The Man With the Getaway Face (7 page)

Parker got off the bus a little after ten, Saturday night. The workers and the airmen filled the streets. He pushed through and went into a diner where he got directions to the Double Ace Garage. It was too far to walk, so he went back to the tiny bus depot and took the only cab, an old black Chevrolet.

The Double Ace Garage was a long, low, shed-like construction of concrete blocks. It was painted a dirty white, with the name in red lettering over the wide doors at the front. Parker went inside to the office cubicle, stuck in the right-hand corner up front, and found a hairy florid stout man sitting in a swivel chair at a rolltop desk. He was smoking a cigar, and he left it in his mouth when he talked.

"I'm Flynn. Lawson sent me."

"Yah," said the florid man. He turned slightly, and the swivel chair squeaked drily. "He phoned."

"Let's see it," Parker said.

"Yah. You're in a hurry, huh?"

Parker waited.

The florid man grunted and heaved himself out of the chair. They went around to the side of the building, where there was a gravel lot. The truck was standing there, a nine-year-old Dodge cab and a Fruehauf trailer, lit by a floodlight on the side of the building. The trailer was metal colour and covered with grime, and the cab red. Some company name on the doors had been M painted out with a darker red. The engine was running.

Parker shook his head. He went over and opened the door on the driver's side and reached up and turned the ignition key. The engine stopped. The florid man watched him, chewing slowly on his cigar, but Parker ignored him. He looked at the rubber all the way around. It was all lousy but at least there were no threads showing.

The mudguards were gone, and so were most of the safety lights. The window was broken in the right-hand door, and there was some sort of jury-rigged rope arrangement keeping cab and trailer together because the original hitch was broken. The floor mats were gone in the cab, showing where part of the metal flooring had rusted through.

Parker opened the trailer doors and saw that most of the wooden inner walls had been ripped out. He shook his head again and went around front to open the left side of the hood. The engine was a greasy mess, the wiring frayed, the radiator hoses cracked. The dip stick was gone, and so was the breather.

Parker closed the hood again, got down, and wiped his hands on the fender. Then he crawled under the cab. There was a large oil stain on the ground, and the lube points were practically covered by caked-on dirt.

He came out from under the cab. "She's a mess."

The florid man grinned around his cigar, and spread his hands. "For the price?" he said. "Come on back to the office."

Parker went with him back to the office. The florid man started to say, "I know she don't look--" when Parker turned around and went back out again. The florid man looked startled. "Hey! Where you goin'?"

Parker went around to the side of the building again. A kid in a greasy coverall had the hood open. There was a battery on the ground beside the cab, and he was getting set to attach the jumper cables.

The florid man came heavily around the corner. "Now, listen here, buddy."

Parker turned to him. "I want a new battery," he said. "And new plugs. And fresh oil. And a lube. And enough lights on the box so I don't get stopped by state troopers."

The florid man was shaking his head, chewing more rapidly on the cigar. "That wasn't the deal. As is, that was the deal, as is."

"No deal," Parker said. He walked around the florid man and started towards the street.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

Parker turned.

The florid man tried a smile that didn't come off. "No sense goin' off in a huff, buddy," he said. "We can work somethin' out. It might maybe cost you a little more, but just for the parts, not for the labour. I wouldn't charge you for the labour."

"Do like I said with it," Parker answered, "and new radiator hoses, and I'll take it for seven."

"Seven! The deal was eight."

"It isn't worth eight. It'll never be worth eight."

"Now, buddy," the florid man said, "you got a chip on your shoulder. Now, why don't we just talk this over? Come on back to the office."

"Tell your boy to put a new battery in."

The florid man tried another smile. This one worked better. "Not a new battery, buddy, I wouldn't try to snow you. But a better one than you got. Okay?"

"Good."

"There you go. You see, we can get along." He turned and shouted, "Hey, Willis! Never mind about that. Take that old battery out of there, and put that Delta in. You know the one."

"And leave the engine off," added Parker.

"Yeah, sure, buddy. Leave her off, Willis."

Willis gathered up his battery and jumper cables and went back through the side door into the garage again.

Parker and the florid man went back to the office, and this time Parker sat down in the slat-bottomed wooden chair beside the desk. The florid man settled heavily into the swivel chair, making it squeal. "I can see you know about trucks, buddy."

"I thought you wouldn't snow me," Parker said.

"Now, there's that chip on your shoulder again." He made a little tsk-tsk sound, and shook his head in a friendly sort of way. Then he pulled an order-blank pad and a pencil over. "Now, then. What else did you want?"

"Lube. Oil change. New plugs. Check the points. New--"

"Points? Now, you keep adding something every single time."

"Are you writing all this down?"

"I surely am." The florid man wrote "points", and asked, "What else?"

"New radiator hoses. And the legal minimum of lights."

The florid man wrote, laboriously, chewing on his cigar. The cigar had gone out, but he kept chewing on it anyway. When he was done writing, he said, "Now, let's see. Lube and oil change, I guess I can do that all right. And plugs, well, we can check 'em out, clean 'em up a little. But I don't see any way we could give you new ones."

"New ones," Parker said.

"Now, buddy." The florid man spread his arms. "I give a little, you give a little."

"Tell me about that Delta," Parker said. "The one you're giving me."

The florid man cocked his head and sucked on the cold cigar. Then he smiled again. "New plugs. I just might be able to do it."

"That's fine."

"Okay, now, let's see what else we got. The points. Well, sure, that's no problem. And those hoses." He nodded slowly, the cigar moving around in his mouth. "I noticed them myself, but I don't think I got hoses like that in stock. I tell you what I'll do, though. I'll have Willis tape them up solid with friction tape. What do you say? You won't leak a drop."

"There's an oil leak, too."

"Now, there you go adding things again."

"The breather's gone."

"I know I don't have that in stock."

"Cap it, then. I don't want to keep throwing oil away."

"Cap it? I can cap it, right enough. It's just I don't have that in stock." He looked down at the list again. "Now, this about the lights. There sure are a lot of lights on there now."

"Not enough. There have to be lights at all outer corners, top and bottom, front and back of the box."

"I'm not sure the wiring's there any more."

"It won't take much to wire. You don't have to be neat about it."

"Well, I'll see what I can do." The florid man looked at the list, studying it. "I do believe I can take care of all this for you, and still only ask the original price of eight hundred."

"We'll see what kind of a job you do."

"Don't you worry, my friend," the florid man said. "I'll take care of you right. You just leave everything to me."

"One more thing."

The florid man look up, frowning.

"I saw Alabama plates on her. Are they hot?"

"Not where you're going, way up in New Jersey."

"What about when I drive through North Carolina?"

"I tell you what I'll do. I'll smear some mud on 'em, so you can't tell the difference." He took the cigar out of his mouth at last. "You know, safe plates are expensive. I got some, safe as a mother's arms, but I just wouldn't let them get tossed in on this deal. Safe plates aren't that easy to come by."

"All right. Smear mud on them."

"That's just what I'll do." He tore the top sheet off the order-blank pad. "Now, when do you want to take her? Tomorrow morning?"

"Tonight."

"Oh, you want a rush job."

"I want her tonight," Parker said. "And don't give me a lot of crap about that being extra."

"Why, I had no intention. I tell you what, friend, you come back here at midnight – that's two hours from now or a little less – and she'll be ready."

"That's good," Parker said.

He left the office. A block away he found a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and spent some time over a cup of coffee. Then he walked around a while, looking at the town, glad he was going to be leaving it that night. At midnight he walked back to the Double Ace Garage.

The truck was out on the side again, but in a different spot, closer to the floodlight. Parker went over and looked at it. There were new spark plugs, the joints had been lubed, the breather hole was capped, and lights had been haphazardly attached to the trailer. Friction tape had been wrapped tightly around the radiator hoses and mud had been smeared on the Alabama plates. And the stain on the ground under the cab came from cleaner oil.

Parker swung up into the cab and turned the key in the ignition. She started sluggishly, but she started. The engine roared, and the cab trembled. There was either no muffler or it was riddled with holes.

Parker saw the florid man coming towards him across the gravel. He had a new cigar now, lit. He stopped beside the cab and shouted up over the roar of the engine, "How do you like her?"

"Get in," Parker shouted back. "Let's go around the block."

The florid man hesitated. "Hold on just a second."

He went back towards the office. When he came back, he had a jacket on, with a bulging right-hand pocket. He climbed into the cab, and Parker fought into second.

The mirror on the left was cracked, and the mirror on the right was gone. Using just the one on the left, Parker backed till he was facing the driveway to the street, and then drove out. The trailer was long and high. Because it was empty, and because of the bad way it was attached to the cab, it tracked badly as Parker made the wide turn on to the street.

The brakes were better than Parker had expected, though he had to pump them up a little each time. But the acceleration was lousy and the cab seemed ready to shake itself apart any second. They went around the block, having trouble on all the turns because of the way the trailer tracked, and when they got to the garage again Parker left the truck in the street. "All right," he said. "Eight hundred."

"She's old," the florid man answered, petting the grimy dashboard, "but she's rugged. She'll get you there."

"Lawson's already got his piece," Parker said, "so you get seven-twenty." He had it ready, in an envelope in his coat pocket.

He handed it over, and the florid man counted the money, slowly, his lips moving as his blunt lingers shuffled the bills. There were six twenties, and these he held out over the dashboard where the light from the street light would hit them. "There's been some trouble with twenties lately."

"I'm not in that business," Parker said.

"It always pays to be careful." The florid man finished inspecting the bills. "That's fine. Well, you're all set now. You got yourself a good buy."

He opened the door and clambered down to the street. He slammed the door and waved, and went on into the garage, stuffing the bills back into the envelope. Parker fought the gearshift into second again, and started off.

He took 117 north out of Goldsboro and picked up 301 the other side of Fremont, then 301 north into Virginia. The friction tape on the hoses hadn't been enough. The radiator itself leaked. Parker had to make his first stop at Richmond, after going one hundred and seventy miles. He had the radiator filled, and a can of sealant added. They checked the oil, and he needed a quart already.

The other side of Richmond, he stayed on 301 to bypass Washington and Baltimore. He crossed Chesapeake Bay, kept on 301 across the state line into Delaware, and had to stop short of Wilmington because the radiator had run dry again. The truck also took another quart of oil.

He'd now done three hundred and fifty-some miles, and it was ten o'clock in the morning. The steady hard jouncing in the cab and the number of hours he'd gone without sleep caught up with him, and he pulled into a motel south of Wilmington. He didn't start again until eleven o'clock that night. It was better to drive at night anyway, less likelihood of being stopped by the law.