Part 29 (1/2)
”Ask Manuel,” said Wilson with a clumsy shrug.
”You knew him,” said Farrow. ”I'm asking you.”
”I met him at a party last week,” said Wilson. ”Seeing him here today was just one of those accidents.”
”He was looking for a car,” said Manuel.
Jaime dragged hard on his cigarette and stared down at his boots.
”He looked like some kind of cop,” said Farrow.
”I don't think so,” said Manuel. ”He was only looking for a car.”
Farrow regarded Manuel and said, ”All right. How much to use the Mustang for the week?”
”Seven hundred,” said Manuel.
”You've raised your rates.”
”The car was bought from the Old Car Trader Old Car Trader. It is all legal, down to the plates.”
”Here.” Farrow counted out seven hundred-dollar bills. ”Have something ready for me that I can buy when I bring the Mustang back. I want it clean and fast.”
”You will have it,” said Manuel.
”'Bout ready, Frank?” said Otis.
”Yeah. Let's go.”
”See you later, Man-you-el,” said Otis. ”Jamey.”
”Stay in touch, T. W.,” said Farrow.
Wilson said, ”Right.”
Farrow and Otis went to the Mach 1 and settled into its white buckets. Farrow cooked the ignition; the rumble echoed in the garage. He looked across the buckets and smiled at Otis. Otis took his .45 from his coat and slipped it beneath his seat. Farrow put the automatic in gear.
They drove south on Georgia Avenue. A cop car pa.s.sed them on the right, its uniformed driver slowing down to have a look at the Mach 1.
”He likes it,” said Farrow as the cop car accelerated and sped off.
”You drive a red car, it's gonna attract some attention.”
”You heard Manuel. Everything checks out, and he wouldn't lie to me. Besides, I'll keep to the speed limit, Roman.”
”I know that, Frank. Always did feel comfortable with you behind the wheel.”
Otis found HUR on the FM dial. The DJ was starting into the Temptations' ”A Song for You,” a beautiful track from their late period. Otis did his best with all the vocal parts. He wasn't too solid on the highs, but he thought he sounded pretty good.
”Where we headed now, Frank?” said Otis when the song was done.
”Gonna see if Detective Jonas is home,” said Farrow.
Otis studied the detail map he had lifted from the office. ”You ain't thinkin' of doin' that cop today, right?”
”Just want to say h.e.l.lo to his sons if they're around.”
”That's what you got in mind,” said Otis, ”you want to be makin' a left at the corner up ahead.”
”Mr. Lynch,” said Nick Stefanos. ”If you could just give me a minute here -”
”Keep talkin',” said Lynch. ”I can listen to you while I'm workin'.”
Lynch had his head in the engine of a '71 Torino. The engine was a 351 Cleveland; the car was green with a white roof. Lynch turned a wrench with a thick, scaly hand.
”I'm trying to locate a red Torino,” said Stefanos.
”I know, I know, you already -”
”A Twister, special edition. Red.”
Lynch backed up and stood to his full five-feet-two. He was a pink-faced, froggish man with a hops belly and a comb-over of blond-gray hair.
”Why didn't you say so?” said Lynch. ”For G.o.d's sake, you could have saved me all this talk.”
”You know the car?”
”Ain't but one like it in the area. And yeah, I know it. I restored the sonofab.i.t.c.h myself.”
Stefanos felt a tick in his blood. ”You have the name and address of the person who owns it?”
”I have the name. Have an address and a phone number, too, but both of them are worthless. I'm tellin' you the truth 'cause I found out the hard way, see? This black b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he stiffed me for two grand. He's the reason I got that sign posted over there.”
Lynch pointed to a ”No Checks, Cash and Charges Only” notice posted by the register.
”What's this guy's name?”
”Forjay. Sean Forjay. Young buck with one of those big Afros they all used to wear.” Lynch regarded Stefanos strangely. ”Hey, what's wrong with you?”
”Nothing,” said Stefanos, thinking of Forjay, the top-of-the-heap dealer down on Kennedy.
”Yeah,” said Lynch, ”Forjay's one of those n.i.g.g.e.rs, you never want to see him again, just loan him some money. Hey, where you goin' so fast, buddy?”
Stefanos walked quickly through the open bay door. On the way to his car he lit a smoke.
”Who was the man in the leather jacket?” said Manuel Ruiz.