'When?'
'Tonight. After dark.'
The Plymouth was missing. I went upstairs. Found a note neatly taped to the outside of the door.
'Be back by 5,' it said. Signed: 'Sonny.'
I changed my clothes, glad I hadn't been wearing anything Michelle bought— I wouldn't want to face her with grass stains on the fancy duds. I took the Lexus, drove till I found a pay phone. Dialed the Mole. He answered the way he always does, with silence.
'It's me,' I said. 'Best time to go in is this Sunday. Anytime between eleven in the morning and four in the afternoon. I'm going to leave a car in the parking lot of the Three Trees Mall, right outside of town. Terry's seen it— he's got the key.'
The Mole grunted— I couldn't tell if he was surprised.
'Tell them to take that car when they go in. Return it to the same spot when they're done. Anyone sees it in the driveway, they won't get excited.'
'Okay.'
'I'll come back, late Sunday, all right?'
'Yes.'
'I've had it with take–out,' I told the kid. 'How about if we go someplace, have a meal for dinner?'
'Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?'
'Anyplace someone else does the cooking, preferably right on the premises.'
He flashed me a grin. We took the Lexus. 'It's only a couple of days until the races,' he said by way of explanation.
'You giving the beast a rest?'
'It's not that. I just don't want anybody to see her until…'
'I got it.'
The place he took us to looked like a giant diner from the '50s, all glass and chrome, every seat near the windows. The parking lot was half–full, mostly with the kind of sports cars rich people buy their kids. We found a booth near the back. The joint was packed with twenty–something children, all working hard to be too hip for the room.
'Did you see Gaby? She's all glam'ed out. That cat's–eye makeup, it's so
'Yeah, that's wicked cute, all right. But, that makes me, like…what?' her pal replied.
I sure as hell didn't have the answer.
The menu promised Steak in Twelve International Styles as well as a Complete Selection of Gourmet Beers. The kid wanted hamburgers. I opted for the meat loaf, prepared for the worst.
The waitress was a skinny dishwater blonde with heavy black makeup around her eyes, giving her the much–coveted raccoon look. She took our order smoothly and moved off, not wasting a motion. The food came on heavy white plates. Big portions. The meat loaf was a deep rich slab, with a fine thick crust. The mashed potatoes tasted like they came right out of the skin. Even the mixed vegetables looked fresh, but I didn't taste them to find out. The kid wolfed his food, holding the burgers in both hands, juice running down his chin.
The waitress cleared our plates, asked if there'd be anything else.
'Is the lemon pie good?' I asked her.
'You like the meat loaf?' she replied.
'Sure did.'
'The pie's better. They bake it fresh every day.'
'That's for me,' I told her. 'Sonny?'
'A hot fudge sundae,' the kid responded, showing impeccable taste.
I was working on an after–dinner cigarette when I saw the kid look up, watching something behind my back. I didn't turn around.
'Hey, there's my boy! What's shaking, Randy?' Brewster. With a flunkie on each side. Expanding his chest, grinning. He stepped forward, so he was standing between us, looking down.
'Brew,' the kid acknowledged him.
'Heard you were gonna be running on Sunday. Why don't you dump that little kiddie car of yours so you and me can hook up?'
'I'll be running the Open Class,' the kid said, level–voiced.
'Is that right? What're you gonna bring?'
'I'm still working on it,' the kid replied.
'Still got your bodyguard, I see,' Brewster sneered.
The kid ignored him.
