Coventry Connection
"Auto mechanic Folake fixes cars for a living—but the thick Angolan businesswoman whose Mercedes keeps breaking down needs servicing of a very different kind."
The Mercedes was sabotaged.
Folake knew it after the third visit. Nothing wrong with it except excuses.
"You're lying to me," she told Beatriz.
"Am I?" The thick Angolan businesswoman smiled. "Or am I just finding reasons to see you?"
"Why?"
"Because you're beautiful with grease on your face. And I want to see what else you're good with your hands."
The garage closed at six.
Beatriz arrived at seven.
"Show me your workshop," she said. "Properly."
"What do you want to see?"
"Everything you can do."
On the bonnet of her own Mercedes, Beatriz got her demonstration.
Folake's mechanic hands were strong, precise, knowing.
"God, you're good," Beatriz gasped.
"I know engines."
"You know more than engines."
The arrangement became regular.
Thursdays. After hours. The garage locked.
"I should charge you for this service," Folake joked.
"Name your price."
"You. That's the price."
"Paid in full."
Coventry's best mechanic gained a wealthy partner.
The Mercedes never broke down again.
But Beatriz still visited every Thursday.
"For maintenance," she'd say.
"Regular maintenance," Folake agreed.
Some vehicles, they learned, needed constant attention.