Car Wash Guppy

By: WindDancer

 

Disclaimer:  Located on Fan Fic Page

 

 

 

Blair carefully parked the blue Hayseed in the spot that Jim always chose.  The engine cut off without so much as a choke or sputter.  Which was what his life was going to do when Jim saw the truck.

 

“I am like so dead.”  He muttered to himself for the millionth time.  Gathering his backpack his hand stilled as his eyes fell to the passenger floorboard.  The outside mirrors to the Hayseed sat along with the driver door weather stripping, the radio antenna, dozens of pieces of the shattered taillight covers and the remains of the driver door window all sat quietly as testimony to the horrific act they’d been through.  And to top all that off the mutilated Jags license plate he’d stuffed in his bag.

 

Closing the driver door Blair winched at the loud clang the door made.  He never realized how much glass absorbed sound.  Until it was missing.  God, what was he going to tell Jim?  Hell, the truth wasn’t even something he believed himself!

 

“I AM SOOOO very dead.”  He recanted as he climbed the stairs.  He bypassed the elevator because he knew, with his luck; it would be working and would expedite his sure death!

 

Standing in front of the door to the Loft he hung his head.  There was no way to get out of it.  He was going to have just-

 

“Sandburg, you gonna stand there all night?”  Jim flung open the door; no doubt the Sentinel could hear his Guide’s frantic heartbeat.

 

“Jim!  Hi, uh, yea, I was just fishing for my key!”  The key ring appeared in his hand and his jangled it for effect.

 

Jim’s blue eyes narrowed, “Yea, right, get in here, dinner’s nearly done.”

 

 

 

 

He hung his coat and backpack up with the utmost of care.  No need for the homicide team to think he was a slob.   With equal care he vetoed the idea of dying with his shoes off and left them on.  No telling how mad Jim was going to be.

 

“Get the table set Chief.”  Jim called from the kitchen.  It was a rarity that Jim cooked anymore.  Blair had him so spoiled that he doubted his own cooking could sustain the rigors a young detective went through.

 

“Yeah, I'm coming.”  Blair said with as much enthusiasm he could muster.

 

Jim whirled about the kitchen in at a frantic pace.  Or so it seemed to the younger man that was about to get killed.  Maybe he already knew and was toying with him.

 

“You get the Hayseed washed?”  The ten million dollar question resounded in the kitchen like a gunshot.

 

Blair literally froze in his trek to the dinner table.  His hands shook and the salad dressing bottles he held clanked loudly together.  Doom descended on him in the form of Jim’s strong hand on his shoulder.

 

“Chief?”  Jim called, concerned.  “You alright?”

 

Spinning on his heel Blair’s eyes were wide a saucers and his face as pale as a sheet.  His voice, almost childlike in his own defense blurted, “Jim it was an accident!  I swear!”

 

Taking a deep calming breath Blair looked his friend in the eye and started to explain what happened,  "Well, Big Guy, it happened like this......"

 

 

Earlier at the  Bubbles and Scrub-O-Rama

 

“Wash and dry, please.”  Blair said to the attendant and handed her a five-dollar bill.

 

Quickly she handed Blair a receipt and said, “Looks like you’re the last car, er, truck of the day.”

 

“Cool.”  Blair added.   “You think I could ride in the truck through the wash?  I, ah, kind of always wanted to do that.”  Bouncing excitedly on his heels wagging those brown eyebrows just so.

 

The attendant grinned, “Sure, why not. Just sit and don’t open the windows!”

 

“Yessss!”  Blair hooted and jumped back in the Ford and drove it towards the entrance of the wash.

 

“Enter the tracks until you hear a loud click and then put it in Neutral and sit back!”  The attendant shouted over the noise of the rollers and auto-dryer.

 

“This is like SO cool!”  Blair beamed as he slid the truck into Neutral and checked the windows one last time.

 

Almost instantly the Ford began to glide into the first set of sprays.  Water began dosing the windows and clouding any vision Blair might have had through the glass.  Never one to be bored he grabbed his laptop from his pack and began to work a report he was preparing for Simon on Jim. 

 

Minutes passed as he reread the last paragraph he’d typed.  He sure hoped this report would enlighten their Captain on the stresses of prolonged stakeouts and surveillance had on Jim.  It wasn’t a report, more or less, but a letter of information.  He hated the idea of preparing any type of ‘report’ regarding Jim.  It reminded him too much of the old days.

 

Heavy soap laden strips hit the Ford on either side and began a sideways dance as they soaped up the exterior.  Back and forth, back and forth, to and fro, to and fro.  They rhythm almost hypnotizing.

 

“Prolonged surveillance at a sustained state of heightened awareness is both physically and- “  Blair drummed his fingers on the keys while his brain searched for a word.  Absently, he reached for window crank and rolled it down.

 

Four wet soapy strips slapped him in the side of the head like lightening.  “Owww!!!”  The startled yelp was then replaced by shouts of fear.

 

“Christ!”  Frantically he cranked the window up while the soapy strips pelted his head and face without mercy.  Wash poured in like a broken water main, spilling down the driver door and pooling in the floorboard. 

 

“Come on!”  He berated himself as his hands slipped on the handle. 

 

The window inched up slowly and then finally closed.  At the same time the motion of the soap strips stopped momentarily.  Blair sagged half in the seat and half on the floorboard in a drenched mess.  Not to mention his nerves were about to crawl from beneath his skin.

 

“Oh, man.”  He prayed as he surveyed the damaged.  Jim’s side of the truck was soaked and soapy and the floorboard had nearly 2 inches if not more puddle beneath the brake and gas pedals!

 

A mechanic sound revved up and the Ford was violently pulled forward.  “Whoa!!  Stop!  Stop this thing!”  Blair shouted.  Crawling up into the seat he saw to his utter horror the soap strips caught in the window!  The truck was about to be ripped from the guide track and slammed into the washer arms and then hurled through the dryer!  In that order!

 

“Christ!  Oh, man, I’m gonna die in the friggin’ carwash!”

 

Blair contemplated lowered the window and freeing the strips until the Ford slammed into the whole washer arm.  Overhead something crashed into the roof of the truck making him shield his head!  The truck was half in the guide track and half out and plowing a hell of a trail towards the exit.

 

The next few minutes were a blur as he hid in the passenger floorboard with his arms covering his head and prayed to any deity that might still owe him favors.  On a collision course with everything in site the Ford was yanked from left to right and then forward.  Bending steel and shattering glass filled the air along with the whooshing sound of the auto dryer.

 

 

 

Jim’s heart clinched at the tone of Blair’s frightened voice.  The blue orbs that stared at him were fill with emotion so strong that for a second Jim was unsettled.

 

“Didn’t mean to do what, Chief?”  His tone was level and devoid of any of the worry that was building incredibly fast in his chest.

 

“It was an accident, Jim, man, I swear.”  Blair repeated.  His voice stuttering, he took a step back from Jim.

 

Jim cocked his head to one side, listening to his friend’s heartbeat.  “Blair, tell me what was an accident.” 

 

Blair inhaled deeply, his eyes glistened in the soft light of the room. “The truck, man.  It was an accident.”

 

Jim shook his head.  “Chief, you’re not making any sense. Are you OK?  I don’t care about the truck.”

 

Blair stifled a hysterical laugh, “Oh, I’m alright, man, but the truck…”

 

Jim took Blair by the shoulder and opened the loft door.  “Show me, Chief.” 

 

 

 

Blair descended the stairs like it was the march to the electric chair.  His head hung low and his heart pounding like a kettledrum. 

 

Jim saw the Ford immediately in it usual place.  It was clean.  Spotless in fact.  One would hardly notice the missing mirrors, the dented bumper, busted light covers and missing antenna.

 

Jim scratched his head while he walked around the truck and inspected it.  Blair stood motionless in front of the Ford.  “Well, looks good.  Real good.”  His words were slow and careful.  “Five dollar job?”

 

“Yep.”  Shoving his hands into his jeans pocket he hoped, no prayed, that Jim couldn’t see them shaking.  He could literally feel Jim’s eyes on him.  Scanning him for vital information that would lead to his untimely and unfortunate demise

 

“Looks good.”  Jim said, again, snickering beginning to build in his voice.  “You get the air freshner stuff, too?” 

 

“Oh, yea.  Vanilla right?” 

 

“Yea.”  Jim said, his voice lighter and his eyes twinkling.  “So, tell me Darwin, did you open the window or put the truck in Drive?”

 

Blair looked up, his eyes meeting Jim’s.  Expecting the worse he instead found Jim about to bust with laughter.  “Window.”

 

That was all it took.  Jim exploded in loud laughter that doubled him over.  Hanging onto the hood of the truck he cackled deeply until his eyes misted with tears.  “Oh, Chief, what am I going to do with you?”

 

Blair was stunned.  “You aren’t mad, man?  I really messed up the truck.”

 

Jim gathered himself, still snickering and whipped his eyes.  “Blair, it’s a truck.  A piece of metal that takes us to and from work.  Nothing more.  You are more important.  Don’t you know that by now?”

 

“Yea, but it was stupid.  I’ll pay for the damages, I swear!”  Holding up two fingers in honor of the Boy Scouts.

 

Jim looked at his best friend, his Guide, his brother.  The look of terror somewhat diminished from his clear eyes.  “We’ll fix it together, partner.”

 

Together they walked back towards the loft entrance.  Jim’s arm thrown around Blair’s neck in a brotherly hug.  “Say, Chief, about the Jags plate…That I will have to hurt you for!”

 

Blair bolted for the stairs in a dead run.  “Jim!”

 

Taking off for his partner Jim took the stairs two at a time, laughter of both men fading and then rising again as the sun sank in the evening. 

 

 

THE END

18 Feb 2000