“Hank, what the hell are you doing out here? What do you think you’re doing, calling me out with my boss’s tow truck and sticking a gun in my face?”
“We’re going to help ourselves to a few cars and get them across the line to Mexico for some good money, man. Got the gun ‘cause I wasn’t sure you’d cooperate, even after the time we shared in the pen. Link told me you were goin’ straight after your little vacation on the state of Texas. But you ain’t, are you? You’re gonna to be in this up to your eyeballs and you’re gonna be the one to go back in if we get caught, ‘cause I’m gonna be long gone.”
Hank Filmore. Shit. The dirty little weasel must have gotten out right after I did and somehow tracked me down. Times we shared my ass—both of us getting fucked by Big Boy Washington is all there was. No way am I goin’ to let this scumbag get me in trouble again.
Mike squared his shoulders. “No damn way, Filmore. I’ve got a good deal going for me and no way am I fucking it up for the likes of you. The only way you’re getting this truck is to leave me dead on the ground when you take it. If you have the balls to shoot me, go ahead. Do it right now before I take your peashooter and shove it up your ass.” It was a bold threat, maybe a stupid one, but he didn’t care. Jeff’s truck would go only over his dead or incapacitated body, no other way.
Hank raised the gun again, a wild look in his eyes. Mike heard the explosion from far away and felt the slam of the bullet. Then everything simply stopped.
* * * *
Jeff would have liked to have Mike over for the weekend, but he knew the other man wanted to finish some work on the Mustang. It was coming along really well, and with a new paint job would look like a brand new car. Mechanically, it was almost there already. Still, he wanted them to be together a lot more than they were. He also knew Mike needed his space and some time to adjust to this new relationship, but it was hard to be patient.
Finally he picked up the phone. Maybe he’d at least ask Mike over for supper. He knew that on his own Mike didn’t eat right, grabbing a can of beans and weenies or spaghetti with sauce from a jar or something equally disgusting instead of a good home-cooked meal. Jeff enjoyed cooking and didn’t find it a chore to cook almost every night, even if he ate the results alone.
He dialed the number of Mike’s new cell phone. It rang and rang, but no one answered. That was odd. Well, maybe he took the Mustang out for a test run and forgot to take the phone along. I’ll try again later.
He did—twice before full dark with the same result. After the third time, he got into his truck and drove out to the lot. He had no idea what but something had to be wrong. At first he didn’t see anything strange. The Mustang sat in its place beside the trailer, which was dark, but the door was unlocked. Nothing was disturbed inside. When he went back out, he suddenly realized there was an empty place behind the main building. The slider wasn’t there. He checked in the office and the keys were gone.
All this was really strange. Why would Mike have taken the truck without letting him know? He went to the phone and checked the recent calls. The latest showed no caller ID and had come in about one-thirty this afternoon. Damn, something’s wrong. I don’t even know where to start looking, but something tells me Mike’s in the middle of it and it’s bad. Clenching his fists in frustration and futile wrath, Jeff stalked back out to his truck. He drove out of the lot, closed the gate, then sat there with the motor running. He felt the urgency as strongly as if Mike had called him name…but where? Which way should he go?
Finally, because there really wasn’t anything else to do, he went home. If he’s not back by morning, I’ll go talk to Sheriff Stoner. They’ll probably tell me it’s what I get for trusting a convict, but damn it, Mike wouldn’t stab me in the back. He’s been so sincerely thankful to have a chance…and then there’s this new thing between us.
As he drove slowly back down to his home, Jeff felt the pain of this sudden shock as keenly as a knife in the gut. He refused to believe Mike would betray his trust, yet things were looking more and more as if he had. Why would he take off in the slider truck without letting Jeff know unless it was to do some kind of dubious business that was meant to be a secret?
The evening dragged by on leaden feet as he waited and fretted. He was in bed watching the evening news when the phone rang. He almost knocked it to the floor in his hurry to grab it.
“Are you missing a truck?”
At first he didn’t recognize the voice. Then it registered—Sally Coffman, the evening dispatcher for the Greenway County Sheriff’s Department. They’d dated a couple of times when Jeff first arrived, but there’d been no chemistry. Still, they had stayed friends.
“Am I?”
“Someone found your slider out on the Lake Chambers road and a man down, shot once in the left side. Got an ambulance on the way for him, but Deputy Hanson said you might want to come check on your truck.”
“The guy…is he lean with a dark complexion? About five-foot-ten? How bad is he hurt?” Questions crowded faster than he could voice them, much less expect answers.
“Whoa, one at a time, please. Yes, that’s the general description. As to how bad, I don’t know. He wasn’t conscious, and the reporting deputy called for an ambulance. That’s all I know.”
“Sounds like Mike Watson, a guy who’s been working for me for a few weeks. I can’t drive out there and also drive the truck back. Any chance I can get a lift? Or maybe I’ll just go to the hospital first. Are they en route yet or do you know?” Urgency ricocheted through him. Is it Mike? Is he going to be okay? What happened? All those answers would have to wait, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t wonder, wouldn’t worry.
“The ambulance just now reached the scene. They’ll be heading back soon, I expect. If the man’s condition is critical they won’t waste any time.”
“I’ll go to the hospital first then. Tell the deputy to leave the truck locked and I’ll take care of it no later than first thing tomorrow. I’m the closest to next-of-kin Mike has right now. Since he works for me, I need to be there to authorize his care and take responsibility for the bills.”
Jeff was dressing one-handed before he put the phone down and out the door almost before it settled into the base. He beat the ambulance to the hospital, but only by a few minutes. Damn it, Mike, don’t you go and die on me. I don’t care what you were doing out there or why someone shot you. Just don’t fuckin’ die!
The EMTs brushed past Jeff in a rush. He caught a glimpse of Mike, very pale under his dusky tan, with an oxygen mask over his face and an IV line in one arm. Jeff could not see where he was shot. Sally had said in the left side, which left a good bit of territory. Somewhere below the shoulder, obviously. He couldn’t see anything else beneath the blanket snuggly wrapped around Mike’s body. A sick mixture of fear and horror gnawed at his belly. This was so wrong.
Doing the paperwork to admit a patient kept him occupied for a while, but Mike was still in surgery when he was done. He paced the waiting area, too troubled to sit still. Finally, about three o’clock, a nurse came out and spoke to him.
“Mr. Castle? They’re bringing Mr. Watson out of surgery now. They’ve got him stabilized and extracted the bullet fragments. Since it looks like an attempted homicide, they’ve got to maintain some restrictions until he awakens enough to tell what happened, but he should be all right. Blood loss was the major issue and he was given two units to take care of the shortage. You’re going to have a substantial bill, I’m afraid, but his chances for total recovery are now very good.”
Jeff almost collapsed with relief. “To hell with the bill. If he’s going to be all right, that’s the only thing I care about. Can I see him?”
The nurse shook her head. “Not until tomorrow. He’s heavily sedated and there’s no way he can tell you anything yet. He’ll have to talk to the law first anyway. No one thinks you were involved, but it’s just a matter of policy, you know.”
Biting back a curse, Jeff thanked the woman and reluctantly tur
ned to go home. He’d be back first thing in the morning, no question. As for the truck, he’d make it second priority, but Mike definitely came first.
* * * *
He hurt all over, especially along his left side, the bottom rib. Mike blinked and focused bleary eyes on the strip of sky visible through the blinds of the window to his left. Gray but bright. Clouds then. Probably afternoon. Where am I and what’s going on?
After a moment, memories began to return. The freaky call, the drive out toward Chambers Lake, the pickup that almost looked like Jeff’s, but wasn’t. Hank Filmore. Oh, shit. Jeff’s going to think I set something up and it went bad. What else could he think?
If he hadn’t been so damn weak and sore, he’d have been out of the bed and hunting for a phone. He needed to talk to Jeff. Just then a nurse came in, one of the falsely smiling ones who talked to you like you were in kindergarten.
“Well, good afternoon. Are we feeling better now? Do you need a pain pill?”
“I need a telephone and then my clothes so I can get out of this lousy joint.”
“Now, now, we can’t be getting upset. There’re several people who want to talk to you, Mr. Watson. If you feel up to it, I’ll bring them in one by one.”
“All right. Let me talk to whoever I have to and then a doctor so I can see about getting out of here.”
The first visitor was a uniformed officer from the sheriff’s department. Mike told him the story in the most concise and factual way he could. “Was the tow truck gone? It’s my boss’s, my—uh—my friend’s, and I don’t want him thinking I was trying to steal it or use it to steal other cars. That’s important.”
“The Castle truck was at the scene when the deputy found you. There were tracks like another vehicle had peeled out fast. Can you give me a description of the pickup? How about a license number?”
Mike could describe the pickup, but he was almost sure the license plate was not readable. He thought, though, it might have been the colors of a Texas plate. He’d been too busy and too confused at first to note a lot of details. He didn’t hesitate to give Hank Filmore’s name and a couple of aliases he claimed to use.
I want that sorry mother back in custody, damn it. If this shit has turned Jeff against me, he’d better look out. I’ll be on Filmore’s dirty ass as soon as I get mobile.
He didn’t have long to worry about Jeff’s opinion. His next visitor put his mind at ease. The deputy had hardly exited when Jeff came to the door. He stood there for a long minute, simply looking at Mike. Then relief and a wide grin swept over his face.
“You’re awake and alive! Maybe there’re guardian angels after all. And no, you’re not in any trouble I know of either. I heard most of what you told the deputy. But I already knew—you wouldn’t double cross me. I’d have bet my life on it. “
Jeff strode across to the bed and took Mike’s right hand in a crushing grip. “Don’t ever give me a scare like that again, though, or I’ll personally kick the dog turds out of you when you get better!”
He was laughing and crying at the same time. Mike wanted to hug him, but couldn’t reach. “Bend down, man. You’re too far away.”
Jeff complied and planted a kiss on Mike’s lips that had his prick jumping to attention, even though he knew they couldn’t do anything here and now. He’s not mad, still trusting me. Oh, thank all the gods!
Chapter 4
By the last weekend in August, the rains had begun to taper off. Mike scanned the sky with an anxious gaze. Only a few small clouds dotted the bright turquoise overhead. In another hour or two the paint on the Mustang would be dry, even the silver flames that glittered on the deep electric blue of the body. He’d kind of thought that was overkill, but Jeff had said it was the exact finishing touch the car needed. When it came to matters of style, he’d defer to Jeff any day. The man had class and an eye for what looked good.
Mike slid behind the wheel and turned the key. He loved to hear the powerful roar of the totally rebuilt engine. He’d done everything he knew to maximize its power, and the transmission made the best possible use of every bit of all the engine would produce. This was one hot car. Now if his driving skills were not too rusty, he’d do his damn level best to beat out all the contenders in the first race of the Greenway County Fair stock car competition. And then go on from there.
He saw Jeff come out the back door of the office and pause to watch and listen. Then the other man sauntered down to join him.
“She’s purring like a Persian cat,” Jeff observed. “You’ve worked magic on this old car, Mike. She’s a real beauty and she runs like a champ. After the races, you’ve got to let me drive her.”
Mike had shut the engine off and gotten back out, fighting off the silly grin wanting to stretch his face. He was almost scared to be so damned happy. It felt too good to be true. “Hell, here’re the keys. Take it out for a spin if you want to. I trust you with it.”
Jeff shook his head. “No, nobody but you gets behind the wheel until you bring the trophy home. I’m not exactly superstitious, but it just doesn’t feel right to do things any other way.”
Mike slid a glance at him. “You sure? I don’t care. You’ve got a lot invested in this car, too. Everything new either came off your lot or was ordered on Castle Classics’ tab. You prob’ly own more of it than I do, really.”
“It’s ours,” Jeff agreed. He slung an arm around Mike’s shoulders and gave him a half-hug. “And it’ll be racing under Castle sponsorship, but that’s the only thing I’m asking. The publicity will be great. What name did you drive under back in Texas, before—well, before your trouble?”
Mike felt heat flood his face. Shit, it sounds stupid to say it out loud. Back then it was cool, but I’m no kid anymore. Why did he have to ask? “I—it was Wild Man Watson. Yeah, it sounds pretty stupid now…hokey. When I was eighteen it seemed cool, but not now. I’m just gonna be Mike.”
Jeff laughed. “Wild Man, huh? Well, you can be pretty wild in the bedroom and a few other places I can think of. Why not on the track?”
Mike wiggled out from under his arm and scuffed a toe in the dirt. “Come on, man. You’re embarrassing me. Knock it off.”
“Okay. For now you can call yourself whatever you want. I just thought maybe someone would recognize your old handle and get a little buzz going, especially if you and Blue Blazes here do well tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t that famous, Jeff. There’s nothing to hearken back to. Trust me. I don’t even want to go there anymore.”
Jeff seemed to know him well enough now to recognize the signs of discomfort and dismay. At least he backed off. Maybe he was just kidding. Sometimes Mike was not sure.
He glanced back at Jeff and this time caught a more serious expression on his face. Jeff met Mike’s gaze for a moment. Mike could see concern and caring in Jeff’s hazel eyes.
“Hey, you’re going to do great. I don’t have any doubts at all. I’ll be right there cheering you on and I know you’re going to sweep the meet—by the time this weekend is over, everyone in the county will know Mike Watson and Blue Blazes, and the Castle Classic name will be out there, too. Quit worrying.”
Jeff cuffed him on the shoulder and turned back to the office.
“I’ll try,” Mike called after him. “I’ll really try.”
Knowing how much Jeff did care and how supportive he’d been and kept on being meant a lot. Mike had never known a deep friendship like theirs before. It had evolved into a lot more than just a hook-up with some hot sex and good times. He knew Jeff was planning to offer him a partnership in the business, but he would not accept it until he got the felony conviction reversed and the shadow on his name cleared for good. That made winning the races so critical. The purses weren’t huge, but would help a lot in hiring a lawyer to guide him through the project. This was not something he’d let Jeff help with either. This was his own personal quest.
* * * *
The big attractions at the fair, horse races and car races, were sched
uled on alternate days. In fact, the car track oval was just outside the horse track, with only a solid cement wall about four feet high and a bit of grassy space between them. The sand rails and dragsters used only the final straight away, but the stock cars used the whole oval, just like the Daytona or any NASCAR sanctioned competition. The meet wasn’t sanctioned yet, but the promoters were hoping to get there someday soon.
Jeff felt a stir of excitement as the cars lined up for the first race. The Mustang sure looked good. Of course looks didn’t win races, but he knew the care Mike had put into the mechanics equaled or exceeded the cosmetic part. That did win races, along with the skill of the driver. He had no way to know for sure, but he had a hunch Mike was damn good.
“Gentlemen, start your engines.” The command echoed across the grounds on the loudspeakers. The flag went down, and they were off. A lot of the competitors were just local kids who had souped up their cars, many with parts bought at Jeff’s lot, and fancied they’d be the next NASCAR name in a few years. Some might get that far, but most of them would lose interest, and a few might be hurt or even killed. Racing was a lot more serious than many of them realized.
The roar of the powerful engines filled the air along with smoke from the exhausts and the pervasive dust that couldn’t ever be totally cleared from the paved track. Cars dodged and surged, one edging into the lead and then another. There were three blue ones, but the Mustang stood out, the silver flames blazing through the haze. The Mustang and Mike carried number sixty-nine.
Jockeying for position, Mike swung out around a couple of cars and then edged in toward the rail. The difference in distance along the inner arc was not much, but when seconds counted, it could make a difference. By the final lap three cars led the pack—a red Corvette, a yellow Hornet and the Mustang.
A couple had blown tires, one careening into the wall with a screaming crash as metal crumpled and tore. At least it didn’t catch fire, and the driver walked away. Two others collided and were dragged clear of the track, two boys’ dreams shattered, at least for the moment, but again no one was badly hurt. Jeff sighed in relief. The ever-present danger was the only thing to trouble him about the sport, especially when young kids were competing. At speeds over a hundred miles per hour, forgiveness wasn’t in the cards.
Muscle Car Man Page 3