"Clayton Emery - Tyger Blake - Totaled" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

Totaled
A Tyger Blake Mystery
by Clayton Emery

......"Jesus. What happened to that?"

......"Draggin'." Manny slammed the truck door, stooped over his big gut, hoisted a tire from the weeds.
Raspberry bushes snapped and popped. He pitched it behind a half-flattened yellow Volkswagen.

......"Kids on Powder Mill Road. That straight stretch." He climbed back into the cab and artfully backed
the wreck into the slot. It settled with a groan.

......The mess had been a Pontiac Firebird, black with gold trim. The bird painted on the hood was now
folded in half where the bumper, trunk, and finally the dashboard had hit a very large tree. The headlights
were crosseyed. The blue engine block sneered from the front seat. Every bit of glass had been blown
away by the impact.

......"Did the tree survive?" I asked.

......"Oh, yeah. It's fine. Ready for next Friday night. The kid driving it's not too good. Legs in traction
and tubes up his nose."

......Brown stains marked the front seat and dash. I could smell the blood in the warm summer sun. "He's
lucky to be anywhere."

......"Yeah." Manny scratched his paunch through a hole in his T-shirt. I knew what he was thinking. Way
back, he used to race stock cars and demo derbies. Before that were probably many Friday and
Saturday nights drag-racing on backroads. He turned away. "You get them U-joints in Pierce's truck?"

......I pointed at the truck sitting in a "done" slot.

......"I did two, but he'll need the rest in a few months. We supposed to do anything with this wreck?"

......"Not till the insurance guy looks it over." He climbed in the cab to move the tow truck. "After that, I
don't know."

......I looked at the former Firebird. "Maybe we can fill the front seat with dirt and plant tomatoes."

......"Oughta grow good with all the blood and bone to feed 'em."

***

......The insurance investigator looked surprised to see me, a woman, working in a shade-tree. He
wrinkled his nose at everything. Me with my jigsaw face and hacked-off hair and baseball hat screwed
on backwards, our three-bay cinderblock garage, two rusty pumps, two mangy dogs behind chain link,
wrecks on three weedy acres -- and a dozen shiny cars waiting for service. "You guys must be good, all
these customers."

......He squinted, trying to sort out what was wrong with me. Scars ripple down my face like rivers
running to the sea. They're invisible, I'm told, but my face just doesn't work right. He was dying to ask. I