A Solid Solution
by Paul Finnigan
“Wasn’t
sure I’d make it,” huffed Layne
Burchell as he and Clem Kilger peered under the
steamy hood of Layne’s pick-up.
“Just a
hose,” grunted Clem. “We’ll borrow
old Bessie’s. She’s been sittin’
idle the past three years anyhow. Yeah, been
gettin’ round on good boot leather ever
since.”
“Problem’s
coolant,” sighed Layne. “Stuff’s
like liquid gold these days and my next paycheque’s
already spent.”
“Well,
leave it with me. I’ll come up with somethin’,”
uttered Clem. “C’mon back tomorrow
mornin’.”
A fierce wind
howled as Clem answered a knock at the door the
next morning.
“Guess
who?” chuckled Layne. “How’d yuh
make out?”
“Well,
laid in bed till near four this mornin’
thinkin’ over the sit-zi-ation,” said
Clem. “I mean just what dad-gummed liquid
don’t freeze mid-winter. No sense usin’
Clyde Peever’s corn whiskey. Twice the price
of antifreeze. Denny Klatt’s hooch is no
better. Set a bottle ‘tween the doors last
winter to chill. Froze harder than Hattie Penner’s
tea biscuits.
“What’d
yuh use?” asked Layne.
“Crick
water,” beamed Clem.
Both jaws
dropped as the pair peeked under the hood, only
to behold a distended, ruptured radiator.
“What the
hell!” roared Layne.
“Can’t
figure it, muttered Clem as the pair gazed over
at a creek briskly flowing down the steep
hillside by Clem’s shack.
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