A Claim on the Chrome

“We’re here for the keys, Raymond,” Denise said. She reached the apron and planted her boots six inches from the front bumper. “The board cleared the transfer yesterday.”

She slapped an open palm flat against the blue roof. The sheet metal rang under the strike.

Cole winced and pulled his chin into his collar. In his right hand, a pair of brass keys jingled on a split ring.

“Car is not for sale,” Raymond said. His voice stayed low, steady as an engine idling in neutral. “Never has been.”

“Your signature says otherwise,” Denise said. She tapped the pages against her forearm. “Forty-one thousand five hundred. It’s a binding contract.”

Raymond stepped around the front fender. He did not raise his hands or hurry his steps. He looked past her shoulder to Cole.

“Your mother tell you I signed that?” Raymond asked.

Cole shifted his weight, knuckles white around the ring. “She said you settled on the price Tuesday. That the estate windfall came through.”

“Nobody bought this car, son.”

“Don’t address my boy,” Denise said. She thrust the paper toward Raymond’s chest. “Cole, unlock the driver door right now.”

Cole swallowed, eyes darting between Raymond’s face and the chrome handle. He stepped past his mother onto the concrete apron. His wrist shook as he extended the brass key toward the lock.