Roadside Bodhisattva by Paul Di Filippo

“You sound like a troublemaker, Hartshorn. The kind of troublemaker we don’t need around here.”
    “Maybe that’s because you forgot what a real goddamn American citizen sounds like, officer. Been so long since you heard one, maybe. But then again, we might just both be right. In my book, troublemaker and real citizen have always been more or less synonymous.”
    I braced myself for the cop to take out his cuffs and slap them on Sid. But then, incredibly, Vakharia laughed. It was a nasty laugh, but it was better than the alternative.
    “Okay, Hartshorn. You talk tough, but you don’t look like any ex-con I’ve ever met. Plus I respect Ann. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. I’ll cut you and your friend some slack. But just remember this. If anything bad goes down within my district and the perp’s not obvious, then you two’ll be the number one suspects on my list. And we’ll see then if you walk it like you talk it.”
    “Fair enough, officer. Got any raffle tickets for the fop you want to sell me while you’re here?”
    “Don’t push your luck,” said Vakharia. Then he got into his car and took off. He used his siren to stop the traffic on Route 1 so he could merge, even though there was obviously no emergency.
    I turned to Sid. My anger toward Vakharia was swamped by my gratitude toward Sid. “Boy, thanks, Sid. I didn’t know how I was gonna get out of that one.”
    “Small lesson for you there, Kid. Respect and deference as a tactic only goes so far with some jerks in positions of power. Sometimes you gotta rear up on your hind legs and let out a roar. Shout it to the top, right? Might not even make things go any smoother, but at least you’ll be able to look at yourself in the mirror in the morning. Now why don’t you go help the ladies inside? And don’t bother Ann with an account of this crap, okay?”
    “Sure.”
    Inside the diner, Yasmine scowled at me. “I got two dirty tables here, Kid. You’re not earning your share of my tips this way.”
    I started to say something sharp back, but then I bit my tongue. The story Sue had told me about Yasmine and her mother left me feeling kinda bad for the woman.
    “Sorry, Yasmine. I was busy with Sid.”
    My apology seemed to throw her for a loop. “Well—okay, then.”
    In the back I strapped on my apron, grabbed the scratched plastic gray tub and went out front to bus the dirty tables.
    Time went by pretty quickly. Sid came to pick up lunch for himself and Angie. By three I was really hungry. Sonny made me a triple-decker tuna sandwich with fries. I scarfed it down, finished my share of the cleanup, got my few bucks from Yasmine, then went to look for Sid.
    I found him at the garage, sitting in the little office with Angie.
    They were playing chess.
    At first I didn’t believe my eyes. There they sat, underneath a tattered calendar of a babe in a bikini stroking a transmission. Fanbelts in their cardboard sleeves hung from a pegboard. Tottering piles of new air filters and oil filters and spark plugs stood all around them. The greasy wrappers from their sandwiches lay across the rubbery green desktop. There was barely room left for the chessboard. They were hunched over it deep in concentration, and didn’t even hear me come in.
    “Uh, Sid, shouldn’t we be getting back to scraping?”
    “Shhh! Not now, Kid. This bastard’s getting ready to whip my ass, and I gotta focus.”
    I had never played chess before, so I couldn’t tell who was winning. It seemed like each player had about the same number of pieces left. But I knew that some pieces counted for more than others.
    At last Sid moved a piece. Angie followed up quickly. Sid said, “Damn!” and knocked over one of his own pieces. “You got me, Ange.”
    The burly mechanic did not smile exactly. But he gave off this kinda satisfied glow. “Well, you put up a good fight.”
    The phone in the office rang, making me jump for some reason. Angie picked it up. “Uh-huh. Right near