by Bill Hopkins
well?”
Ollie said, “You saw him talking to Mabel yesterday before Merc ran him off.”
“Mabel,” Rosswell said, “was he the guy who grabbed your arm?”
“Oh, he didn’t mean nothing by that. He gets overly excited some- times.” Mabel blushed. “I been talking to him. He’s one smart man. Has an English degree with a minor in theater.” She batted her eyes and blushed. Rosswell didn’t realize women did that any more. “Ollie, you had lots of conversations with him,” she added.
Ollie said, “Guy’s sharp as a crackerjack. Says he’s working on a book. I’ve seen him write down stuff he thinks about when he’s working on cars.”
Rosswell said, “An English major who works on cars. He is indeed one smart guy. He knows where the money is.” Rosswell suspected that Mabel’s been talking to him meant screwing his brains out but decided not to get that detailed. And he certainly wasn’t going to delve into what having conversations with Ollie might entail. “Where’s Johnny Dan been going when he doesn’t come in here?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He doesn’t have to check in with me.”
Ollie said, “Not yet.”
Merc opened the kitchen door, allowing beef stew-scented steam to roll out and hollered, “Mabel, you working or jawing today?”
The good smells set Rosswell’s mouth to watering. “Bring my coffee.” Later on he would eat something, but coffee came first.
“I’ll try some of that coffee, too,” Ollie said.
Mabel said, “How can y’all drink coffee in this heat?” She headed for the coffee pot. Back in a second she came, with two boiling white mugs of the black stuff. Nectar of the hyperactive gods.
After she left, Rosswell said to Ollie, “Has Johnny Dan ever hurt Mabel?”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
Rosswell restrained himself from giving Ollie or Mabel his domes- tic violence speech. To Rosswell, it appeared that both of them were ignoring clear signs of Johnny Dan’s aggressive behavior. Any man who would grab a woman’s arm in full view of witnesses should be considered dangerous.
After they finished the fully sugared, slightly salty sludge, Ollie said, “Let’s saddle up.”
“You don’t saddle up a Volkswagen, especially an orange one.”
“You’re beginning to look like Sherlock Holmes.”
Ollie’s come around to my way of thinking. I’m evolving into a real detective.
v
Johnny Dan’s place sat a block down from the courthouse. It had an asphalt parking lot completely free of any gravel, stray weeds, or other detritus. There wasn’t a spot of dirt or mold on the outside of the white steel building.
The cars Johnny Dan was about to work on sat in neat rows. A yellow 1969 Camaro Z28 with 400 horses, complete with black stripes. A 1969 Shelby Cobra 454, white with blue stripes. A 1978 Trans Am with a 405 and hood scoop, painted black with gold striping. Rosswell’s muscle-car lust shifted into overdrive.
Rosswell suspected Johnny Dan was rich. Rosswell didn’t use him for the VW, but Johnny Dan reigned as the mechanic of first choice in the entire county. People who buy muscle cars have money to burn, and Rosswell was thinking Johnny Dan tapped into a lot of that money before it got set afire.
“Johnny Dan!” Rosswell yelled when they went into his shop, trying to be heard over the sound of a loud machine. There was no air conditioning. Flies buzzed in the heat. He expected a couple of the bugs to drop dead from the hot air, stale and pungent with motor oil.
“Yo!” Johnny Dan yelled, and the machine went silent. “What you need?” He removed his ear plugs and safety glasses, then wiped his big hands on a red bandana. “Come on back.”
Ollie and Rosswell snaked their way around three cars until they reached Johnny Dan at the back of the shop. Rosswell, having decided to pretend that he’d never seen the man before, introduced himself and Ollie to Johnny Dan, who said he already knew Ollie. Obviously. Ollie was Johnny Dan’s main squeeze’s daddy.
“You the one with that orange VW,” he said to Rosswell. “Cute.” Cute, to muscle car folks, meant piece of crap.
Rosswell said, “Thanks.”
“You need it worked on? What is it? ’73?”
“1972,” Rosswell said.
“If I don’t have the parts, I can get them overnight.”
“The car’s doing fine. If something happens, I’ll let you know.”
“Yes, sir. Cute.”
Ollie said, “Mabel said she’s been missing you today.”
“What time is it?”
Rosswell showed Johnny Dan his watch. “Got tied up.” He motioned to all the cars he had on the floor of his shop. “Couldn’t stop for lunch.”
Rosswell said, “You don’t wear a watch?” As far as Rosswell could see, there wasn’t a clock anywhere in the building.
Johnny Dan said, “You and Ollie need something?”
Ollie said, “Judge Carew wanted to know if you wore a watch.”
“Nope. No watch. No ring. No doodads. They get caught in the machinery, you lose a finger.” Rosswell wondered why there was a white circle around the middle finger of Johnny Dan’s right hand.
Ollie said, “Do you have any help?”
“Ollie, you and the judge are costing me money. I got lots of work to do.”
Rosswell said, “I apologize for that, but we’re trying to find out about somebody who might be missing.”
Johnny Dan pointed to the garage area of his shop. “Nobody’s in here. Have a look.”
Rosswell said, “We need to know if you have any helpers.”
“Nope.” He pointed with his chin to the office portion of his shop, also maintained as neat as a new crankshaft pin. “I do my own bookkeeping, too. The only thing I can’t do is my taxes. I can’t understand the forms.”
“If you hired another mechanic, then you could get these cars done faster,” Ollie said. “What if you need to take off during the day?”
Johnny Dan smirked. “People come to me ’cause they want me to work on their cars. Most folks don’t have an emergency car repair. I do it at my own pace.”
Ollie said, “Point well taken.”
“Johnny Dan,” Rosswell said, “have you been gone for the last couple of days?”
Johnny Dan picked up a wrench off the floor and hung it in its place on the pegboard fastened to the wall. Rubber bands of various sizes hung each on their own hook. Clear plastic bags holding tiny parts were labeled and alphabetized. Tools and accessories of every variety were displayed on the pegboard.
“Yup. Went to St. Louis to get parts.”
Johnny Dan waved toward open shelves groaning under the weight of boxes containing thousands of car parts, all cataloged and labeled. Cocking his eye at two other wrenches on a bench, he clanged them together, then scrutinized them. Apparently satisfied that they were clean, he hung them on the pegboard too. After pumping some kind of hand cleaner from an orange bottle and wiping vigorously, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping.
“Anybody go with you?” Ollie said.
Johnny Dan swept perilously close to Rosswell’s feet.
“Nope.”
Rosswell said, “Did you meet up with anyone up there?” Ollie and Rosswell made a good pair of interviewers.
Johnny Dan stopped sweeping. “Judge, you need some work done?”
“No,” Rosswell said. “We just needed to know a couple of things.”
“Then do you mind if we talk later? I’m busier than—”
Rosswell ventured, “A whore at a used car salesmen’s convention?”
Johnny Dan belched a great laugh. “That’s a good ’un. I’m going to use that.”
Ollie said, “See you around. Maybe at Merc’s.”
“Yeah. And tell Mabel I said hey. Be by later.”
The sound of a Harley greeted Rosswell and Ollie when they walked out the front door onto the sidewalk. Purvis Rabil of Little Rock and his little dog Scooby had arrived. Scooby yapped and Purvis
tipped his hat.
“Johnny Dan in?” Purvis asked. “Done been looking all over for him.”
Ollie pointed inside the garage at Johnny Dan and yelled to him, “Someone’s here for you.”
“Yo,” said Johnny Dan.
“Yo,” said Purvis.
Purvis and Johnny Dan walked to the back wall where they stood by a door leading to another part of the shop. With their backs to Rosswell and Ollie, they began an animated conversation.
Parked on the street were two vehicles of interest.
“Look at Purvis’s ride,” Rosswell said. “That’s a 1690 CC twin cam engine. Pivoting foot boards. Breakaway windshield.” Inspecting the motorcycle more closely, it was apparent what the thing was. “This is a police edition of some kind.”
“Must’ve stolen it.”
“Nope,” Rosswell said. “You can buy them used. But this sucker sells for an ungodly amount, even used.”
Ollie pointed to a car. A new, silver Malibu with 16-inch tires. “That’s Johnny Dan’s car,” he said. “Johnny Dan’s a big boy. Right kind of car. I wonder if that’s what Hermie saw?” Rosswell and Ollie both checked every tire. A couple of the tires had suspicious slashes on them. They peeked inside. The car was showroom clean.
“Makes it handy if you wanted to clean up a car after a murder.” Ollie pointed to a sign on the garage. DETAILING OUR SPECIALTY! “Let’s keep an eye on Johnny Dan.”
“Yes, sir.” Rosswell gave him a little salute. “And another thing. I’ve met that Harley rider.”
“Great tats.” Admiration welled up in Ollie’s voice. “Where did you meet him?”
“Purvis Rabil is his name. He came in the sheriff’s office earlier and reported buzzards flying around a pile of dead trees in the river at the park. Now here