“Sure have.”
“I wanna be a mechanic on racing cars,” he said. “Those guys travel all over the world and make real money.”
“I guess they do,” I said.
“You ever work on race cars?”
“I was in a few drag races when I was a hothead down south. I worked on those cars but I’ve never been a professional.”
The kid was looking right at me but I had no idea what he saw.
“I’m learning everything I can here,” he said. “By the time I get out of high school I’ll know everything I need.”
“I wish you luck,” I said, wondering how to get to applying for the job.
“I’m gonna buy a dirt bike tomorrow,” he said. “That’ll be great. I can start to learn about bikes and bike racing. We don’t fix motorcycles here.”
“Do you know if there’s a job opening?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But it’s not up to me. You see the main office over there?”
He pointed toward a room encased by glass walls. Three men in blue coveralls were sitting around smoking and laughing with a big white guy in a green suit.
“Yeah,” I said.
“That’s Gator’s office,” the boy said. “He’s the one in green.”
“Gator?”
“Mr. Oliphant if you want the job.”
* * *
I KNOCKED ON THE GLASS DOOR. Gator turned his head in my direction. He took me in for a moment and then gestured with his head and lips for me to enter.
It was a good-sized room with two tables and a desk. The mechanics sat at one table. The other one supported a partly deconstructed car engine.
“Mr. Oliphant,” I said as I stuck out my hand. “I’m Larry Burdon.”
It was one of many names that I typed in as dead or missing during my stint as a statistics sergeant during WWII.
“How can I help ya?” he replied.
The other men took this as their notice to leave. They filed out into the unnaturally clean garage and took up various posts.
“Lookin’ for a job,” I said as they were leaving.
Gator was perched at the edge of his desk. He was as tall as Ross, but whereas Saul’s cousin-in-law was burly Oliphant was long and lean. I didn’t think I could get inside his offense and I wouldn’t have wanted to try.
“For what?” he asked.
“My specialty is heating and cooling but I can do anything mechanical.”
“Oh really? Where you from, Larry?”
“Lake Charles.”
“You don’t say? Some good old boys down in Lake Charles. And they can eat.”
“Blue crab gumbo and crawdad pie to die for,” I said. “Put all that on a plate with some dirty rice and red beans and you will be in heaven.”
Oliphant smiled and a rough laugh escaped his lips.
He would have been handsome except for the pits on his cheeks and throat. In one way he was the exact opposite of Saul Lynx. The tall Cajun had brown eyes and green clothes.
“You know your food but do you know engines?”
“Oh yeah,” I said like they did down home. “Poor man got to know how to fix his car ’cause a place like this cost you a week’s wages.”
Again Oliphant laughed. “If you lucky.”
He picked up a slender stick and tapped the bottom of the engine.
“What’s that?” he asked me.
“Oil pan.”
“And that?” he asked tapping the upper region.
“Injector over the intake manifold.”
“What about down here?”
“Flywheel.”
