(3) Assumptions vs Expectations

                                        

                                              

He had nobody but himself to blame for having nothing to do for a change. He'd booked off the bar shift, thinking he was going to need the time to recover from the rally. Instead things had gone sideways real quick, and every time involved the brat.
It had been a surprise to find her at the rally party, but he was still trying to make peace with the fact that she had a joint in her purse. It was like the wine at Salali's funeral, he wasn't used to seeing her as an adult. And as his parent's had trained him, a person's belongings can tell you about them so he'd shamelessly gone through her purse but now he couldn't help but see the brat a little differently. 
He also hadn't expected a stoned model to maneuver him into talking about why he'd been at the rally party. She hadn't bought the car mechanic only line and he'd noticed that immediately in her barbed response. So he hadn't thought anything of mouthing back until he saw the tension suddenly stiffen the brat's posture back to perfect. He'd hit a raw nerve there and it occurred to Tomas that maybe she wasn't as untouched by the whole thing as she was putting on. Too late to realize that after he'd already hurt her, he kept silent as he dropped her off.
With nothing to recover from and having already worked on some of the cars, Tom turned to his other past time; beating the stuffing out of a bag at the gym. It was a good way to pass the time and helped burn off some of the restlessness dragging him. Tom wasn't an overly superstitious man but it felt like a full moon kind of day.
He wasn't certain how long he went at it for, stopping only when someone else finally came to the ratty gym. His clean up was as swift as possible, and it was only at the end that he saw his phone had a message.
[DUDE OUR PROP MAN SUCKS, WE NEED A FLASH CAR AND HE BROUGHT US A CAMRY. NEED A RECUE, THINK YOUR DAD HAD ONE WE COULD USE FOR A SHOOT ASAP?] Nate's number from almost an hour ago.
Shit, it was faster to call.
Nate picked up on the third ring, "you have got to get better about checking your phone man." Nate was the second Vega to give him shit for it in two days, he was on a roll.
"I'm at the gym, I wasn't waiting on you to need me." To shot back, already heading to his car to hit his dad's garage. Carlitos Guerrero always had a flash car ready, though his dad preferred rides that blended in a bit more he also knew the value of having a display piece to show mod work on. 
"So do you think you can help us? I'll text you the address and you can stay to hunt the ladies." His best friend knew him too well. It'd been a bit since Tom had had a girlfriend, and he missed the kind of distraction one would provide. 
"Send it, I'm already going for a car. Give me an hour if its close."  Tom hung up to focus on driving, knowing he didn't need a cop to clock him right now.
The thing about flashy cars is that their very nature is intended to draw the eye, get attention. Cops are really good at paying attention to a car that screams look at me, and Tom had his parent's Spanish colouring, so he knew the term racial profiling well. His Supra was a matte black for a reason; unique but not eye grabbing at a distance. The Mustang was the opposite; a metallic red that was determined to be noticed, and Tom drove it accordingly. Going the speed limit sucked but he wasn't pulled over.
Nate had texted him the coordinates, and better than that, the directions, so he pulled up pretty much on the hour he'd told them to expect. The neighborhood and the building looked rough, but Tom could see the appeal of contrast to the sleek car and likely sexy women. Whatever they were selling was probably something Tom would buy.
He didn't recognize the guy who came up to get the keys, so Tom kept them for now. "Nate's inside dealing with an irate client. He said to drop off the keys and enjoy the honey." The kid repeated Nate's words in a terrible Spanish imitation.