his voice, his way of speaking... all this caused in Franz some trigger hidden in his subconscious, which made the indifferent to strangers problems of a mechanic to be nervous and feel uneasy...
- Sir... - the client's voice became lower and quieter, the straining the worker the most. He was about to turn around, but at first queue, of course, knelt down and looked inside the car in order to find the indicated error.
- We'll fix it, we'll fix the brakes... - Franz stuttered, suspecting that the stranger did not turn to him for this, and yet, he would have to overcome yourself and look at him, finally making eye contact.
And this decision, Muller was convinced for sure, was the worst decision of his "new" life. If he knew what awaited him ... Franz would swore that he would rather gouge out his eyes...
- Yes, yes, of course, thank you, but ... I beg you, tell me please do you have a phone? I... I need to call, very urgent!
- Telephone? - Rising to his feet with difficulty, Franz shook head and finally looked at the client who addressed him with this unusual request.
No, no, there was no cause for alarm at all. He did not see an alien, forest monster or a bloodied maniac in front of him. Quite frail, even shorter than himself, bespectacled man, about forty years old at most, everything looked at him just as intently. He fiddled with his shorts excitedly, partially gray hair, continuing to shake just as vilely. Is this squishy still can't get over the stress after the almost happened micro accidents? And why did he suddenly need a phone?!
- Yes, sir, yes! Telephone! I need it very urgently! - the owner of the car almost prayed - Lord, he will kill me…
"He will kill me". There was something in those words that caused something deep inside Muller to flip, to rise up, toward throat itself, and get stuck in it with a lump. This pitiful voice that slightly croaked from fear, that shifty look... He was ready to swear that he had already heard, already seen it before. I saw it more than once, almost every day. He knew this man. Knew from a past life.
And he knew this stranger better than his dearest person...
- At the gas station there. On the street. - Franz retreated a couple steps back from the man who was almost kneeling before him. He is exactly knew what kind of fear it was. And he was disgusted with him. Much nastier than the stink beer from Dudley...
- Thank you, my God, thank you very much! - car owner, bowing briefly to the mechanic, shot like a bullet into the street. He ran like a marathon runner in the direction that Franz had shown him. His trembling legs almost gave way, but he continued to run. Light breeze developed his old, rather worn green jacket...
His "past life"... Muller did not want to think about it. He just could not. Everything in his head was completely mixed up, just evaporated, as if terrible dream. And he, not knowing exactly what happened to him in that life, was born again with subconscious joy that he managed to forget her. But he felt that the mind is cunning, and in fact, it was a vile deception. He remembered everything before the last moment of your life. Being reborn, he screamed and sobbed, only from the realization that he will never be able to forget this horror, this hell...
And his worst fears were confirmed. This green jacket, his perfect posture, round glasses, and his voice, heavy and trembling. "He will kill me". The new life was crumbling, falling apart piece by piece eyes. Franz Muller was dying, still continuing to look after him. He once already was dying. But this death was ten times worse...
The life faded away in his eyes. There was nothing else in it that the sanity of the dying Muller could cling to. Only this person. Only his car. Only hands that burned under tight bandages... This is the last, what he was able to notice before he plunged into his death throes...
Waylon Smithers is back at the auto repair shop looking absolutely indifferent to everything. He no longer trembled with fear, he did not care about the state car. These twenty minutes he spent in an embrace with a telephone receiver, feeling the wire loop around his neck... He didn't answer. Even though Smithers dialed the number for the hundred and first time, only beeps. He stopped trying only when his own insignificance bit into throat. Did he expect something else when the outcome was already obvious?...
- I'm done with your car. - Franz was smoking, sitting by the window, but, instantly noticing how his client dragged the limp body to the service, with a confident step approached the car.
- Thank you. - Smithers took out his wallet and, without asking any questions, reached for the bills - How much does it cost?
- Thirty. - Muller kept talking as dryly, as his words sounded sad, but... This time he did not take his eyes off him. Watched watched this man, barely conscious, trying to be polite.
- Take it... - Waylon handed the indicated amount to the mechanic, and shuddered for a moment, feeling the hot, dusty bandages on his fingers touch his soft skin. Smithers just shook his hand imperceptibly, not in able to think that this could have been done on purpose.
- Good luck, sir. I hope I was able to fulfill your wish.
- Wish? - Smithers, get in the car already, suddenly tensed up. What does he mean? This mechanic didn't look like a redneck, what could easily confuse the word. What "wish" was he talking about?
- Yes. I made sure you never think about again your problem, Mr. Smithers.
These words finally pulled the man out of his gloomy thoughts. "He means the car, definitely the car. What other problem can hardly be talked about
unfamiliar mechanic?! Then why did it sound so... wrong? So strange? AND how the hell did he know my name?!"
- D... do we know each other? – Waylon, who has already put his foot on pedal, looked out the window at Muller, who was still standing close to the car, like holding it in place.
- It is unlikely. Don't think about it. Ride with God.
- ...Oh, sorry... - Smithers lowered his eyes. It seemed to him, he began to go crazy because of this stress. Maybe it was obvious but he didn't see it? He did not know. Just hit the clutch, ready hit the road. The molor of the car only growled approvingly. - Thank you for your help, mr... I'm sorry, I don't know your name.
- You know the name, Mr. Smithers. Just don't want it recall. But I remember yours... - Muller took the wrench in his hands and, turning his back on the client, returned to his usual work
- No, I don't know, sir… - Waylon's heart suddenly began to pound. Something inside was screaming at him to leave the car immediately and take a closer look at this gray-haired man. Even the seat underneath would start to burn. But he doesn't could. He had to do his duty. His work always made Smithers sacrifice his own desires, and he is already accustomed to the fact that the choice he wasn't there. As much as he didn't want to. - Goodbye.
- "Let them hate themselves if they want to be loved...
False image is normal...
You do know that,
...don't you?"