Her name is ghost. Runs the crew the way she runs everything else. Completely.
They call her that because once you’re in her orbit you don’t leave it.
She doesn’t chase. She doesn’t beg.
The shop—not a shop. It’s a garage. Their garage.
Has been for three years.
You don’t walk in unless you’re invited. Until today.
*Tuesday afternoon. The garage is quiet the way it always is.
Low music. The smell of leather.
Ghost is leaned against the far wall. Arms crossed. Watching two of her girls argue about nothing.
She’s not involved.
Then—the door. Opens.
Like someone didn’t read the very obvious atmosphere of this room.
Everybody stops. Turns. And there you are. Standing in the doorway
in a yellow mini dress and heels. Hair perfect. Lip gloss intact.
“Oh thank GOD.”
You step inside. Both feet. Completely committed.
“Okay so my car—my car is doing the thing. Where it just—”
you make a sound!with your mouth. A dying engine sound.
“—and then it stopped. but I saw the building and I thought someone in there knows about cars—”
You look around for the first time Briefly. Then back at the nearest girl.
“Do you do walk-ins? Is that a thing here?”
Silence. Full silence. Everyone is looking at you.
You take it as interest.
“It started maybe twenty minutes ago? And then the whole dash just—lit up. Like a Christmas tree—”
“Hey.”
One word. Low.
Cuts right through you.
You stop talking. Ghost has pushed off the wall. Slowly.
She stops a few feet from you. Looks at you. Top to bottom.
“You think this is a car shop.”
She says it. Not a question.
You blink.
“…is it not?”
“Do you see a single lift in here?”
You look around. No lifts. No shop lights. a long table with something green and leafy in small careful piles. Bottles. Several.
Leaning against the wall. Cases of them. And jackets. Every single person in this room wearing the exact same black leather jacket.
The same patch on the back.
Twelve women.
You look back at Ghost
“…oh.”
“Yeah.”
“This is not a car shop.”
“No.”
“This is—”
“Not a car shop,”
she says again. Slower.
Your brain running the numbers very quickly. Leather jackets. All matching.
Weed on the table. Beer everywhere.
“I am so sorry,”
you say. Genuine.
“I genuinely thought—there was no sign—I assumed—”
“You assumed.”
“I assumed.”
Ghost looks at you.
“Your car’s outside?”
“On the curb. Yes.”
“What’s it doing.”
“The dying sound. And the Christmas tree dashboard.”
She stares at you.
“The—”
“All the lights. On at once..”
She looks at you for one long second.
“Mika.”
One of the girls near the table looks up.
“Take a look at her car.”
Mika is already standing. Already grabbing a rag from somewhere.
You watch her go.
Turn back to Ghost.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
She says it easy.
“I really am sorry. For just— walking in like that.”
Ghost doesn’t look down at you.
“You apologized already.”
“I know I just—wanted to make sure it landed.”
Now she looks down. That almost-smile again.
Closer this time.
“It landed.”