Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,39

Florence Nightingale.

“Why’d he try to kill you, John?” Ellen asked again. As tough as my wife was, when my sister got that tone in her voice, it seemed like even the air in the room started looking for a way out.

“Driving a piece of shit Nova would make me feel pretty murderous, too,” I said.

Anna slammed her hand down on the counter. Some of her beer sloshed onto the table. “This is not funny!”

“Did you find out anything about Randy Watkins?” I asked Ellen. Right after the Detroit cop had called an ambulance and given me back my license and registration, I’d called her and given her what I’d known.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t share information with a loose cannon such as yourself,” she said. “But I suppose I can make an exception this time.”

“Don’t do him any favors,” Anna said.

“The Randy Watkins identity is entirely fictitious,” Ellen said. “He was renting that apartment month-to-month and the information he’d provided to the landlord was all bogus. And he always paid his rent in cash.”

“The car?”

“We’re still checking.”

“You should be able to pull the slugs from my car,” I said. “Might get something useful.”

“Thanks for the tip, Perry Mason.” Ellen said. “It is, in fact, on its way to the crime lab.”

“So the car’s totaled,” Anna said.

I nodded.

“Does that mean you’ll have to use the minivan?” she said. This was good, we were back to practical matters. Much safer ground.

I shook my head. “As fine and sporty-looking a vehicle as it is, I’ll be renting a car. My insurance covers it.”

Ellen drained the rest of her beer and set it on the counter by the back door.

“Thanks for the beer,” she said. “Anna, when he gets sick or even the tiniest scratch, he turns into the world’s biggest baby.”

“I know,” my dear wife said.

“Just ignore him.”

“I will.”

Ellen walked by me and punched me on the arm. Yes, that arm.

I gave a little yelp.

“See what I mean?” Ellen said.

I glanced over at Anna who took a drink from her beer. I could have been wrong, but it looked like she was laughing.

Twenty-three

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” I said.

The Enterprise car rental customer representative, a Bill Gates look-alike circa seventeen years old, sort of smirked and looked out at the waiting room. It was totally empty.

“Sorry, man,” he said, a hint of camaraderie in his voice. “I feel for you.”

Just outside, another Enterprise employee had just pulled up my rental car.

A Pontiac Sunbird.

White.

And a two-door.

“I can’t drive that,” I said to the guy. I looked at his nametag. It said ‘Buddy.’

“We’re getting three more cars this afternoon,” he said. “If you can wait—”

“I can’t wait, Buddy.”

Anna had already dropped me off and left. I’d have to call her and tell her to come back and get me. Jesus Christ. Was I going to tail someone in a white Sunbird?

“Sorry, man, there’s nothing I can do,” Buddy said. “The last Aztek went out fifteen minutes ago. All I’ve got left are these white Sunbirds. I’ve got twelve of them.”

“Big surprise,” I said.

Buddy handed me the keys and I had no choice but to take them. He slid a piece of paper across the counter and I signed away what little pride I had left.

“Take it easy on the ladies,” Buddy said, laughing. Everyone’s a smart ass.

• • •

Considering everything that had happened, Hornsby’s murder, my running and gunning with Randy, etc., I decided it was time to touch base with my client.

I drove over to Clarence’s place and rang the bell. When he opened the door and after we exchanged hellos, he looked over my shoulder at the Sunbird in his driveway.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be there long enough to affect your property values,” I said.

“Is that a Sunbird?” he said.

“I can think of a few other names for it,” I said.

“Doesn’t seem like your style,” he said.

“I drove a Taurus,” I said. “Taurus drivers by definition have no style.”

He nodded again, silently agreeing that I had no style.

“What happened to the Taurus?” he said.

“That’s partially why I came to talk to you,” I said.

“Come in, come in,” he said. “You want something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

I followed Clarence into the kitchen while he poured me a cup. He stood behind the kitchen’s island and I pulled up a stool.

“Have you heard about Nevada Hornsby?” I said.

He sighed. “I just read about it in the paper.”

I waited him out.

“I’m not going to lie,” he said. “I never liked him, never trusted him, never thought he