surprised to be hearing from me, that you’ve had a chance for that young lad to bring you up to speed.”
“I just got here, yeah. He’s been filling me in. And he’s hurt. His head is bleeding.”
“Gee, that’s awful. If you could get me his name and address, I’ll send him a card. I’m guessing he told you that calling the police would be a big mistake. Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“And it looks to me like you took his advice, am I right?”
How could he know that, I wondered, unless it was true? That he did have contacts in the police?
“That’s right,” I said. “We don’t need to involve the police in this. Not if it means you’ll let go of my daughter.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Cooperation. It’s what makes the world go round. So, you know what it is we want?”
“You want the car.”
“That’s right. That’s one shitty car, I have to say. We could have been spared all this trouble if the fucking thing had only started.”
“It does that sometimes. I thought it was fixed.”
“You should have bought from a dealer. You’da got a warranty. Buying from these auctions, it’s not the way to go.”
“Evidently not.” So he was the guy. From the auction. And, I was willing to bet, the guy who had slammed Stan Wannaker’s head with a car door.
“If there hadn’t been so many people gawking from their balconies, maybe we could have figured out a way to tow the thing, or get a truck, but people, they’re awfully nosy, you know?”
“Sure. Can I talk to Angie?”
“Uh, no. You heard her a minute ago, you know she’s fine. And as long as you do what I ask, and don’t call the police-” he made a sickening throat-clearing noise that sounded like a toilet flushing “-she’ll stay that way.”
“What do you want with this car? I’m guessing it’s more than the gas mileage.”
“Hey, that’s funny. That’s good. Yeah, you’re right, that’s not the reason. Let’s say it’s carrying a shipment that we’d like to have. Shit, once we remove it, you can keep the fucking car. Only a candyass faggot would drive something like that around anyway.” He laughed, and then there was some other laughing in the background, and then he lapsed into a coughing fit.
“Hang on,” he said, almost apologetically. “I need a sip of something.” I heard him smack his lips. “I got kind of a tickly throat.”
I said, “Once I get the car started, where do you want me to bring it?”
“I’ll call you in an hour, let you know where. That should give you enough time to get that sucker running. Maybe it needs a jump.”
And he hung up.
“What did he say?” Trevor asked. “How’s Angie? Did you talk to Angie? Have they hurt Angie?”
“Shut up,” I said.
I got out my wallet, hunted for my auto club card, found it and punched in an 800 number.
“My car’s dead,” I told the woman. “This is a huge emergency. How long will it take someone to get here?” I gave her my location.
I could hear her clicking away on a computer. “They should be there in no more than half an hour, sir.”
Too long, I thought. But I told them to come, anyway, and put the phone into my jacket.
“I can’t wait,” I said, and got in behind the wheel of the Virtue and turned the key. I figured, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. I might get lucky.
Nothing.
“Mr. Walker,” Trevor said, “why don’t you let me-”
I turned on him. “Go home.” I didn’t even know whether Trevor had a home, but I knew he didn’t belong here with me.
He shook his head. Quietly, he said, “No, I’m not leaving. I can help.”
“I don’t see how, Trevor.”
He paced briefly, then said, “I’ll be right back, I have to go to my car, make sure Morpheus is okay.” He ran off. What a dipshit, I thought. My daughter’s missing, and he’s worried about his dog.
I got out of the car, put my hands on the roof, felt the cool metal on my palms. An idea began to form in my head. If the auto club got here soon enough, or if I could get the car going myself, there was another errand I was going to run before I got my next call from Angie’s abductor, who was, it seemed clear now, Barbie Bullock.
The voice on the phone matched the bully from the auction, and Cheese Dick Colby had identified him from Stan’s photos as Barbie Bullock, the man in charge of Lenny Indigo’s operations ever since Lenny got sent away to cool his heels for a while.
So why would Bullock have been at the auction? Hadn’t I noticed him looking at the Virtue around the time I first laid eyes on it? Was it possible he was there to buy it, that he was planning to bid on it, but pulled out after he’d attracted so much attention getting into a fight with Stan?
Who had this car belonged to before the feds had seized it?
And what was in it that the feds had missed, that Bullock figured he could obtain for himself by buying it?
I reached down below the driver’s seat and pulled the lever that popped the trunk. I swung the trunk lid wide, scanned inside. It was clean. I lifted up the flooring, exposing the spare tire, a tire iron, and a jack. The painted metal was shiny under there, never having been exposed to the elements, and the spare tire was one of those mini ones that lasted only a few miles until you could get a proper replacement. The tread was jet black, never touched pavement.
I ran my fingers under the bottom side of the tire, looking for I didn’t know what. But there was nothing there. I reached into other nooks and crannies, but couldn’t find a thing. I opened the back door, reached into the seat crevices, got down on my knees and peered under the two front seats.
There was nothing to be found. Of course, if whatever I suspected was in this car had been in plain sight, then the feds would have found it before selling it to me and Lawrence, wouldn’t they?
“What are you looking for?” It was Trevor.
“Whatever’s in this car. There’s got to be something in it somewhere.”
Trevor said, “I bet they took her thataway.” He pointed west.
“Is that the way they drove off?”
He nodded. “I’ll bet, if we drove around, maybe we could find them.”
I was back on my feet again. “Trevor, it’s a big city. They could be anywhere. We’re going to have to wait for their call. They’ll tell us where to go.” I slammed the doors shut on the Virtue. “If there’s something in that car, I don’t know where the hell it is.”
“Did you look in the rocker panels?” Trevor asked.
“The what?”
“I don’t know what they are, but in
“I don’t think I’ve got the equipment on me to start cutting through sheet metal,” I said, just as my cell phone went off in my jacket pocket. “Hello?”
“Walker, Sarah left me a message, and Nancy says you may know something about this thing that happened to Stan.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Colby. The edition is gone, but I’m still working this thing. What did you have for me?”
“Nothing, Dick,” I said.
“What do you mean, nothing? I was told you had something that connected this thing that happened to Stan to this Bullock guy. Am I wrong about that?”
“I can’t do this now, Dick.”
“Excuse me? One of your coworkers gets his head smashed in, and you’re too busy to help us find out who did it? What kind of asshole are you?”
“The worst possible kind, Dick.” I hung up.
I decided to give the Virtue another try. I got behind the wheel again, turned the ignition.
