George's eyes sparkled with amusement as Jim's abrupt switch from the proverbial 'deer-in-headlights' to the disgruntled younger sibling who believed he'd been tattled on by his older brother. "No," he answered, managing to keep the laughter from his tone lest the teen think he was laughing at him. "He didn't tell me. The version of you that was here before told me."
He paused, mind flickering back to the night he'd learned of the fate of his beloved vehicle. "Actually," he said thoughtfully, re-focusing on Jim, "you wrote it to me in a note since we couldn't speak at the time." He still had the note, too, in his pocket at that very moment. He didn't pull it out as evidence however. Either Jim would believe him, or he wouldn't. There was no need to offer proof, and there was certainly no reason for the boy to see anything else that had been written out that night in the bar.
Some things, George felt, were best left unknown.
So instead he offered up the information, "It's here, by the way. The car, I mean. In one piece and parked right around that corner, in fact." He nodded in the direction of the assigned parking garage just past the Housing Complex.