Chapter Fifteen

Fear not death, for the sooner we die, the longer we shall be immortal. - Benjamin Franklin

Chapter 15

Hep had just finished pouring the cylinder heads for Ares’s motorcycle when he heard Scroat slam the back door of the house and stomp down the stairs. A few seconds later, he appeared in the doorway of the workshop.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Hep said. “I was starting to worry you weren’t ever going to come outside again.”

“I’m just going to go get some beer and a fresh stack of porn. You want anything?” Scroat said.

“No, I’m all set,” Hep said. “Are you doing all right?”

“I guess so,” Scroat said. “See ya later.”

“Yep,” Hep said.

Scroat disappeared again from the doorway, and shortly Hep heard Scroat’s motorcycle start. He heard the clunk as Scroat shifted into first gear, then the crunching of the gravel driveway as he rolled away. Hep turned back the crucible he was loading with more metal to melt, and heard the exhaust of Scroat’s bike roar as he rode towards town.

Hep already had the molds for the crankcase ready to go. The furnace was already running, so he finished loading the crucible and lowered it into the furnace using a special pair of tongs he’d made for just that purpose. He swung the furnace’s lid back into place, and had a seat on a stool next to his work table. Now all he had to do was wait for the metal to melt.

He was concerned about Scroat. So far, all he knew was that Scroat and his girlfriend had broken up. And that was it. Scroat was keeping mum about the entire issue. He must have been feeling better, though, Hep figured, because this was the first time he’d left the house in a couple of weeks. And for Scroat to not have a daily interest in beer and porn meant things must be really really bad.

In the meantime, however, he’d just have to wait until Scroat wanted to open up. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d do if Scroat did open up - consoling a friend who’d just broken up with a girl and her crazy parrot was far outside his area of expertise.

Hep got up and peeked into the furnace. He could see the metal was starting to melt, so he grabbed the long-handled steel spoon he kept close by and used it to scoop the dross off the top of the molten metal. He poked around in the crucible a bit and, satisfied the metal had all melted, put the spoon down, put on his face shield and heavy gloves, and opened the furnace to take out the crucible.

He used a two-pronged hook to grab a couple of eyelets on the crucible, and lifted it out of the furnace. He moved quickly, for him, to the waiting molds. There he grabbed another hook and used it to tip the crucible and pour the shimmering liquid metal into the sprue. Plenty of steam escaped from the vent holes in the casting sand, and when he could no longer add metal without it spilling back out of the sprue, he set the crucible down and shut down the furnace. That would be enough casting for one day.

He cleaned up the shop a bit, closed it up, and went back into the house for a shower and a beer. He was relaxing on the couch with a frosty beer and a book when he heard Scroat pull in to the driveway.

Scroat came in through the back door, and put his beer in the fridge, then wandered off to his bedroom with a black plastic bag Hep assumed was full of porn.

Scroat came back out of his bedroom, and into the living room. He sat down in his comfy chair and groaned.

“Man, women are nothing but trouble,” Scroat said.

Hep couldn’t argue. Aphrodite had given him nothing but problems during their brief time together. He was willing to admit that there were decent women out there somewhere, but none of them were gods, and he wasn’t the type to go after mortal women. That had caused Zeus all kinds of trouble.

“Either they rip to you pieces,” Scroat continued, “Or they give you some completely rational and considerate reason for why they’re leaving you, which hurts just as much except you aren’t allowed to throw shit around and blow off some steam.”

“Oh yeah?” Hep asked. It would appear that Scroat was ready to talk right now.

“Yeah. Fucking Sarah and her fucking parrot. I want a beer, you?”

Hep held up his current beverage. “I’m good,” he said.

Scroat stomped off to the kitchen, and came back with his beer. He plopped back down in his easy chair. The chair groaned and creaked a bit.

“So, there we were, and she tells me that she’s realized that there would be certain difficulties in the not so distant future when her mortality kicked in, and mine didn’t. So she thought it would be best if we split up. I couldn’t fucking argue with that. I mean, shit, she is going to croak, sooner than later relatively speaking. Not to mention she’d get all saggy in the wrong places. And you and me, we’re not ever going to do that,” Scroat said. “Un-fucking-believable. The last time I got dumped, I mean before this, the crazy broad threw a lamp at my head and chased me out of the house with a cast-iron pan. That was OK. I was relieved when that was over. None of this fucking depression. No fucking regrets.”

Scroat took a long drink of his beer, then belched.

“The time before that, the woman kicked over my bike and tried to light me on fire. No problem - I know better than to mourn the crazy.”

“Man, that sucks,” Hep said. He had absolutely no advice to give Scroat. He thought for a moment, and came up with, “But, time heals, and we’ve got plenty of that.”

“Yeah, thanks, asshole. We’ve got plenty of lonely, no-kinky-sex-having, no-boobs-pushing-into-me-on-the-bike, no-laughing-at-jackasses-in-bars time to heal.”

“Well, if you’re going to be a prick about it, go ahead and get bent,” Hep said.

Scroat stuck out his tongue at Hep, then took another drink of his beer.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to take this out on you. I guess I’m just not accustomed to rational hearbreak.”

“And you’re a jackass,” Hep added, helpfully.

“Fuck you, Hep,” Scroat said, and laughed. “So how’s that bike you’re building for Ares coming along?”

“Just fine. I ought to have it done pretty quickly. I got the heads and crankcase cast today. Now I just have to finish all the fiddly little parts that go inside.”

“Good deal. So, how long do you think it will take Ares to seriously injure himself on that machine?”

“I expect it will take him all of five seconds to crash in to the side of our house. But, I want that armor and he wants a bike, so I’ll just keep my mouth shut and let him worry about the details.”

“So why do you want that armor so bad?” Scroat asked. He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“Because, man, it was one of my great works,” Hep said.

“Not that great,” Scroat said. “I heard the guy wearing it got killed.”

“That happened because Achilles was a Grade-A idiot. He died like a chump.”

“I don’t know,” Scroat said. “Seems to me your armor should have protected him.”

“Protected him from what? The dumb bastard let Paris shoot him in the foot. If he’d been paying attention, he would have had himself covered. And if Paris hadn’t been a back-stabbing coward, he wouldn’t have had to cover his foot anyway. If Paris had attacked him like a man, Paris would have fallen and Achilles would still be strutting his stuff in the bitchin’ armor I made him.”

“Whatever you say, Hep,” Scroat said.

“Shut up, Scroat,” Hep said. He was quite agitated. That thing with Achilles bugged the hell out of Hep. Frankly, he thought Achilles had been an arrogant ass, as well as a chump, though he hadn’t said it out loud. The jerk should have know to keep himself covered. Of course, Paris had hid himself in the bushes, and Achilles couldn’t honestly be expected to keep his guard up at all times, especially at his own wedding.

Hep got up from the couch. “You want another beer?” he asked Scroat.

“Fuckin’ A!” Scroat said.

Hep shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of bottles of beer from the fridge, as well as a bag of pretzels. He went back into the living room and gave Scroat his beer, then sat on the couch and opened the bag of pretzels.

“Sorry Sarah dumped you, Scroat,” Hep said. He grabbed a handful of pretzels and passed the bag over to Scroat.

“Aw, it’s all right. I’ll get over it eventually. On to bigger and better things, right?” Scroat said.

“Right,” Hep said. “So, do you want to ride up to Las Vegas and cause a ruckus for a day or two?”

“Damn straight I do!” Scroat said. “When do you want to leave?”

“Let’s ride up tomorrow morning, before it gets too hot out. Then we’ll have plenty of time to find some trouble.”