‘Oh yeah,’ the woman cracked her back, stepping back from the bonnet of my car. ‘Yeah, that’s never gonna run again.’
‘What?’ I cried out. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s your fuel injector,’ she grunted, adjusting the waistline of her pants. ‘It’s gone.’
‘Can you fix it?’
‘Naw, it’s literally gone,’ she said. ‘I’m tipping you left it behind on the I-90-wherever-you-came-from.’
‘So… what?’ I asked, panicked. ‘My car is just… dead?’
‘Pretty much,’ she nodded. ‘Well, have a good one.’
She started to walk back to her truck, stopping to pick up her untouched toolbox.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ I called after her.
‘I’d start with gettin’ a new car honey,’ she cackled, climbing up into the cabin.
‘Very funny,’ I muttered to myself, grabbing the top of my head as I tried desperately to think of my next move. I heard a sigh from behind me, and turned back around to the truck. The lady was hanging out of the door, shaking her head.
‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’ve been doing these professional vehicle inspections for some time now and you seem like a nice person.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, dryly.
‘So I’m gonna give you a number you can call,’ she continued, scribbling it down on what looked like the cardboard from a pack of beer. ‘He’ll help you out.’
‘Is that an affordable mechanic near Queanbeyan?’ I asked, hopeful.
‘What? No, I told you, that car ain’t never gonna run again sweetie.’
I bit my tongue and tasted blood.
‘What is it then?’ I mouthed carefully, accepting the cardboard scrap from her.
‘That there is the phone number of my brother. He’s real careful about it, so don’t go givin’ it out to all of your gal pals, you hear?’
She turned back to the truck and climbed back inside.
‘Your brother?’ I frowned, confused. ‘Will he be able to get me the part I need?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe. You should ask him about it over dinner.’
‘Over…?’ my frown deepened. ‘What?’