The garage is quiet. The main crew, including the owner Frederick, are still out at Jay Shakespeare's funeral. The large, echoing space is filled with the smell of oil, rubber, and cold steel. The last rays of the afternoon sun stream through the high, grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
SHIFTY LAWSON is standing in front of a small, cracked mirror propped up against a toolbox. He has stripped off his greasy overalls and is wearing a pair of clean-ish trousers and a button-down shirt. He's meticulously trying to scrub the last of the engine grease from under his fingernails with a harsh industrial soap. He's humming to himself, a cheerful, tuneless sound. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he's on the verge of something good.
The side door to the garage office creaks open and JED CHESTERFIELD (40s, sharp suit, impatient air, a man who believes his time is more valuable than anyone else's) enters, clapping his hands together briskly.
JED CHESTERFIELD
Right then, Lawson. Where is she? Said she'd be ready by five. It's ten past.
Shifty's good mood deflates slightly. He turns from the mirror, forcing a professional smile.
SHIFTY LAWSON
Mr. Chesterfield. Good afternoon. Just finishing up in here. Frederick and the lads are still at the… well, they're still out.
JED CHESTERFIELD
I don't care where they are. I care where my Cortina is. You told me on the phone the brakes were the priority. Are they done or am I going to have to have another word with Reggie about his choice of staff?
Jed glances around the garage with disdain, as if the very air is beneath him.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(His confidence faltering)
Ah. Right. The Cortina. Yes. About the brakes…
He gestures vaguely towards a dark green Ford Cortina up on one of the lifts, its wheels still on. The box of new brake pads sits unopened on a nearby workbench. The parts had arrived late, and he was meant to fit them this afternoon before he left. Shifty knows how to do an oil change and swap a tyre, but a full brake job is beyond his skill set.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(His voice sharpening)
"About the brakes"? Don't tell me you haven't touched it. I've got a dinner reservation at The Albatross at seven. I can't very well turn up in a taxi. It looks desperate.
SHIFTY LAWSON
Well, you see, the thing is, Frederick and Peter were called away unexpectedly and—
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Cutting him off with a slice of his hand)
Stop. Stop right there. I'm not interested in excuses, Shifty. I'm interested in results. Is the car safe to drive or not? It's a simple question. You were pulling into the kerb like a learner driver this morning, said the pedal went straight to the floor.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(Looking at the unopened box of parts, then back at Jed's impatient face)
It's… it's not quite ready, Mr. Chesterfield. The parts, they… we can get it done for you first thing in the morning. I can call you a cab, on the house.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(He lets out a cold, humourless laugh)
First thing in the morning? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? I leave my car in your care for a full working day for a critical safety repair, and you're telling me to come back tomorrow? What have you been doing all day?
He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing.
JED CHESTERFIELD (CONT'D)
Actually, I know what you've been doing. I saw you. Fawning all over Charlene Baldwin in her little flower shop. Wasting time, batting your eyelashes, thinking you're some kind of Casanova.
Shifty flinches as if struck. The attack is so personal, so unexpected, it knocks the wind out of him.
SHIFTY LAWSON
That's got nothing to do with—
JED CHESTERFIELD
It has everything to do with it! You're distracted. A man with a job to do should be focused on the job, not trying to punch above his weight with a girl who is leagues out of his class. Do you really think a woman like Charlene wants to be with a grease monkey who can't even be relied upon to fix a set of brakes?
The words hit their mark. Jed is attacking the one fragile, hopeful thing in Shifty's life. The new confidence he felt just moments ago curdles into panic and shame. He can't admit failure now. Not after this. Not when it's tied directly to Charlene.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(His voice changes, becoming tight and defensive)
I was… I was just waiting. For them to cool down.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Skeptical)
Cool down? You just said you hadn't started.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(The lie starts, small at first, then gaining momentum)
No, I said it wasn't quite ready. The job's done. The brakes are on. I was just giving them a final check. You have to… you have to let the fluid settle. After you bleed the lines. Standard procedure.
He's spouting phrases he's heard Harry say, hoping they sound convincing. His heart is hammering against his ribs.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Stares at him, then at the car up on the lift)
So you've replaced the pads? And bled the system?
SHIFTY LAWSON
(The lie gets bigger. He can't stop it now.)
New pads, front and back. Skimmed the discs to make sure they were true. Bled the lines twice to get all the air out. Topped up the master cylinder. She'll stop on a sixpence now. Better than new.
He avoids Jed's gaze, busying himself by wiping down a perfectly clean wrench.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Still suspicious)
It doesn't look like it's been touched. The wheels are filthy.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(Thinking fast)
Didn't want to get water on the new discs. Can cause warping if they're hot. I was about to give them a wipe down before you came in. You know, for the finish.
Jed considers this. It sounds plausible enough, and he is, above all, in a hurry. The desire to have his problem solved overrides his suspicion.
JED CHESTERFIELD
Right. Well, get it down off the lift. I haven't got all day. The bill?
SHIFTY LAWSON
(His mind racing)
Frederick or Harry handles the billing. He said… uh… he said to just take the cost of the parts for now and he'll add the labour on later. Call it seventy-five quid.
He plucks a number out of thin air. He walks over to the lift controls, his hands trembling slightly as he operates the switch. The hydraulics hiss and the Cortina begins its slow descent.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Pulling a wad of cash from his pocket and peeling off the notes)
Seventy-five. Fine. It's a miracle you can be trusted with cash.
He throws the money onto the cluttered workbench. Shifty doesn't look at it. He's focused on the car, on getting Jed out of the garage before the lie collapses.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(Forcing a customer service smile that feels like a grimace)
Just be gentle on them for the first few miles. Let the pads bed in.
It's another line he's heard Reggie use. It sounds professional. It sounds responsible. It's the most dangerous thing he's ever said.
JED CHESTERFIELD
(Snatching the keys from a hook on the wall)
Whatever. As long as they work. Don't be late for your big date, Shifty. Wouldn't want her to think you're unreliable.
With a final, parting sneer, Jed gets into the Cortina. He starts the engine, the sound roaring to life in the cavernous space. He revs it once, unnecessarily loud, then puts it in gear and drives out of the garage.
Shifty stands frozen in the middle of the floor. The sound of the Cortina's engine fades as it drives down the road. He is left in the sudden, deafening silence.
His knees feel weak. He stumbles over to the workbench and slumps against it, his head in his hands. The seventy-five pounds lies on the greasy surface next to the unopened box of brand-new brake pads. The air is thick with the smell of exhaust fumes and the sickening stench of his own monumental lie. He has a date with the girl of his dreams in less than an hour, and he just sent a man driving off into the evening with no brakes.
He takes a shaky step, then another, slumping against the workbench. He buries his face in his hands, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The cheerful humming is gone, replaced by a low, guttural moan of self-loathing.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(To himself, a desperate whisper)
What have you done? What have you done, you stupid, stupid man…
The side door opens so quietly he doesn't hear it at first. HARRY PETERS (60s, a wiry, life-long mechanic with kind, tired eyes) enters. He's still in his dark suit from the funeral, but he's loosened his black tie and his face is etched with the somber exhaustion of a long, sad day. He spots Shifty hunched over the workbench.
HARRY PETERS
(His voice gentle, weary)
Trevor? Thought you'd have locked up and gone by now. Frederick said you had the fort.
Shifty jumps, spinning around as if he's been caught in a crime. Which, he realizes with a fresh wave of nausea, he has. He tries to compose himself, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.
SHIFTY LAWSON
Harry. You're back. How was… was it okay?
HARRY PETERS
(Shrugging, his gaze distant)
It was a funeral. No one has a good time. His poor daughter … looked like she'd aged twenty years. Still, a good send-off. Half the town was there. You should have come, paid your respects. Jay always had a soft spot for you.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(Looking down, guilt compounding guilt)
I know. I… I got held up here. Last-minute job.
HARRY PETERS
(His eyes scanning the garage, landing on the workbench)
Yeah? What was it?
Harry ambles over, his old bones moving slowly. He looks at the money, then at the box of brake pads. He picks up the box, feeling its weight.
HARRY PETERS (CONT'D)
Chesterfield's Cortina, right? These are the pads that came in this morning. Did you get them on for him? He was in a right state about it.
Shifty's throat feels like it's full of sand. He can't form a word. He just gives a small, jerky nod.
HARRY PETERS
Good lad. Frederick will be pleased. He didn't want to face Chesterfield's whinging tomorrow. Where's the old ones? I'll chuck 'em in the scrap bin.
Harry looks around for the old, worn brake pads. Shifty's face goes white. There are no old pads because they are still on the car.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(Stammering)
I… I threw them out already. Binned them.
Harry stops. He looks at Shifty. He looks at the unopened box in his hands. He looks at the money on the bench. He looks back at Shifty's terrified, sweating face. The pieces click into place with a horrifying, sickening certainty. His weary expression hardens into one of dawning disbelief.
HARRY PETERS
(His voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl)
Trevor. I'm holding a brand new, unopened box of brake pads. You're telling me you fitted them. And that's Chesterfield's cash on the bench.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(His resolve crumbles completely)
I… Harry, I…
HARRY PETERS
Don't lie to me. Not today. Not after burying a friend. Where is Jed Chesterfield?
SHIFTY LAWSON
(The words spill out in a frantic, desperate torrent)
He left. Five minutes ago. He came in, Harry, he was shouting, saying I was messing around, that I wasn't doing my job! He saw me at Charlene's, and he said… he said things. That I was a loser, a grease monkey, that a girl like her would never… that I was dragging her down…
He's pacing now, running his hands through his hair, a picture of pure panic.
SHIFTY LAWSON (CONT'D)
And I couldn't let him be right! I couldn't stand there and tell him I'd failed, that I couldn't do the one simple job I was left to do. Not when I have a date with her tonight! I just wanted to look… capable. For once in my life, I wanted to look like I had it all under control!
HARRY PETERS
(Ignoring the motive, focusing on the terrifying fact)
So you told him you fixed it.
Shifty stops pacing. He looks at Harry, his eyes wide with terror and regret. He nods, a tiny, miserable motion.
SHIFTY LAWSON
I told him it was done. I told him they were better than new. I took his money. And he drove away.
Harry stares at him. The weariness is gone, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged horror.
HARRY PETERS
You let Jed Chesterfield, a man whose brakes you yourself said were shot to bits, drive out of this garage… having done nothing? You took his money and you let him drive out of here?
SHIFTY LAWSON
(His voice cracking)
I told him to be gentle on them! To let them bed in!
HARRY PETERS
(Exploding, his voice echoing in the huge garage)
BED IN?! WHAT IS THERE TO BED IN, YOU ABSOLUTE BLOODY IDIOT? The old pads that are worn down to the metal?! He's got no brakes, Trevor! He came in here this morning with a pedal soft as a sponge, and you sent him away with a death trap!
He slams the box of new brake pads down on the workbench. The seventy-five pounds flutters in the air and lands on the oily floor.
SHIFTY LAWSON
(Tears welling in his eyes)
I panicked! I didn't know what to do! I'll call him!
HARRY PETERS
He has a landline, he's probably went to pick up Barbara from the funeral, I'm very disappointed, what were you thinking you stupid boy.
SHIFTY LAWSON
I don't know! He said he had a dinner at The Albatross tonight.
Harry's face drains of all remaining colour.
HARRY PETERS
The Albatross? God help us all. He has to take the long hill down botchergate. A two-mile descent with a hairpin bend at the bottom. He'll be lucky to make it past the first corner. He'll ride the brakes, they'll overheat, the fluid will boil, and then… nothing. He'll have nothing.
Shifty sags against the wall, sliding down to the floor, the full weight of his actions finally crushing him.
SHIFTY LAWSON
Oh God. Oh my God, Harry. What have I done?
Harry is already moving, his weariness replaced by a desperate, focused energy. He grabs his own car keys from the hook.
HARRY PETERS
Get up. Get up, you stupid boy! We're going after him. Crying on the floor isn't going to stop a two-tonne car with no brakes. Get in my car. Now. Maybe, just maybe, we can catch him before he gets to the church.