OCtober Day 16: Baron-Honaw Badman

Before meeting Tolentino’s top mechanic, his best friend have me gave me three pieces of advice:

Number one; trust the expert. There’s a slim chance you have a better understanding on the subject than he does.

Number two; don’t bring up his family. It’s a difficult subject, with potentially dangerous consequences for everyone involved.

Number three; watch out for flying spanners. The guy has a temper.

I repeated these three things over and over in my head on the tram ride over. The job I had for him wasn’t anything big; I just wanted some holographic upgrades for a smart-watch. At least, that would be the initial excuse. Supposedly, this Baron person stood as a leading expert on augmentations for a while. Then something happened, and he retired to doing freelance work before even reaching his thirties. Since then he’s been rather reclusive. He doesn’t leave his home often, so house calls are preferred. Just to be extra cautious, I booked the job in advance so as not to surprise him. His workshop-house was situated by itself, close to the Nirvana borders and detached from the residential district.

The tram comes to a stop just down the road, though it’s quite noticeable which building is the right. A short walk brings me to a small front yard. The front side of the building looks more like a house, with some extra security measures as the door. Somewhere, faintly, an Elvis Presley song can be heard. Not thinking twice about it, I ring the doorbell. 

“I’m over here!” someone yells from around the corner. It’s accompanied by the sound of something shattering, and a few swears.

With caution I follow the noise, finding myself in the rest of the yard. The spaciousness of it is quite grand. Wide, dusty, and littered with scrap parts, it stretches all the way to the open garage. Inside I get a sneak peak of a cool looking car, surrounded by shelves of tools. Assuming Baron is in there, as a mechanic would likely be, I continue on walking that way.

That is, until something comes whizzing past by my ear. I barely feel the brush of cold steel as something clatters on the ground. It’s a spanner. I should have expected that.

“When I said ‘over here’, I meant fucking over here, not there numbskull” the same voice from before grunts.

Spinning around confused, eventually I spot someone off in the opposite corner of the yard. It looks as though they’re in some kind of sectioned off garden, deducing so from it being the only green across the vicinity. Moving closer, I get a better look at the man himself tending to it. 

I think some would describe him like something of a bear. Bulky, though muscled, tall, and definitely hairy.  Wearing just a pair of sandals and cargo shorts, it reveals his ochre complexion, as well as a great many interesting tattoos. Most of them seemed tribal in nature, aside from three others I spot; a gear over the heart, someone’s name on the wrist, and a tramp stamp reading ‘this side up’. He seems pretty focused on the task at hand, head bobbing to some jailhouse rock whilst replanting the tomatoes. Occasionally, he brushes a lock of long, dark purple hair out of his coal black eyes.

Baron finishes up rather quickly. With a groan he stands up to come speak to me, wiping the dirt off his calloused hands.

“Alright then, you the one who booked the appointment? M, or something?” he asks, in a deep, distinct american accent.

“Yes, I’m the one here for the watch upgrade” I replied cheerfully, sliding it off my wrist to hand over.

The inspection is surprisingly quick. He flips it up and around, then pockets it.

“Yeah, this’ll be a quick fix. Got some compatible holo chips in the workshop. Just follow me” Baron states. Turning off the stereo play midway through (Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear, he scoops it up under the arm, stomping to the front door.

Not exactly one for conversation, I notice. For now I follow quietly behind. Some fiddling with the front door security leads us into the house. Once again, I’m taken by surprise with the homely charm it all has. It may just be the corridor, but the ambience feels welcoming, and traditional. A variety of paintings and small wooden carvings line the walls. The floor is wooden and covered with a few carefully placed rugs, the pattern of which is reminiscent of some Native American styles I’d seen before. Baron catches me cooing over the decor. He rolls his eyes.

“My mother helped us decorate the place when we moved. I’m Hopi tribe on her side, so a lot of this is authentic. I’m used to people finding it fascinating” he explains, stopping in front of a big metal door. Like the front door, it has a lot of security systems, as well as ‘Baron’s Workshop: Fuck Off’ painted messily in purple.

“It really is gorgeous. What did you mean by ‘we’ though?”

He doesn’t answer. The door is opened roughly, hitting the wall. I curse myself, my curious nature forgetting about the aforementioned advice. Plonking down on a work chair, the mechanic ignores me and gets straight to work, pulling out some tools and a box of tech things. 

“Keep your shoes on” he grumbles before I step inside.

I can see why. Tools, parts and junk litter the floor, like a metal minefield. Making sure to tread carefully over to Baron’s workshop table, I keep my distance and observe the master at work. His fingers move elegantly, with purpose. There’s no hesitance in what he does. Baron already knew what piece went where before cracking the watch open. My eyes wander to the shelves above the desk. Tools are hung on either side, but the middle one stands out. On either end of it are two, small wooden totems. A bear on the left, and a deer on the right. In between them is a photograph of two people. One I recognise as Baron. Another man has an arm around his shoulder. He looks exactly like Baron, though maybe a little slimmer, and smiling. Underneath the frame it reads ‘Baron-Honaw Badman, Jerren-Chuchip Badman, 20XX’.

Before I can open my mouth again, a large hand hastily slams the photograph down.

“...Don’t ask” He croaks out. The hand slips back to the watch. Screwing it back together, he turns back around to give it back. 

Reattaching it, he shows me how to activate the holographic function, using an image of Elvis Presley to no-one’s surprise. It feels wrong to bother him further, so I thank him, and be on my way. 

As the door clangs shut, I catch Baron putting the photograph back up, whispering ‘sorry’.