Chapters (46)
- COVER PAGE
- PRAISE
- DEDICATION
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- SNEAK PEEK: EXIT .45
She shook her head. ‘It won’t.’ She looked away. ‘We need to talk to the Forsyth woman. If her husband’s gone off with a truckload of drugs, maybe she can guess where he’s hiding. Once we have the truck, we can lure out Delroy and Andre.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-EIGHT
They took Coldwater Canyon Drive north through the hills, Delroy driving and Andre next to him.
Andre said, ‘The Vincent guy couldn’t get a read on you. Notice that? He thinks I’m in this for the thrills, but he couldn’t guess what makes Delroy Clemons tick.’
Delroy didn’t answer. He settled lower in his seat, trying to give off a comfy vibe, Andre thought: like, sixty-something years on the planet, and he was content with who he was and what he was doing. Maybe he didn’t even think about the whys of it. He just did as he pleased. Andre could understand that. Sometimes the things you knew as truth didn’t have words to go with them. They didn’t need language to prop them up. What it came down to was there were certain things you felt you had to do. That’s all it was.
They came down out of the hills, and Delroy pulled into Tuckie’s on Ventura Boulevard. There was a long rank of used cars parked in front of the main warehouse. Delroy drove down the service lane and stopped in the rear yard. Two guys in welders’ masks were using gas axes to cut the roof off a Lincoln Navigator. Two more Navigators and a Cadillac were lined up for the same treatment.
They went inside the warehouse, the place smelling like motor oil and cut steel. Three more guys with gas axes were breaking down a Chevy Nova, starry torch flames squint-white and sending flicker-shadows through the workshop. Merritt Tuckie’s office was built into a corner, windows looking out at the work area. He was in there now, doing something on his computer. Andre followed Delroy in.
‘Don’t ever knock, will you?’
Delroy said, ‘Apologies. We’re under what you might call time constraints.’
‘Sure.’ He looked over at them, closed the lid on his laptop. ‘Don’t tell me you need another car.’
Delroy said, ‘Just whatever’s on hand.’ He tilted his head. ‘And we’ve got one outside needs cutting real fast.’
Tuckie was in his fifties, a fat guy with a southern accent and a flushed face. The skin on his nose and scalp was peeling in large sections, ragged-edged with dead flakes. He looked like he’d been using a gas axe with no protection.