Curt, who had been talking almost compulsively, didn't answer that at once.
'Go on,' Ennis said. 'I'm your partner, for Christ's sake. I'm not going to bite you.'
'All right, yeah, I tried it. I wanted to see if that crazy engine worked.'
'Of course it works. Someone drove it in, right?'
'Roach says so, but when I got a good look under that hood, I had to wonder it he was lying or maybe hypnotized. Anyway, it's still an open question. The key-thing won't turn. It's like the ignition's locked.'
'Where's the key now?'
'I put it back in the ignition.'
Ennis nodded. 'Good. When you opened the door, did the dome light come on? Or isn't there one?'
Curtis paused, thinking back. 'Yeah. There was a dome light, and it came on. I should have noticed that. How could it come on, though? How could it, when the battery's not hooked up?'
'There could be a couple of C-cells powering the dome light, for all we know.' But his lack of belief was clear in his voice.
'What about the circuit from the door to the light? Are C-cells running that, too?'
But Ennis was tired of discussing the dome light. 'What else?'
'I saved the best for last,' Curtis told him. 'I had to do some touching inside, but I used a hanky, and I know where I touched, so don't bust my balls.'
Ennis said nothing out loud, but gave the kid a look that said he'd bust Curt's balls if they needed busting.
'The dashboard controls are all fake, just stuck on there for show. The radio knobs don't turn and neither does the heater control knob. The lever you slide to switch on the defroster doesn't move. Feels like a post set in concrete.'
Ennis followed the tow-truck into the driveway that ran around to the back of Troop D. 'What else? Anything?'
'More like everything. It's fucked to the sky.' This impressed Ennis, because Curtis wasn't ordinarily a profane man. 'You know that great big steering wheel? I think that's probably fake, too. I shimmied it - just with the sides of my hands, don't have a hemorrhage - and it turns a little bit, left and right, but only a little bit. Maybe it's just locked, like the ignition, but
. . .'
'But you don't think so.'
'No. I don't.'
The tow-truck parked in front of Shed B. There was a hydraulic whine and the Buick came out of its snout-up, tail-down posture, settling back on its whitewalls. The tow driver, old Johnny Parker, came around to unhook it, wheezing around the Pall Mall stuck in his gob. Ennis and Curt sat in Cruiser D-19 meanwhile, looking at each other.
'What the hell we got here?' Ennis asked finally. 'A car that can't drive and can't steer cruises into the Jenny station out on Route 32 and right up to the hi-test pump. No tags. No sticker . . .' An idea struck him. 'Registration? You check for that?'
'Not on the steering post,' Curt said, opening his door, impatient to get out. The young are always impatient. 'Not in the glove compartment, either, because there is no glove compartment.
There's a handle for one, and there's a latch-button, but the button doesn't push, the handle doesn't pull, and the little door doesn't open. It's just stage-dressing, like everything else on the dashboard. The dashboard itself is bullshit. Cars didn't come with wooden dashboards in the fifties. Not American ones, at least.'
They got out and stood looking at the orphan Buick's back deck. 'Trunk?' Ennis asked. 'Does that open?'
'Yeah. It's not locked. Push the button and it pops open like the trunk of any other car. But it smells lousy.'
'Lousy how?'
'Swampy.'
'Any dead bodies in there?'
'No bodies, no nothing.'
'No spare tire? Not even a jack?'
Curtis shook his head. Johnny Parker came over, pulling off his work gloves. 'Be anything else, men?'
Ennis and Curt shook their heads.
Johnny started away, then stopped. 'What the hell is that, anyway? Someone's idea of a joke?'
'We don't know yet,' Ennis told him.
Johnny nodded. 'Well, if you find out, let me know. Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought him back. You know?'
'Whole lot of satisfaction,' Curt said automatically. The business about curiosity and the cat was a part of Troop D life, not quite an in-joke, just something that had crept into the day-to-day diction of the job.
Ennis and Curt watched the old man go. 'Anything else you want to pass on before we talk to Sergeant Schoondist?' Ennis asked.
'Yeah,' Curds said. 'It's earthquake country in there.'
