Part 12 (1/2)
Gabby parked the car down the block and around the corner from the Cinaway home. If the cops drove up while they were there, they could escape across the back yards.
Three s.h.i.+ny, cla.s.sic cars were snuggled together inside Calvin's Auto Shop. His three-car home garage had been expanded on both sides and at the rear to make room for tools and equipment. There was a 1956 Buick Special in the driveway. Rebecca figured that one to be Calvin's car.
When they entered the shop, their hair and clothing began to blow. Rebecca's blouse flapped wildly against her chest. She located the source: a very large fan suspended in the back corner of the garage.
”Mr. Cinaway?” Rebecca immediately realized she needed to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the fan. ”Mr. Cinaway?”
”Yeah?” Calvin poked his head around the open hood of a Pontiac GTO.
”Could we have a word with you?”
Calvin waved them closer, and went back to work. ”What kind of car you got?”
”Uh...”
Gabby jumped in. ”A '63 Catalina. 421 cubic inch.”
Calvin looked up. ”Nice.” He pointed to the workbench. ”Put your name and number on the list over there, and I'll call you when I get an opening.”
Gabby walked over to the workbench. ”How long do you think it will be?” When he picked up the clipboard, he knocked off a large screwdriver. He jumped back in the nick of time-before the sharp blade pierced the top of his shoe. He picked it up and put it back on the workbench.
”I don't know. Could be months. But I'll definitely give you priority. I'd love to get under the hood of that sweet baby. I could max her out, and get that mother to do a hundred miles per hour in under 15 seconds.”
Gabby's eyes lit up. ”Whoa.”
Rebecca could see Calvin's pa.s.sion for cars. She knew that he and Carly had no s.e.x life. Maybe this is what it took to get his rocks off: cla.s.sic muscle cars. ”By the way, is your wife home? I would love to show her my exciting line of cosmetics.”
”No. She's not here right now. Not sure when she'll be back.”
”Well, do you have a teenage daughter who might be interested?”
”She's not here either.”
”Okay, thanks. Maybe some other time.”
Gabby was standing at the workbench, perusing a Porsche brochure he had found there. He held it up. ”I wouldn't mind having one of these.”
Calvin stopped working and stood up straight. ”Yeah.”
Rebecca noticed that he seemed uneasy about Gabby's discovery of the brochure. ”You ought to buy yourself one.”
”Oh, I'd love to.” Calvin laughed nervously. ”But I don't make that kind of money.”
Rebecca stared at him-which seemed to make him fidget.
Gabby followed her lead, walking over with the brochure in hand. ”Wow, it says here that the base price is $62,000. But look how cool, Becca. It's a Porche Boxster Spyder. It does zero to sixty in 4.9 seconds.”
”Beautiful.” Rebecca kept one eye on Calvin. ”Well, I guess we'd better get going and let Mr. Cinaway get back to work.”
”Yeah. We don't want to be pests.” Gabby took Rebecca's hand. ”Thanks, Mr. Cinaway.” They turned and walked out.
”Sure thing,” said Calvin.
Once they were back in Gabby's car, Rebecca said, ”You shouldn't have called me Becca in front of him.”
”I know. I'm sorry. You think he figured out who you were?”
”Probably not. And obviously, he hasn't heard from the cops yet. But he's hiding something.”
”You think he killed Big Bill? Or Carly?”
”I don't think he's capable of killing anybody. But he definitely got nervous after you picked up that brochure.”
Calvin wiped off his hands, and took out his phone.
”When are you going to bring my money?...Cash, right?...Good. I'll be here.”
CHAPTER 16 - Tuesday, 11:36 a.m.
Harvey Hamstel leaned back in his plush executive chair and studied the artist's rendering of William Smotherburn. The ma.s.sive canvas was mounted on the wall facing his desk. Each member of the senior management team had been blessed with one.
It felt as though Big Bill himself was with them at all times. Whether they were preparing a proposal, reading a report, reprimanding an employee, or chit chatting over the phone-Big Bill was watching, judging. Like Big Brother.
Each work of art was an original oil painting, with a unique setting and pose. Some portrayed him hard at work: sitting at his desk, studying some important doc.u.ment, or standing with a construction foreman, holding a blueprint in one hand while pointing at something in the distance with the other.
There were also paintings that ill.u.s.trated his leisure life. At the helm of his 38-foot yacht. On the golf course. Next to his prized sports car: a $150,000 black Maserati GranTurismo.
Margie, a recently promoted female executive was not at all happy with the painting in her office: Big Bill enjoying dinner with friends at his own Cafe Nue, while a well-endowed, bare-breasted waitress leaned over to refill his wine gla.s.s. The artist's rendition of the young woman's chest was breathtaking.
Harvey snickered. That painting would be a constant reminder to Margie that she could never measure up to Big Bill's standards.
Harvey Hamstel was the President of Smotherburn Technologies. A small man with enormous ambitions. And he admired ambition in his managers-to a point. Their job was to make him look good. What was good for him was good for them. But any manager who sought to make himself look good would soon find himself unemployed.
He, and he alone, had the ear of the CEO, William Smotherburn. Harvey was the ultimate Yes Man. Whatever Big Bill wanted, Harvey got it done for him. No questions asked.
But after twenty-three years, Harvey was tired of being Big Bill's errand boy. He was ready to take over as CEO. And now it would happen. Soon it would be his image in those paintings. Standing at the podium, giving the Annual State of the Company Address. Sitting at the head of the executive conference room table.