He asked what he could do me for. I told him I wanted a full transmission replacement, that I wasn’t happy with the clutch linkage, and that he could take his time doing it because I was going on vacation for a week. He said six grand. I said that was fine and invented a phone number on the spot. He wrote it down without batting an eyelid. We didn’t shake hands.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The refrigerated meat truck was a marvel of technology. The shift was automatic and the dashboard had a big black screen with the word ‘smart’ just below it in rounded letters. The truck started up without a key, just the push of a button. It was enough to have the black plastic fob in my pocket. It was so quiet, I almost didn’t notice the motor, humming along in the background. The black screen lit up and showed an engine and a battery in some kind of cyclic relationship. I figured that was because it was a hybrid vehicle. Half electric, half gas, or something of that nature. The other half of the black screen was filled with numbers and symbols that related to the refrigerator behind me.

I drove the Chinese meat truck east and found a highway after ten minutes. The highway wasn’t busy. Midday traffic on a Monday. I cruised for forty minutes and then looked for an exit. After a half-hour of driving around I found what I was looking for, a moderately large light industrial area. Looked like the French urban planners kept things organized. The dedicated industrial area had warehouses, depots, factories, and all manner of large open parking lots and storage yards. I parked behind an enormous flat building that advertised winter storage for RVs. The back fence looked out on train tracks. I figured June was about as far away from winter as anyone could hope for. Then I opened the hatch.

The fridge was cold.

The bodies were wrapped up in the heavy polymer sheeting. And not all in pieces yet. I figured the hazard suit guy was getting a head start while his buddies cleaned upstairs. There were four victims, not including the guy in the hazard suit and the two cleaners, which brought the count up to seven in total.

One fat bald guy, The Woodcutter. Shot point-blank in the forehead, flash burns from the muzzle blast all around the entry wound. The tall skinny guy from the night before with the light blue tracksuit and thin line of a beard along his jaw. Shot in the neck and the eye. The rat-faced guy. Gaping neck wound. Artery severed, head hanging loose on what remained of his neck. Spinal cord visible. I thought, axe attack, single blow.