The green eyes were now half closed and the head was slightly tilted as Dark listened to the idling Cadillac engine. He smiled and nodded approvingly, then walked over to Erika and Haynes. “Know what I’d do if she was mine?” he asked. “I’d buy her a set of gangster whites.”
When Erika looked puzzled, Dark explained, “Big wide white sidewall tires like they had in the thirties and forties—but mostly the thirties.”
“You’re saying it needs new tires?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a matter of need,” Dark said, “although those four’ve got a few too many miles on ’em. It’s more a case of, well, you know—”
“Esthetics,” Haynes suggested as he opened the Cadillac passenger door for Erika.
“Yeah, right,” Dark said. “Esthetics.”
Once Erika was inside. Haynes closed the door and said, “I’ll tell Mr. Mott.”
“You also oughta tell him that some guy wandered in here late last Saturday, took one look and offered me twenty thousand cash for the Caddie. That means he’ll go twenty-five. You can always tell how high they’ll go by how much they slobber. I call it the drool factor.” Dark paused. “I got his name and number if you want it.”
“Okay,” Haynes agreed.
“Said his name was Horace Purchase.”
Haynes turned quickly toward the TR-3 to hide the surprise that he suspected was rearranging his face. Still staring at the old Triumph roadster, he said, “Purchase wants to purchase it, huh?”
Dark grinned, obviously amused. “Know something? That’s exactly how I remembered his name. Purchase wants to purchase it.”
Haynes turned back and said, “These old cars must be worth a lot of money.”
“That Packard behind you?” Dark said.
Haynes again turned to look.
“That’s a nineteen forty convertible with a Darrin body and a frame-off restoration. Probably fetch a hundred, maybe even a hundred and twenty thousand.”
“Then you must have one hell of a security problem.”
“But I also got me a state-of-the-art security system,” Dark said with a proud smile that a frown suddenly erased. “When that Purchase fella was here, he wanted that old Caddie so bad I thought he might bang me over the head and drive off in it. So I sort of discouraged him.”
“How?” Haynes asked.
Dark stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Haynes heard them coming a second or two later, their claws clicking on the concrete floor, their growls punctuated by angry barks. He turned to find three rott-weilers racing toward him, fangs bared and eyes blazing. Haynes also found there was no time to run or hide and just barely enough to wonder how much it would hurt.
Dark whistled again. The dogs stopped abruptly, skidding a little, then sat down on their haunches. One of them yawned and scratched his right ear with a hind foot. The other two seemed to grin at Haynes.
“Three of them,” he said.
“They fight over who’s boss. Keeps ’em mean. With two, you get buddies. With three, rivals.”
“What did Purchase do when you whistled them up?”
“He sort of froze just like you did. Just like everybody does. Still want his phone number?”
“I don’t,” Haynes said. “But Mr. Mott might.”
Chapter 40
By 5:32 P.M. that Monday they had checked into the Bellevue Motel in Bethesda, Maryland, as Mr. and Mrs. Jeff T. Clarkson. The room was $58 a night and the motel owner demanded a $100 deposit after Haynes announced he would pay cash. The owner wasn’t in the least interested in either the make of Haynes’s car or its license number. Nor did he ask to see a driver’s license or other identification.
The pink and teal Bellevue Motel was built in the shape of a two-story U. The view it offered was that of the McDonald’s across the street. Haynes’s room was at the bottom of the U and as he nosed the Cadillac into the vacant parking space, he felt, then heard, the right front wheel run over and crush a glass bottle. He and Erika got out to inspect what damage, if any, a broken 750-milliliter Smirnoff vodka bottle had done to the tire. Apparently none, they decided.
Erika went into the room first after Haynes unlocked the door. He followed, carrying her canvas overnight bag that looked like something a stonemason might carry his tools in. After dumping the bag onto one of the twin beds, Haynes sat down on the other one, picked up the telephone and made a call to Sheriff Jenkins Shipp in Berryville, Virginia.
“That you, Granville?” the sheriff said, once a deputy had transferred the call to him.
“Yes, sir.”
“What can I do you for?”
“I’m calling about that car my father left me.”
“Steady’s big old Cadillac?”
“Right. Did the man who came to pick it up check with you first?”
