Michael Winters pulled into the entrance of his new business, the engine of his ‘70 Cuda coughing and sputtering as he pulled around back and parked it. Sitting in storage for five years hadn’t done the car any good, but it wasn’t in great shape when he’d put it there to begin with. Being stuck in prison hadn’t given him many opportunities for car maintenance.<br/><br/>It had given him time to think. He’d been in and out of jail much of his life but rarely for very long. He was usually smart enough to not get caught red handed with anything major. Three months here, six months there, it was the cost of doing business. Until he’d finally gotten busted. It’s hard to claim innocence when you’re standing in the museum, dressed all in black, holding the sacred golden mask of… somebody.<br/><br/>Five years later they’d finally let him out. Technically he was still on probation but… well he had better things to do than waste time with that. Besides, he wasn’t completely stupid and if his probation officer caught him spending the money he’d squirreled away from his previous jobs, or driving this car, they’d have busted him all over again. So after a quick stop by the storage place he’d hit the road and two thousand miles and eleven states later he’d found himself in Florida with a wad of cash and an intense desire not to spend more time in jail.<br/><br/>In a way it was probably fate, or god, or buddha, or xenu that his ‘Cuda had broken down right in front of the old carwash stand, and that who’d come to his rescue was a Jeep full of co-eds in their bikini’s heading to the beach. Like a bolt from heaven or just plain old heat stroke it had hit him. The carwash place had been cheap to buy, and he hadn’t bothered fixing any of the automated washing equipment, instead ripping it out and replacing it with buckets, sponges, and co-eds.<br/><br/>A bikini carwash, it was genius, it was golden, it was the only one for fifty miles, he’d checked. With schools nearby, the beach not too far away, and summer upon them it was the perfect starter business. If only his girls would show up so he could open. No one would pay to see him wash a car in a bikini. He hoped.<br/><br/>He’d been over things with them before, twenty bucks a car, wash only. Waxing, the cars, would just take up valuable time and honestly he was hiring the girls for how they looked in a bikini, not if they knew how to wax, a car. The girls got ten bucks an hour and could keep all their tips. If they didn’t have their own bikinis, purple preferably, he’d supply them with one. And he didn’t care how they made their tips so long as he didn’t get hassled by the cops. The wash backed up against the woods so anything that happened behind the building was out of prying eyes.<br/><br/>He opened up the office and turned on the sign out front. With any luck the girls would show up before the customers.