Fletcher didn't respond to the threat. He looked past her through the glass partition at the Pagani Huayra sitting under the lights. Ice blue, hood open, waiting. I won't need 10 minutes, he said. Chad buzzed open the service bay door.
The hydraulic lock hissed. The smell of motor oil and solvent hit Fletcher's face like a homecoming. He stepped through. The showroom followed. Victoria, Eleanor, Dale with his phone, Chad and Todd, the two customers from the lounge, the receptionist, the salesman, even the woman with the pearl necklace.
They gathered behind the glass partition like spectators at a trial. Fletcher walked to the Pagani. He didn't rush. He placed his hand on the fender feeling the carbon fiber cool under his palm. He closed his eyes and he listened.
The relay cluster whined, the fuel pump hummed, the cooling fans cycled at idle. Underneath it all, a faint arrhythmic click like a heartbeat skipping every fourth beat. Fletcher opened his eyes. He looked at Chad. " Hand me a T25 Torx and your diagnostic laptop."
Chad looked at Victoria. Victoria said nothing. Chad handed over the tools. Fletcher Cain rolled up his sleeves, leaned into the engine bay of the most expensive car in the building, and went to work. On the other side of the glass, 12 people held their breath.
Fletcher didn't start with the diagnostic laptop. He started with his hands. He placed both palms flat on the engine block, closed his eyes, felt the vibration travel through the metal, through his skin, into his bones, the way his grandfather taught him before he could spell the word carburetor. The engine was cold, but it wasn't dead. It was confused. "
Boot it up," he said to Chad. Chad hesitated. He glanced at Victoria through the glass. She stood with her arms crossed, jaw set, watching like a hawk waiting for a mouse to make a wrong move. " Boot it," Fletcher said again.
Calm. No edge. Just fact. Chad pressed the ignition sequence on the diagnostic tablet. The Pagani's V12 turned over with a deep guttural roar, then immediately stuttered.
The dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. Six fault codes cascaded down the diagnostic screen in rapid succession. The hybrid system warning flashed. The e-motor relay clicked on, clicked off, clicked on again. The engine shuddered and dropped to a rough, uneven idle.
Todd took a step back. " Same thing every single time." Fletcher didn't move. His eyes were closed, his hands still on the block. He was counting.
Click. Pause. Click. Click. Pause.
Click. The relay was cycling in an irregular pattern. Not random, sequential. It was following a command set. But the commands were wrong.