Jeremiah supervised while Jynx felt that thing up like a prom date, but she couldn’t find any sort of start button or open button, or anything that might tell them more about it. She said it didn’t feel the same as the tablet, that she could tell it was made of the same material, but that it had no colors, whatever that meant. It sounded like the sort of new-agey shit that Lisa was always talking about after a few too many screwdrivers. Without the colors, Jynx explained, there was nothing she could do.

By the time the kids got tired of pushing the saucer around the lot, Austin was well past his prime. Despite his attempted machismo, he had about the same tolerance as Jynx and there was no way he was getting behind the wheel anytime soon. Jynx promised to take him to Sancho’s and put some food into him. Jynx helped Jeremiah push the saucer onto the lift in the third bay.

Helping to spread a canvas drop cloth over it, she had forgotten the doll clothes that Ashley had dressed her in. Lovingly caring for her newly restored scrap, she took a moment to run her fingers along the paint details, smiling proudly.

Having spent the better part of the day wondering if she would even like it, seeing her trace a perfectly manicured green fingernail along his pinstriping was the sort of quiet compliment that he treasured. Getting the saucer up off the ground had proven her right. Whether it was the paint job on the saucer or the sundress on her it didn’t matter. It was all just packaging. “You look really nice, Jynx.” he dusted his palms on his pant leg.

Jynx looked down at her own dusty palms, realizing that she couldn’t play like she normally did. “Yeah, well, at least she can say she tried.”

He handed her his rag. “Well, whenever you’re ready to get rid of those claws,” he reached over to the workbench that ran along the wall and picked up an oversized angle grinder, “You just come on back.” He flicked the trigger a few times to hear the grinding wheel whizz loudly. Jynx poked her knuckles into her ears to block the high-pitched sound, but she was still smiling.

“Hey, Jynx!” Austin called from the Lazy Boy, “Did I tell you I saw Becca?”

Jeremiah glanced at Jynx apologetically and shook his head sadly. All dolled up, Jynx had proven herself every bit as attractive as that Becca chick, but Austin was blind. “You know,” Jeremiah offered, “You’ve got every right to fuck with him right now.”

She smiled, and mimicking Ashley’s flippant manicure check, inspected her nails as a soft smile spread across her cheeks. “Oh, I know.” She collected her old clothes without bothering to change and set about collecting Austin as well. Everybody seemed to agree that a cup of Sancho’s burnt coffee might do him some good.

Dozing through his afternoon game shows, Jeremiah was only faintly aware of the low idle of a V8 engine turning onto the lot. The front doors were closed, so he didn't think much of it. A few minutes later, or a few hours napping, he woke to an appreciative whistle and opened one eye to peer at Jack, the real Jack, inspecting the paint job on the leading edge of the saucer.

Only partially covered by a tarp, the pointed front edge could have been the bow of a speed boat. Jack inspected the metal fleck blue flames and delicate pinstriping. He ran his hand along the underside, somehow finding the exact spot that Jeremiah had recently healed; there really was no better way to describe it. “Yeah, fixed it up real nice,” Jack muttered to himself, as if he had seen the wreckage when it arrived.

Jeremiah shuffled across the lot and nodded, smirking. “Yeah, the patch job was real easy.” Senile or not, Jack was right.

Jack was a hard read, even to Jeremiah. He didn’t come around as much as he used to, and Jeremiah watched for signs of senility, when Jack just stared off into the distance for a moment too long, thinking about something and tugging at his earlobes.

“What brings you by, Jack? Manny late on the receipts?”

Jack shook his head. ‘Nah, Bean, nothing like that.” He ran his fingers along the leading edge of the saucer, unconsciously checking the surface of the paint for flaws. “A couple of guys stopped by the house the other day, asking a lot of questions about the shop here.”

Jeremiah wiped his hands on a rag and leaned back against the Crown Vic. “You aren’t thinking about selling, are you Jack?”

“Selling?” Jack tugged at his earlobe again, concentrating. “No, no. I wouldn’t do that to you guys. You boys take real good care of the place.” He squinted up at the sun, gauging how long until he was going to want to get back into some air-conditioning, then suddenly remembered that it was Friday and that the soup of the day down at Sancho’s was probably broccoli cheddar. He was particularly fond of broccoli cheddar soup, although he preferred it in a sourdough bread bowl like they served it at the Brown Bear in San Bernardino. He decided that he might take himself out for a daylight dinner, in any case, and possibly stop by the market for some mint chocolate chip ice cream, unless Sancho’s happened to have that banana cream pie that he liked.

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Meanwhile, Jeremiah watched Jack tug at his earlobe and stare up at the sun for nearly a minute.

Jack patted the side of the saucer. “Yeah, that sure is a real nice paint job.” He leaned over to inspect the fine black gloss pinstriping that outlined the flames. “Real nice.” He nodded to himself and straightened up, bracing his back as he did. “Now I know you kids aren’t getting yourselves into any trouble with the law, but those guys didn't look like they were on a fact-finding mission.”

“Jack. You know I wouldn't let you down like that.”

"Oh, I know." He chuckled and nodded absentmindedly, poking at pebbles with the toe of his clean orthotic sneaker. “They asked a few questions about catalytic converters and the jail time came up.” He seemed uncomfortable with the topic and dragged it out. “Locks are just there for good guys, Bean.” Jack looked directly at him, as clear eyed as lap day at the track. "Those guys are gonna come after you pretty soon, and you gotta be ready to roll if need be."

Jeremiah nodded solemnly. The old guy was right. No matter what, somebody was going to put the finger on him.

"You know what they're after, Bean?"

“You're leaning on it.”

Jack stood up straight to get a better look at the painted surface as a whole. He pushed the tarp back to expose a little more of the flame while he ran his palm along the cool metal, appreciating the perfection of the gently curving surface.

Jack didn't bother to ask what it was. To Jeremiah's surprise, upon recognizing the object, even with the paint job, Jack's first question was: “So the Tough Guy Club finally dug it up, did they?” He scowled slightly, then brightened up abruptly and smiled with a strange sort of satisfaction that bordered on pride. “I was beginning to think it might stay buried, but I guess it couldn't, huh?” He muttered and chuckled and bent over it, checking edges, and walked around it. Grunting as he knelt down to get another look at the patch job, he clapped his hands like a toddler and whistled through his teeth to find it hovering a couple feet off the hydraulic lift. “Well, would you look at that!” He laughed. “Like it was yesterday, ya know?”

Jack was undoubtedly going senile, but his casual acceptance of a hot rod painted flying saucer hovering a couple of feet off the ground was unnerving. Jeremiah had been expecting some old guy admonition and possibly a stern scolding; maybe Jack would try to cash in on the find. It was his lot, after all. He didn't expect this childish enthusiasm, like they'd accidentally won some secret locals-only scavenger hunt. “You recognize this thing?” Jeremiah asked.

Jack shook his head, smiling. “Oh, I guess I shouldn't, huh, Bean. He patted the hull again, particularly pleased. “Yeah, Bean. Nice work. The paint job looks real good on it.” He nodded and tugged at his earlobe. “Ah, Bean. I guess this means we ain't got long left.” He scowled, concentrating on something important, then slipping from his reminiscing to the present moment and then back into thoughts of daylight dinners and broccoli cheddar soup. “Well, no wonder those guys are asking questions.” He stretched over the saucer and tugged at the tarp, attempting to cover the thing again. “Best you keep this out of sight for a little while, Bean. It won't be much longer before those boys quit their catalytic converter nonsense and come hunting for it.”

Jeremiah helped Jack cover the saucer, draping the tarp so that it did look a lot like a little speed boat dry docked on the hydraulic lift. “You think it will be real trouble if they find it?”

Jack thought about it longer than Jeremiah liked and shrugged. “Well, I don't suppose you’re going to follow my advice either way, this thing is gonna end how it ends. If those agents come around here looking for it, don't go down swinging. Just get yourself gone.”

Jeremiah nodded reluctantly. Jack didn't know about the Crown Vic or the ball of melted oil rig, but that didn't matter. He was right. They wouldn't need a legitimate reason to get him out of the way, they would just need an excuse to get him cuffed in the back of a cop car. “Alright, Jack. I'll play nice.” He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and offered one to Jack out of politeness.

Jack shook his head, smiling appreciatively. “Well, that's good, Bean.” He chuckled, and checking his watch, slapped the bean's shoulder as he started shuffling towards the front lot and his inevitable cup of soup.

Jeremiah walked him out, quietly seething that Keystone Cops were asking enough questions to worry the old man. He watched Jack fumble through the keys for a moment. “Say, did you kids get that piece back from Kent's brother yet?”

Jack might think he recognized the saucer. Jeremiah was willing to chalk that up to senility, but a missing piece was fairly specific. That was more than just local legend. “Who's Kent? What piece?”

“Uh,” Jack tugged at his earlobe, deep in thought. “He's the science teacher, now. His big brother Richard had a chunk. He took it from the ship back when they were kids, it was in his hand, but nobody could pry it out of there. Little guy had a death grip on it.”

“We never got it.”

Jack shrugged. “We got time.” He waved away the thought. “You still need the key.” He climbed into the driver's seat of his primer red El Camino, his latest pet project, and waved as he backed out slowly and exited the lot just as slow. His days of chasing land speed records long since passed, it was clear that he would probably never even break the speed limit again.

Jeremiah contemplated shutting off the pumps for the night, and calling it an early evening, but he didn't have anything else to do for a few hours, at least until Megan was about to get off. Sitting down at the Starlight all evening seemed like a bad plan. He contemplated cutting into the ball of slag but learning that the agents were snooping around Jack's place, he didn't feel much like doing them any favors. Times like this, he figured, best thing to do was put that Mantis back together. If Jack was right, that might be his only play whan the cops showed up again. He swirled the last few luke-warm gulps of beer around the bottom of the bottle, only then realizing that the minifridge might be nearly empty.