The Short Story blog series is an experiment where I write short stories one week at a time before they’re actually published. Get the whole archive here: charleskunken.com/season6
The Half-Buttered Croissant - Part IV (The Finale) - The Avant-Garde
A day of hooky in search of purpose. Part 4 (the finale) of a short story.
Part 1: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-one
Part 2: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-two-the-diner
Part 3: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-three-the-rose-garden
Part 4: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-four-the-finale-the-avant-garde
Full PDF: charleskunken.com/s/The-Half-Buttered-Croissant-by-Charles-Kunken-June-2020.pdf
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Part 3 Ending: …John speed-walked back towards the Rose Garden.
When he got to the rear entrance, the little girl had apparently packed it in for the day, but there sat the dude waiting for him at the other end of the lot, lounging, petting his dog, waiting without a care.
John marched over ready to give him a piece of his mind.
Part 4, The Finale continues below…
Part IV (The Finale) - The Avant-Garde
“Gotta stop for gas,” the dude yelled at the last bend before the diner.
John, saying nothing, continued hugging the dog.
They pulled off after the general store and stopped at a rusty old pump in front of the only other structure on this stretch of road, a huge dilapidated barn.
“C’mon,” the dude said after he cut the engine. “If you were a mark, would I have been waiting to give you a ride?”
The faded yellow sign read Louie’s Avant-Garde Garage. John let go of the dog and pushed himself out of the sidecar.
An older guy with grease-stained jeans emerged, wiping his hands on a rag. He came down to greet the dude, the last of a cig hanging off the side of his lip.
The dude introduced Louie to unhappy John.
Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed the Corvette on blocks inside the barn and forgot about his mood for an instant.
The dude shot Louie a quick nod.
“C’mon,” Louie said. “Let me show you around.”
He took a drag and flicked his cigarette into a large flower pot by the barn door, overflowing to the brim with butts. “Welcome to the Avant-Garde,” he said while the dude stayed back filling up.
The barn was cavernous and cool and to John’s strange delight kind of smelt like a farm. It was made of old timbers and had a heavy wooden floor.
Louie showed him the Corvette and then weaved around some giant toolboxes where he had other sports cars in various stages of disarray. John noticed several large racing trophies stashed up in the rafters.
“Just finished this one last week,” Louie said, walking around a baby-blue car that was actually complete.
John watched as Louie touched up a spot of polish here, a blemish there, defects only he could see. John could tell he was in the presence of a professional.
“How long have you been doing this?” John asked.
“A long time,” Louie said standing back eyeing the hood.
“Did you always know what you wanted to do?”
“No.” Louie lit up a cigarette and took a drag.
He walked from around the car and nodded towards the back. “I got one more to show you.”
They started making their way to the back, and John asked, “Do you feel satisfied with your life?”
Louie looked back at him. “That’s out of left field.”
“I’m just asking because you seemed to have found your calling.”
“You want to hear my philosophy on it?” Louie said.
“Of course.”
“When we’re younger, we get confused,” Louie began, “because we want the admiration of others. So instead of doing the work that satisfies our soul, we try to think of what would make others like us.”
They reached the back.
John thought about that as he glanced up at the rafters.
“What about these trophies?” he asked. “You gonna win any more?”
“Probably.” Louie smirked as he walked around to the other side of the covered car and took a drag off his cigarette. “But at the end of the day, we’re not entitled to the fruits of our labor. Only the labor itself.” He knelt down to untie a cord on the bottom of the cover. “Even if you get to work on something you love for only fifteen minutes,” his voice came from underneath the other side, “that can carry you through the rest of the day.”
John let that sink in.
“And fifteen minutes a day can carry you through the rest of your life.” Louie stood dusting his hands. “That’s something you can be proud of.” He gestured for John to help him pull the cover off .
“Now this one is a completely custom job,” he said. “I haven’t raced her yet, but I can tell you it’s my best work.”
Natural light poured down from the hayloft. “I completely modified the body, and I’m doing everything under the hood from scratch. Not another one like it in the world.”
They pulled the cover back to reveal a bright orange Mustang.
* * *
Back outside, John remembered he had to pick up some milk and ran next door to grab a gallon at the general store. He was thinking about the Mustang as he paid. John wasn’t about to challenge Louie, but he swore it looked exactly like the car he had seen in the photo hanging at the diner that morning. As he left, the bell on the screen door jingled.
When he turned towards the garage, he noticed the dude’s bike was gone. He hadn’t heard it start? Then he noticed the barn was closed too.
He walked over to where he had just been standing with Louie and the dude in front of the pump and looked around, scratching his head. The place looked like it had been boarded up for years, rather than minutes.
The guys must have been in a rush. John was in the mood for a stroll anyhow, so he headed off on foot to retrieve his car from the diner just down the road.
John thought about the day, the obituary, and that preposterous business with the mystic. He surmised that the dude wasn’t a scam artist; he was just trying to help, even if he did think it was a good idea to go visit that crackpot.
Then John replayed the conversation with Louie, and it had a calming effect on him. Finding meaning no longer felt like an elusive achievement somewhere off in the future.
It’s a good thing we happened to stop for gas, he thought. The universe has a funny way sometimes.
As he walked down the road, he thought about a project he’d been putting off and was excited to spend fifteen minutes on it when he got home before he went to pick up the kids. For the first time all day, John had a little hop in his step.
-The End-
Part 1: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-one
Part 2: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-two-the-diner
Part 3: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-three-the-rose-garden
Part 4: charleskunken.com/blog/the-half-buttered-croissant-part-four-the-finale-the-avant-garde
Full PDF: charleskunken.com/s/The-Half-Buttered-Croissant-by-Charles-Kunken-June-2020.pdf
Have some thoughts? Feel free to drop a comment or hit me up: charlie@charleskunken.com
Other Posts In The Hollywood Heist Series
What would you do if you read your own obituary? Part 4 (the finale) of a short story.