Eddy looked out the window as his driver pulled into the car lot. They were waived in at the fence by two fairly familiar and heavily built men covered in tattoos, their faces clad with varying degrees of facial hair. They were bundled up in old military jackets to hold off the cold snow that was covering the mechanic shop. Bulges in their clothing revealed the weaponry hidden underneath. Barrells spotted the parking lot, fires burning within. As the limo stopped, Eddy pulled his coat on before his driver could open the door and let in the freezing air.

Eddy stepped out of the car and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat, nodding at the charming, bronze-eyed old man who had an ever present and all knowing smile on his face. He wore a simple grey suit, the only bit of color in his outfit was his bright green tie, with it’s small, slightly crooked spider pin.

“Thanks, Weaver.” He said, pulling out a cigarette with his teeth, and lighting it with a gold plated Zippo. “I’m good from here.”

“Of course, sir.” The man said in a deep african accent, bowing slightly.

It was obvious Mohammed had changed considerably since his time with the kids of the No-Man’s-Land. He wore more rings for one, each finger except the thumbs. He wore his hair long and bleached at the tips, even got an eyebrow piercing a month ago, and although he caught an earful from his father for it, the smile from his hippie girlfriend made it all worth it. His clothes were still always nicer than his friends, though he now embraced the more baggy way they wore their own.

Eddy waved at the “mechanics” as he walked towards the garage, with most returning a nod or familiar wave.

When he entered the garage he scanned the room until he spotted who he was looking for. “Hey, Warren!”

The young man working on a vintage Mercedes turned to him and grinned. For Warren, the biggest changes on his trip to sixteen was that instead of being bald, he had golden blonde hair going to his shoulder blades and he now stood tall, built like the trucks he worked on. He was doing his best to grow a beard, too. He had on jeans, worn sneakers, and a white muscle shirt which revealed a Star of David on one shoulder and a hammer and sickle on the other. Years spent in MMA turned him into a beast, and he loved to show it to the world, weather be damned.

“Hey there Sultan!” He boomed while embracing Eddy in a bro hug. “What brings ya to our neck of the woods? Gonna buy out the whole neighborhood? Put up some shoppes?”

“Ha, no Warren. Just needed to ask Jim something. He’s working today right? Wasn’t at his house.”

Warren pulled a rag from the back of his jeans, wiping his hands while leaning on the car he was working on. “Yeah, he’s in today. Not workin’ though.” Warren shoved a thumb towards the back of the shop, to a door leading to a smaller garage reserved for the employees. “Enays out back workin on that trash heap he calls his baby.”

“Thanks, Warren. Hey how’s your sister been?”

“Ah well the owner of the building we’ve been squattin at found our asses on the roof so she's scoping out a new flat for us.”

“You guys need a place to stay while you look?” Eddy asked, concerned.

Warren just laughed. “Nah rich boy, we’ll be fine without your blasted saudi oil fortune. But what I do need is to get back to this car. Prick wants it this afternoon, even though the bastard gave it to us Thursday. But uh, we’ll talk later, yeah?”

Eddy waved at him as he walked towards the back. “Of course. I’ll see you at your fight tonight, see you later, Warren.”

“Don’t go evictin’ some poor family, now.”

“I’ll try to contain myself.”

Eddy walked back out into the cold, between a small opened garage with a rusty green jeep sitting in it and a tattoo shop that’s seen better days. Lighting another cigarette, Eddy went towards the jeep, finding a pair of legs sticking out from under it.

Eddy kicked the legs which was met with a clunk, a pained groan, and a muffled “Fucken’ whore.”

Muhammed is here. 

-I smile, looking at my nails from my seat on the hood of the jeep.

Thanks for the fucken’ warnen'. Jim rolls out from under the jeep rubbing his head, tossing a wrench at a nearby toolbox. “The fuck man? Coulda’ used a warnen’.”

Jim still insisted on wearing that matted green beanie everywhere we went. It smells atrocious but at least it keeps the hair he refuses to cut out of our eyes. He wore a black hoodie with the mechanic shop’s logo on it and the words Sam & Peter’s Quality Repair surrounding the logo.

Both of his ears had three black piercings in them now and and he still had the same faded jeans and the same steel toed black work boots. Jim, always unsatisfied with the number of targets painted on our back, wore Remmie's skull ring around his neck on a leather string, strutting around with a symbol of a pagan faith he didn't even adhere to. Obviously, Jim cared more about his little old birthday presents than he cared about seeing our next birthday.

Eddy smiled, raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Jim! Didn’t think you’d hit your head.”

Jim sits up, waving off the apology. “Yeah, yeah. What’s up?”

Jim stop! 

Jim jumped and quickly moved his hands away from each other. He was about to scratch at the fresh ink on his fingers and ruin the tattoo he so recently wasted our money on. It was simple, the words-

"TELL NO TALE"

-one letter on each finger set up so the person looking at them could read them. A friendly reminder of Krymehaven’s one unspoken rule, and a threat to anyone that would break it, because apparently we have enough civic pride to stab it into our flesh.

Thanks. He said, turning towards my direction. I blinked, confused. He never thanked me without sarcasm.

Eddy noticed, but said nothing of it. Of all the people Jim was close to, Eddy was the least comfortable with our ‘situation’. I would be disappointed If it wasn't just another example of Eddy's good judgment. Funny how the reason you trust a guy is the same reason he wants nothing to do with you. He shook off the awkward moment and decided to further the plot. “I was just wondering if you wanted Weaver to pick you and Blitz up for my father’s ball next weekend. You know, since your jeep is...you know, wasting space in this dinky garage.”

“Hey now, you’ll hurt her feelens’. And don’t worry about it, Eddy. Part I need to get her roadworthy should be in Tuesday. Should be ready by then, anyway. It comes to worst, I’ll borrow Carl’s clunker anyway.”

OH, so his truck’s a clunker but this rusty piece of shite is your ‘baby’? Too late to consider an abortion? It doesn’t even start, Jim.

Fuck off.

“If you say so. I was also wondering...if you even still wanted to come...” He mumbled to the side.

“Course bro!” Jim said, holding his hand up to get helped up by Eddy, slapping his shoulder as he was pulled. “Can’t let you face those rich fucks on your lonesome can we?”

But can’t we please? The last thing we should be doing is wanderen’ into The Lion's den. 

-I plead under my breath.

“Are you sure? I mean they’ll treat you and Blitz and Daisy like shit. I don’t want to put you through that.”

Jim just waved him off. “We’re friends, Eddy. No, fuck that, we’re family. We look out for our own, anyway.”

“Alright.”

“And you’re sure you still don’t just want us all to come?” Jim grinned.

“God no! I feel like Garrett would know too many of everyone's secrets to cause anything but an uncomfortable situation, my dad’ll just have Warren and Maribelle kicked out after what they did to him, and can you imagine how everyone would react to Remmie, after all some of those families are in deep with the Inquisition. Where is he anyway?”

Jim sighed, jumping onto the hood of his jeep and looking upwards, thinking. “Africa last I checked. His uhm…’teacher’ has him learning from some tribe deep in I think.”

“Is that stuff safe?” he asked, face scrunched up in concern.

             Yes, voodoo is perfectly safe. 

-I scoff, annoyed.

Jim smiled at that. “Is anythen’, really?.”

“Right, sorry.” Eddy said, returning the grin, and tapping his heart. “Deadmen walking.”

“Damn straight!” At that moment, Jim’s watch went off. “Ah fuck. Warren and me were gonna head over to Garrett's for a meal before the fight.” He jumped off the Jeep and grabbed his wallet and a pocket knife from a nearby counter. “You wanna come?”

“Sorry, Jim. Picking up Aleia from ballet. But I’ll definitely be at the fight tonight. Count on that.”

“Sounds good. Give the little monster my love, yeah?”

“She’ll be delighted. She loves big brother Jim.”

The two walked out in the cold, Jim flipping off the lights and closing the garage as he left.

Jesus Christ it’s cold out here.

Hope Warren warmed up his Truck. He said, blowing into his hands. 

Fuck winter.