Did he live on the streets. It wasn’t an offensive question. Silas gave a shrug in response. “For a brief time, when shit was really hard. Was raised by my grandparents, though. They knew a lot of things, but mechanic shit wasn’t one of ‘em.” He wasn’t about to go into detail about his past criminal activity. Not while things were somewhat conversational still. Maybe if things took a downward turn and she pissed him off, then he’d use his story to scare her off.
Silas would’ve been lying if he’d said that making Nick prove herself didn’t sound fun. He wanted to see what she could do, if she could handle projects like this. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him smile a little when she return-served a comment about the garage being about the only place she was considered smart. On that, they were similar.
Nick asked about scrap metal and Silas nodded toward the rear garage door. “There’s some pieces from old wire and chain-link fences and some bits from broken cages out back in the scrapyard. We can take a look, see what we have. If nothin’ works, I can go into town later and see what I can find.”
He led the way out the rear door and into the area that used to serve as the prison’s impound lot. Now it was cluttered with rusted vehicles that were being used for parts, other vehicles that the Boss wanted fixed up, and various other scraps that could be used for welding projects and the like.
Pausing to light up a cigarette, Silas gestured at the small pile that was comprised of sections cut out of wire fences, as well as a sturdy bit of chain-link fence he’d come across, and a couple broken cages that the vet had discarded.