turned into a wheeze. 'Got him started strippin parts out back, as well. He's got good hands. Good hands and bad taste in cars. I ain't seen such a dog as that '58 in years.'
'Well, I guess he sees it as a hobby,' I said.
'Sure,' Darnell said expansively. 'Sure he does. Just as long as he doesn't want to ramrod around with it like that punk, that Repperton. But not much chance of that for a while, huh?'
'I guess not. It looks pretty wasted.'
'What the fuck is he doing to it?' Darnell asked. He leaned forward suddenly, his big shoulders going up all the way to his hairline. His brows pulled in, and his eyes disappeared except for small twin gleams. 'What the fuck is he up to? I been in this business all my life, and I never seen anyone go at fixing a car up the crazy-ass way he is. Is it a joke? A game?'
'I'm not getting you,' I said, although I was - I was getting him perfectly.
'Then I'll draw you a pitcher,' Darnell said. 'He brings it in, and at first he's doing all the things I'd expect him to do. What the fuck, he ain't got money falling out of his asshole, right? If he did, he wouldn't be here. He changes the oil. He changes the filter. Grease-job, lube, I see one day he's got two new Firestones for the front to go with the two on the back.'
Two on the back? I wondered, and then decided he'd just bought three new tyres to go with the original new one I'd gotten the night we were bringing it over here.
'Then I come in one day and see he's replaced the windscreen wipers,' Darnell continued 'Not so strange, except that the car's not going to be going anywhere - rain or shine - for a long time . Then it's a new aerial for the radio, and I think, He's gonna listen to the radio while he's working on it and drain his battery. Now he's got one new seat cover and half a grille. So what is it? A game?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'Did he buy the replacement parts from you?'
'No,' Darnell said, sounding aggravated. 'I don't know where he gets them. That grille - there isn't a spot of rust on it. He must have ordered it from somewhere. Custom Chrysler in New Jersey or someplace like that, But where's the other half? Up his ass? I never even heard of a grille that came in two pieces.'
'I don't know. Honest.'
He jammed the cigar out, 'Don't tell me you're not curious, though. I saw the way you was lookin at that car.' I shrugged. 'Arnie doesn't talk about it much,' I said.
'No, I bet he doesn't. He's a close-mouthed sonofabitch. He's a fighter, though. That Repperton pushed the wrong button when he started in on Cunningham. If he works out okay this fall, I might find a steady job for him this winter. Jimmy Sykes is a good boy, but he ain't much in the brains department.' His eyes measured me. 'Think he's a pretty good worker, Dennis?'
'He's okay.'
'I got lots of irons in the fire,' he said. 'Lot of irons. I rent out flatbeds to guys that need to haul their stockers up to Philadelphia City. I haul away the junkets after races. I can always use help. Good, trustworthy help.'
I began to have a horrid suspicion that I was being asked to dance. I got up hurriedly, almost knocking over the straight chair. 'I really ought to get going,' I said. 'And . . . Mr Darnell . . . I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention to Arnie that I was here. He's. . a little touchy about the car. To tell you the truth, his father was curious about how he was coming along.'
'Took a little shit on the home front, did he?' Darnell's right eye closed shrewdly in something that was not quite a wink, 'Folks ate a few pounds of Ex-Lax and then stood over him with their legs spread, did they?'
'Yeah, well, you know.'
'You bet I know.' He was up in one smooth motion and clapped me on the back hard enough to stagger me on my feet. Wheezy respiration and cough or not, he was strong.
'Wouldn't mention it,' he said, walking me toward the door. His hand was still on my shoulder, and that also made me feet nervous - and a little