Winnebago was gingerly towed to a spot in front of the service station and lowered to its damaged front paws.
The garage was filthy and cluttered. The owner, Rudy, came out of the bays smiling. He nodded, but from habit, didn’t shake hands. His fingers were black. He wore a Carhartt brown jacket, stained beyond saving. He smiled at them in a way that was only a bit like a cat regarding a plump mouse and started talking like they were old friends. He was rambling on about life here in Gurney, his family (one boy in the army, one girl in nursing school) and assorted relatives. “Hube’s a good man. You know, he’s got a grandkid with that autism problem. It’s pretty bad, needs special help a lot. Hube works two jobs. Sheriff and security at Preston Assembly plant. His wife, my sister—”
Pellam was content to let him go because, he figured, the more like friends and family this seemed, the less the chance of getting robbed blind. But Hannah wasn’t in the mood. She interrupted curtly, “You mind getting to those estimates? The pickup first.”
“Well now, I’ll do that.” With a crinkly-eyed look that meant he’d just added a hundred or two onto the bill.
He headed outside. So did Hannah, setting the Stetson firmly on her head, against the up-and-coming wind. She pulled her cigarettes out of her pocket but then looked at assorted open containers of liquids that might or might not be flammable. She grimaced and put the Marlboros away. She made some calls.
Pellam did, too, pulling up his antenna and finding an acceptable signal. He told the director that he’d been in an accident, which the man responded to with more or less genuine concern. When he learned that the county would not under any circumstances issue permits, the director had a more intense reaction.
“Fuckers. Why?”
“Fragile eco system.”
“Fragile? You told me it was rocks and sand.”
“Joe, that’s what they said. What they mean is that they don’t want horny actors and slutty actresses carousing around in their county.”
“We’re behind schedule, John.”
“I’ll get the camper fixed and head south tomorrow.”
A sigh. “Okay. Thanks.” The voice grew grave: “You okay, for sure?”
Concern in tone, not in spirit.
“Fine, Joe.”
He disconnected and happened to be looking at a map of the area. The Devil’s Playground area seemed to be the best locale for Paradice, the fictional town where the movie was set, as well as being the film’s title.
And Pellam laughed to himself, realizing that, damn, the indie was about a stranger coming to a small desert town, like Gurney, and getting into all sorts of trouble. There wasn’t much of a story to go with it, but sometimes— especially in noir—all you needed was a misspelled word in the title, some hunky lead and a sexy babe, and betrayal. Oh, and a fair amount of gunplay.
Hannah finished her own call, walked farther away from conflagration risks, and had a portion of a cigarette. Then she returned to the waiting room, staring out the window, too. She flopped down in a cracked fiberglass chair. “I told Ed. He wasn’t happy.”
Pellam got the impression she didn’t much care.
“Your husband, the real estate man.”
She looked at him as if asking, You heard that before. Why ask?
“Where’s Butch?” Pellam asked.
“Who?”
Oh. Right. “Taylor.”
“Headed to this little park in the middle of town. He wanted to write a poem.”
“A poem? He’s serious about that?”
Hannah continued, “Said he’d felt inspired by the experience of being out here. In a small western town.” She shook her head, meaning: I don’t get it. “There’s nothing to experience. Not here. Dust maybe, rednecks, losers, coyotes. Hamlin’s got a mall.”
Pellam wondered if the shopping center comment was delivered with the irony that seemed warranted. Apparently not.
A few minutes later the huge, bearded mechanic lumbered into the office, rearranging the grease on his fingers with a filthy rag.
“Damn shame ‘bout that pickup. Needin’ bodywork when you can still smell the new leather. That’s always the way, ain’t it? Now, miss, I got two options. First’ll get you home sooner: I can remove the old bulbs—that’s tricky since they’re busted—and then screw in new bulbs and mount the lenses. That’ll be four hundred eighty dollars. Number two, which I’d recommend, would include all that, plus the body work and replacing the hitch. You don’t want to tow nothing with it in that present condition. Paint, too.”
“And how much is that?”
“Twenty-eight fifty.”
Hannah squinted. “Really? I can have my guy in Hamlin do the bodywork for a thousand. The hitch is fine, I’ll buff off the scratches myself. And why’s that even an option? Didn’t your brother-in-law tell you I was in a hurry?”
“I—”
“So, we’re down to option one. And let’s think it through.”
“How’s that?”
She continued patiently. “You can get bulbs for six bucks a pop at NAPA, cheaper at Wal-Mart. I need four of them. The lenses? Let’s be generous. Fifty bucks each. Just need two. That’s a grand total of one twenty-four in parts. Labor? Now, the bulbs
Rudy’s face had gone red beneath the smudges. “Well, I meant ‘screw,’ you know, in a like general sense.”
“I’m sure you did,” Hannah muttered. Which was really a very funny line, even if she didn’t seem to realize it. “You put a glove on. Right? Stick your finger into the broken base and push and twist. You can do all four in a minute or two. Takes you another five minutes to mount the new ones. So you’re basically charging me four hundred dollars for twenty minutes’ work. That’s a thousand dollars an hour. My lawyer doesn’t charge that. Does yours?” A look at Pellam.
“I don’t have a lawyer.” He did but he wasn’t going to get involved in this. He was enjoying himself too much.
Silence for a moment.
“I have overhead” was the only defense Rudy could mount.
From beneath her dark, silken eyebrows, she gazed unflinchingly into his evasive eyes.
“Two fifty,” he muttered.
“One fifty.”
“Two fifty.”
“One fifty,” Hannah said firmly.
“Cash?” came the uneasy riposte.
“Cash.”
“Okay. Jesus.” The mechanic sullenly retreated into his garage to fetch the tools.
Pellam glanced at the Winnebago. He had no talent whatsoever when it came to motor vehicles, except for the uncanny ability to attract state troopers when he was speeding. Rudy was going to hose him. Maybe he should have Hannah go over the estimate.
He walked to the vending machine and bought a Moon Pie. Pellam noted the “complimentary” coffee and thought about making a joke that it
“You really picked that fellow up?” Pellam asked her after a moment. “I clock a hundred thousand miles a year but I never pick up hitchers.”
“Even pretty women?”
“Especially them. Though I’ve been tempted.” A glance into her pale eyes. Then he grazed her tan.
