Mason looked around for the source of the voice. His frown didn’t slacken, nor did his tone lose its edge, but he didn’t snap at the bloke either. It was clear his ire was for the Jeep alone. “I don’t fucking know,” he answered, hopping out of the driver’s seat again and walking around to peer back under the hood. At this rate, he could’ve walked halfway to the city by now.
“Could be the battery, could be the coil, starter bolts…” The latter two being only terms he’d heard thrown around, but didn’t know how to check for. Those three things made up the very short list of what he could think of that might be wrong with the Jeep. “Could be any fucking thing.”
He flicked his gaze up to the other man, arching an eyebrow. “Know anything about cars, mate? Give you a ride if you can fix this heap of junk.” He drew short of offering the guy money or anything of value. Wouldn’t offer unless he had to, but if he could get out of paying the guys at the garage for their shoddy handiwork, he’d take it.
The sun continued to rise, peeking over the firehouse building and granting more light by the minute. At least the heat of the day wasn’t beating down on them yet. Working in the heat was fucking brutal. Usually he’d be sleeping around this time. If it turned out this inconvenience got in the way of finishing off the nap he had at the hotel, he’d make sure to get Smith to cover his shift at the shop.