[Hyde POV]
I drove to the butcher shop once I was done with the lab report. Red banned me from going to the auto shop today, so I had some free time to check on things here.
"We're sold out." Mrs. Bent said flatly as I entered the shop.
Then she looked up, realized it was me, and her face lit up.
"Steven! You're here." She hurried out from behind the counter and pulled me toward the small side table like she couldn't wait another second.
"I'm guessing business is good." I said, already smiling.
She nodded, tired but glowing. "We sold two hundred packs on Saturday alone."
"Two hundred?!" I was slightly surprised.
She laughed. "People were lining up. We gave out samples in the morning, and by noon, we couldn't keep up. Everyone wanted to try it."
That made sense. It was still new. Curiosity was doing half the work. First-week excitement always burned hot.
They sold the regular pre-marinated cuts for three dollars, the premium ones for five. The cost was higher than normal meat — about eighty cents for the regular packs, around a dollar thirty for the premium — but the margins were still excellent.
Saturday had been the opening day. Sunday the sales went up even more.
Monday and Tuesday evened out. By Wednesday, the numbers settled into something more realistic. Not a frenzy, but steady.
About twenty percent of the people who tried it came back again. Some even brought friends.
That was the real win.
"We don't think we can handle a sales campaign," Mrs. Bent admitted with a tired smile. "Not yet."
"I figured." I said. "You'll need more hands before you push it harder."
She nodded. "We already hired two part-timers just for packaging. Would you like to check the operation? See if we can optimize it even more?"
I checked the books with her standing right there.
From Saturday through Wednesday, after costs were deducted, they'd cleared just over three thousand dollars in profit from the pre-marinated meat alone.
That was a lot of money for a small butcher shop. The kind that changed how they slept at night.
Mrs. Bent quietly slid a hundred dollars across the table to me.
"That's your share," she said. "Three percent."
Which tracked. Roughly thirty-three hundred in profit.
We had a deal. Since I provided the recipes and basically invented the business here, I would get 3 percent of the profit.
"I don't know what we would've done without you," she said, then paused, embarrassed by how sincere it sounded. She disappeared into the walk-in freezer and came back with ten packs of pre-marinated meat.
"For you. On the house."
I took them without arguing.
As I skimmed the notes, it was obvious what was happening.
Other shops wanted to copy them. A few had already tried. But none of them could figure out where to get a vacuum sealer, or how to package it without ruining the meat.
Innovation always needed some time. I basically pushed them 50 years into the future.
I suggested they consider selling the pre-marinated cuts in bulk to Piggy Wiggly.
She blinked. "Isn't that… helping the competition?"
"It looks that way," I said. "But thousands of people walk through that store every day. And for this kind of product, there is a big market you couldn't get on your own."
"What kind of market?" She asked, confused.
"People who's tired after getting home from work and want something simple. Single people, even more."
"Ah!" She understood it perfectly. Her store opened till 5, which was the time people just got home.
But at Piggy Wiggly, the operating time was till 9. So people who just got off work could go there and pick up the premarinade for a simple meal.
We also talked about doing a chicken pre-marinade, and also, pre-cooked meals.
"I'm running a custom car paint business in the Forman's auto shop. If you want to paint your car, just find me there. I'll be sure to give you a discount." I told her.
She just laughed slightly. I've seen her car, and it was in dire need of a refresh. I needed a lot of experience if I wanted to get good at painting the car.
Maybe I could do a cheap car paint job for the teens with beater cars at my school.
I left afterward and used the money to buy 10 cases of imported beer from an online store. I barely made it before the internet shut down.
Basically, I was 67 years old in 2025. So I could get the beer delivered to my location easily.
I bought some European beers. Since it has a higher alcohol content and tasted better too.
I went back to the Formans with the beers in the trunk of my car. Of course, I only put 4 cases there.
Everyone was in the basement, and Eric yelled urgently as he saw me.
"Man, where have you been?!"
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"My dad has been searching for you. Go to the shop, now." Eric yelled.
"Alright." I replied casually. "Wait. Hyde. What about the beers?" Kelso asked frantically.
"It's in my trunk." I told him.
"I think you should let me keep it. In case you need to stay at the shop and can't make it to the party." Kelso said.
For once, I agreed with him. "Alright. Forman, I'll give you the beers instead of Kelso."
"What?! No! I want it." Kelso whined.
"Charge people 1 dollar per can. Even these guys." I said teasingly and pointed to everyone.
"That's too cheap. What about 2 bucks?" Eric suggested.
"Sure." I replied. Either way, I would get a profit.
At the store, Red finally looked relieved as he saw me.
"Steven. You're here. Meet Mr Jackson. He's the one who bought your Beetle." Red introduced me to a sharply dressed middle aged man.
He wore sunglasses like me, had long feathered hair, and wore a leisure suit. He has a lot of rings on his fingers, even wearing a gold watch.
"Steven Hyde! I've been wanting to meet you." He shook my hand enthusiastically.
"Nice to meet you. Is there any problem with the car?" I asked with concern.
"No. On the contrary. Everyone has been asking me where I got it." He guffawed. Then, he turned serious, "Sorry for bothering you on your day off. I have a request for you."
"What kind of request?" I asked.
"I need you to work on my 1950 VW Beetle." He said abruptly. I saw a tow truck behind the car shop, carrying a beaten down Beetle.
We went to the back and checked out the car together. As I checked out the rusted panels, one place with a rust hole, and the car's shot tires, I frowned a bit.
"I'm not a restorer." I told him.
"It's still in good shape." He smirked at me, like he was playing around. "Just do your best to fix it. I have a bet with a friend of mine that I really need to win."
"It's going to be hard. And it will take me a long time." I told him seriously.
"So, you can do it?" He caught me. I checked with my appraisal, and the value of the car as it is right now was 6000 dollars.
It was a collector's car. I was quite afraid of taking the job.
"How about this, I'll give you twenty five hundred." He offered.
"For the budget?" I asked with a raised eyebrow. I didn't check the restoration prices in this era yet, so I didn't know if that was a huge or a low budget.
"No. Your fee. I'll give you two thousand in cash right now for the budget. Do everything you can do with it. If it's not enough, call me and I'll add more. "
I frowned even more. He was too casual with his money, which pissed me off.
But the guy really reminded me of someone.
'Myself. He reminded me of myself. After I got millions of dollars from my bitcoins.'
I just threw money at people in order to get what I wanted. Everyone has their price, and this guy knew my price.
"Alright. I'll do it." I replied. "It's not going to be perfect since I'm just doing it in a shitty garage."
"I don't mind it." he said happily. "Wait, is that your Chevy Nova?" His eyes glittered as he saw my car.
He actually ran towards it. Red and I were shocked, and we walked to him. He was laying his head on my hood, checking the two-tone lines on the car.
"It's metallic shine. It looks really good." He whistled. "Can I see the engine?"
"Sure." I replied easily.
I opened the hood, and he whistled again as he saw how clean everything was.
"Damn. This is a nice car. Even though its stock 6 inclines. Can I test drive it?" He asked again.
"Sure." I gave him the keys. "Can I drive your car?" I smirked a bit.
He was driving a 1976 Porsche 911 Turbo. He laughed and gave me the keys easily.
We drove each other's cars for a bit and returned to the garage.
His eyes glittered, but my eyes didn't.
"Damn dude. This car feels alive. I don't know what mods you put in there. It's really freaking smooth." He said passionately. "And the stereo. What kind of speaker is that– You know what?"
He took out his checkbook and said, "Sell it to me. I'll buy it for four thousand." He awaits my answer.
"Sold." I agreed after thinking about it for a while. Even with the new stuff in there, it was still a stock Nova after all. Red looked at me with disbelief, but he didn't interject.
The man cackled and signed the checkbook easily.
"Your Porshe." I spoke up.
"What, you want to buy it?" He joked. Even Red laughed slightly.
I shook my head and said, "You need to bring it to someone who can fine tune it."
His expression faltered for a bit. "What do you mean?" He asked.
I felt off on the road, so I used an appraisal on it. Luckily I did, since the system told me if I used the turbo, the car could detonate.
"You shouldn't push that car yet."
The smile on his face faded a little. "What do you mean? It felt great."
I continued, "This is an early turbo. No computers. No knock sensors. No safety net. When the boost hits, the engine just assumes everything is right."
I was just reading what the appraisal told me, but in his view, I suddenly became a pro car mechanic.
The man frowned slightly. "And it isn't?"
"It's close," I said. "Too close."
I touched the hood, "Your fuel system's old. Car sat too long. The injectors aren't as even as they should be. Under boost, one cylinder can run lean for a split second."
Red crossed his arms. "That's all it takes."
I nodded. "Lean mixture plus boost equals detonation. You won't hear it. You won't feel it. You'll just suddenly be shopping for pistons."
The man exhaled slowly, his eyes widened in shock, "So it can blow up?"
"Not blow up." I corrected. "Destroy itself. Quietly. Implode to be exact."
I walked over to the rear of the car and tapped the deck lid. "Timing's also a little aggressive for the current. Back when this thing was tuned, fuel was different. Today's stuff burns faster. That makes turbos angry."
Red added, he understood what I was saying perfectly, "Especially if the wastegate sticks."
"That too," I said. "If boost creeps higher than it should, even once, you're gambling."
The man ran a hand through his hair, quite annoyed and nervous. "So what can you do?"
"I can't do anything. I don't know how to work on a Porsche." I told him flatly. He was shocked again.
"So this isn't a scam to try and get more money from me?" He asked abruptly.
I grimaced and said, "No. Just bring it to the Porsche mechanic. You have let it sit for quite long, haven't you?"
"Yeah," He replied embarrassingly. "What should I tell the mechanic to do?" He asked.
I counted it off on my fingers.
"Pull a little timing out so it's not living on the edge. Check fuel pressure, clean the injectors, make sure they're spraying evenly. New fuel filter. Fresh oil that won't cook in the turbo. Make sure the wastegate's opening when it's supposed to."
I added, "To really dial it in, it needs proper tuning under boost. Air, fuel, timing — all working together. Otherwise you're driving a car that doesn't warn you before it bites."
He looked at the Porsche. Then at my Nova. Then back at me.
"Alright then. I'll fix it up before I play with it." He said with a sly smirk. He used the tow truck on his car to bring it back to his house. And he would drive back with my Nova.
'Goodbye my friend.' I thought secretly. It was my first car, although I just used it for 20 days.
"I like you Steven." He muttered. I shuddered a bit. "So, I'm going to tell you my real name."
"It's not Jonathan?" I smirked teasingly.
He laughed and said, "That's a fake name I used to make sure people don't latch on to me. You two don't really seem interested in that sort of stuff."
Red and I glanced at each other and shrugged.
"Bruce. Bruce Rockwell." He introduced himself and shook hands with me again.
But both Red and I had no idea who he was. The tow truck guy cleared his throat and hinted, "Rockwell Steel."
We still have no idea who he was.
"Now, this is pretty embarrassing." He laughed out loud, not bothered by it at all. In fact, he loved it even more.
He was the second born of Rockwell Steel, a company that has half of the rail contracts between Milwaukee and Chicago.
He has a lot of time since he wasn't the heir, and has quite a bit of money since he was part of a prestigious family. That's why he became a politician. He was just bored.
After he left, Red slapped my back and laughed hard. "Steven, you're moving up in the world."
I just shrugged and said, "We need a bigger place Red. Especially since I need to restore the Beetle."
"I'll find it tomorrow." Red said seriously. "We can split the business. The flipping side in the new place and auto services side here."
"That's good for me." I replied casually.
…
I went to Chuck's party at 8 and met Eric at the front of the house. The girls didn't want to come, instead they went to hang out with Victoria.
"Isn't she like… supposed to be asleep by now?" Eric asked me, a little dissatisfied with his girlfriend not coming with him.
We entered Chuck's house. It has shag carpet, and wood wall panels everywhere.
There were a lot of people from school there. Cheerleaders, jocks, potheads. Almost everyone in our grade was there, including some seniors and sophomores too.
"Hey! Hyde!" Chuck greeted me casually. "Did you bring the beer?"
Eric interjected quickly, "Didn't Kelso bring the beer? He left like half an hour ago."
"Kelso? You gave the beer to Kelso?" I looked at him with annoyance.
"No. He didn't stop by. We'll be waiting for the beer to get the party started." Chuck said, a bit restless.
Suddenly, a girl approached Chuck and said, "Hey. Kelso just called. He just said to tell Hyde…, 'Burn'?"
"Damn it! Kelso ran off with the beers!" Eric said loudly. Everyone jeered and booed.
Chuck saw everyone was prepared to leave. "Damn it. I'm going to hit Kelso tomorrow." He whispered.
I asked the girl, "Did you hear anything else? Like someone else's voice?"
"I think I heard Burkhart." She replied. I now know where Kelso was.
I whistled loudly, earning everyone's attention. "Now, as everyone knows. I've given Kelso 4 cases of beer. He ran off with those."
"But, I have 5 more cases in my car right now." I said with a smirk. Everyone widened their eyes in surprise and began applauding.
Eric and Chuck helped me carry it inside. As the high school kids saw the imported beer, my reputation suddenly shot up amongst the teens.
"I'll charge 1 bucks for a can. Pay it to Eric." I said casually. "However, I have a preposition for the girls!"
"What is it?" Kat Peterson, the most famous girl in school, and looked like Amy Adams (literally), was curious. She batted her eyes at me slightly as she approached me.
"Free 1 can of beer to everyone who agrees to slap Kelso at school tomorrow. Bonus 1 more if you yell 'You make me pregnant' or a popular second choice, ' you gave me an STD'."
The girls laughed.
"Alriught. We'll do it." A few girls agreed with the preposition. I gave around 16 free beers to 16 girls.
No one wanted to do the extra option since it meant destroying their own reputation. Until Pam Macy arrived. The girl slept with Kelso a couple of times before.
"I'll do it." She grinned. "He really did give me something." She added. Then, she got a bit confused, "Maybe I gave it to him?..."
I smirked and said, "Good. Do it in front of his girlfriend."
"Okay."
The party quickly started. Chuck puts on some music and people begin drinking the beers.
The 120 cans of beer quickly disappeared since a lot of people were at the party. I counted my money and left to find Kelso and Fez. Eric followed me, shouted angrily, "I can't believe I let him convince me he can be trusted."
"How did he get you?" I asked curiously as I unlocked Red's Toyota Corolla I borrowed.
"He said I will not be able to lift all of it, and I will look stupid and get humiliated in front of the whole party." Eric said nervously.
I cackled and said, "That's about right."
"Where will we find them?" Eric asked.
"Victoria's." I replied simply.
As I suspected, Kelso was hiding the beers at Victoria's place. They threw a party here too. There's like 20 people in the house.
"Oh no! They found us!" Fez shouted fearfully as he saw me and Eric entering the house.
"Run for it Fez!" Kelso said drunkenly, and tried to get past me, but I grabbed him and held him in a head lock.
Eric punched him in the stomach. "Oww! ERIC!" Kelso yelped in pain.
"Shut up! You ran away with the beers!" He yelled at Kelso.
Victoria approached me nervously and said, "Steven. He told me you knew about this. I'm really… really sorry."
"No. I did not know about this. You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault." I said with a smile. "Are you enjoying the party?" I asked.
"Um… Yeah. Some of these are my friends from work." She said with a shy face.
"Then it's fine." I shot a disarming smile.
"Hyde… I can't breathe." Kelso finally tapped out, his face was really red. I let him go and slapped the back of his head again.
He turned to me and said, "Are you done?"
I smirked, "Yeah. I'm done."
"Good." He stood back up and yelled, "Let's PARTY! WOOOO!!!"
(Read up to chapter 70 on my patreon.
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