“Where is it?”

“It's in the junkyard on the corner of Woodland and Maple. Like I said before though, it's gonna need some work.”

“What kind of work?”

“Where do I begin? The interior has loads of water damage, panels are either falling off or missing, wheels are all gone, and I have no idea what condition the engine is in.”

“What about rust?”

“There could be nothing but rust on the bottom. But the topside doesn't look too terrible.”

“I'll call up a few friends and see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Zane. I know this will mean a lot to her.”

“No problem, C. I owed you one regardless.”

“Also, one more thing. If you find any possessions from the previous owners of the car can you please save them? They might look like junk but Phoenix would be really upset if I didn't.”

“Sure thing, C.”

“Thanks again, Zane.”

“Like I said, it's not a problem. I've always been one for classics anyways.”

Once he left I strolled through the shop until I reached my desk where I had left my phone. “An eighty-eight Fiero Formula,” I said to myself shaking my head in disbelief, “that is one cool find. Even if it’s in rough shape.”

I picked up my phone and went into my contacts, hitting one of the first ones that popped up knowing I would need their help. As the phone was dialing, I sat down. Then it went through.

“Hello?” Came the voice from the other end of the call.

“I'm here.” I replied.

“So, what do you need?”

“I know you guys are good with hand to hand combat and covert operations, but how about car restoration?”

“I've restored and fixed up a couple cars. Why?”

“Well, I'll have you know that the Fordbrooke's oldest boy came in here and asked about restoring an eighty-eight Pontiac for his crush.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Where's it located?”

“Junkyard on Woodland and Maple. It's a red one with the license plate D45-J2L4.”

“That wouldn't be… no… there's no way. I could have sworn it was destroyed.”

“What's the matter?”

“Who's the girlfriend?”

“I believe he said her name was Phoenix.”

“I'm ninety-nine percent sure that the car you're talking about… belonged to her parents. It was rammed off a bridge almost twelve years ago.”

“Wow. I guess you learn something new everyday.”

“That's not all of it either. The accident was staged. It was more of an assassination. Only they missed their real target. A three year old random, who just so happened to be at a playdate that had been scheduled last minute.”

“You're not saying-”

“Yes, I am. They're real target was Phoenix.”

“Good lord.”

"But I'll see what I can do. I owed the Finnicks before they died anyway."

"Thanks."

I hung up. I hadn't expected there to be such a haunting backstory. But if Phoenix was a random, it certainly made sense that it would have been staged.