HOT MUGGY NIGHTS

Chapter 15

2008-02-12T22:12:00.002-05:00

"What the hell is that?" Evans said looking down 213.

"It's a wreck," Maggee said leaning forward in his seat.

The squad car advanced on the wreck, the tangle of patrol car and station wagon.

"What and the hell happened?" Evans asked.

"You can see it," Maggee said with a flat gesture. "Station wagon cut right through him, right through the intersection, there."

"Well god damn," Evans said. They stopped the car.

"Ed, called for an ambulance," Maggess said getting out. There was a woman sitting on the road, a blanket around her shoulders, blood dripping over her face. A man stood beside her.

"Are you all right?" Maggee asked. "Is she all right?"

The man looked at Maggee and stuttered. "I don't know what happened, she just came out of no where. And she got out of the car okay. We called an ambulance. Yeah well one guy did and then he went to check on the other fella."

"The officer?"

"No, the fella who wrecked his truck," he said pointing up the road.

Maggee followed the finger to the back end of the truck sticking out from the liquor store.

"There's an ambulance on the way," Maggee said. "We've been looking for that truck all night," he said running back to the car.

The alarm rang, loud and shrill. "Holy hell!" Pepper said, looking into the store. A display of gallon jugs of margarita mix were scattered on the floor, cardboard boxes of discount gin, pieces of a counter and register, coins, bills, glass and wires. The truck had stalled in Pepper's sudden breaking. He turned the key in the ignition, shifted the car to neutral and turned the key again. The engine let out a high-pitched cough, he released the key. He turned it again, the same cough. Pepper made a frustrated scream and punched the steering wheel, the truck's horn blew.

He climbed down from the truck and looked back at the accident. He saw a second set of lights flashing, the squad rolling around the wreck and towards the store. "Oh no way!" he said backing away.

Pepper climbed over the broken glass and metal of the store front into the debris. He looked around the building frantically, ran halfway down an aisle of gin and back to the front of the store. He pulled at drawers behind the still standing register, tape, scissors, paperclips, a supply catalog, take-out menus, a lighter, thumb tacks, markers, receipt tape. He took the lighter and put it in his pocket.

Evans stopped the car in front of the shop. "How are we going to handle this, Sheriff?"

"Well, let's see," Maggee said. He looked into the store, squinting. The lights in the shop were off, though the building was partially lit by the headlights of the truck. "You see him in there, Ed?"

Evans looked. "I don't see him, Sheriff."

"Okay well let's see if he won't just come out of there, then."

"All right."

Maggee turned a dial on the radio and put the receiver to his mouth. "Come on out of there," he said through the loud speaker. "Nice and slow just come out." He turned the dial again. "We're going to need immediate backup to 1412 Columbus Avenue. Man has driven a stolen delivery truck into the front of a liquor store. Possibly armed."

"We going in?" Evans asked.

"I'm fine waiting, Ed."

Pepper crawled along the floor of the shop, moving towards the back. He leaned against a cardboard cutout of a viking hoisting a bottle of mead. A blue light flickered on the ceiling, Pepper watched it, nervously rubbing his fingers in his pocket. He pinched at some loose coins, turned the lighter in his fingers.

"You're coming out or we're coming in with pistols," a voice came over the loudspeaker.

"Goddang," Pepper said, flicking the lighter rapidly. He looked down at the flame, flicking the button still. "Oh, man," he said leaning forward. He scooted toward a shelf, took a bottle of Bourbon Supreme and twisted off the cap. Then taking his sleeve in his mouth tore a piece of fabric from the shirt. He stuffed it into the end of the bottle and lit the lighter at its edge. The cloth took the flame, he picked the bottle up, took a few steps towards the front of the building and hurled it into the parking lot.

"Eat on that, suckers!" he screamed.

The bottle shattered on the asphalt several yards in front of the squad car.

"What in the hell is he doing?" Evans said staring at the bottle. "That rag's on fire."

"Whiskey won't catch," Maggee said.

Another bottle flew into the parking lot, breaking closer to the building than the first.

"This guy's lost it," Evans said.

Pepper tore another piece from his shirt. "Let's see how you like this," he said. There was a bottle of everclear on the floor in front of him. He laid the strip of cloth on the ground and poured the alcohol over it. He took the wet cloth and pushed it into the open mouth of the bottle. He struck his lighter at the end of the cloth, the flame took quickly. The puddle of alcohol on the floor caught fire, Pepper moved the bottle with his foot, making a startled whoop. The leg of his pants took the flame, he began kicking rapidly. He bent down and picked up the lit bottle, ran back to the front of the shop and threw it through the window with everything he had.

The bottle exploded into flames just in front of the squad car.

"Holy shit!" Evans said. The deputy and sheriff scrambled from the car, running towards the road.

"Oh, Christ!" Maggee said. The flame had grown, it billowed under the front end of the car. They ran into the street, across the median and to the other side of the street. They faced the building, their burning car. There was a dull boom as the car exploded, it seemed to leap a few feet into the air as a mass of yellow flame blew out like a cloud of dust.

"My lord!" Evans said, staring. The fire engulfed the car, burning violently.

A figure emerged from the building. From across the street the officers could see his fiery leg.

"Help!" he screamed. "Help!" Pepper ran around the parking lot in little circles, waving his arms. He collapsed to the ground and began rolling around. The fire wrapped around his leg, he yelped as he flopped on the concrete, smothering the flame.

* * *

The room was small, a window along one wall, green paint flaking from the others. Maggee stood, pacing the floor. Pepper was sitting behind a large table, his hands cuffed in his lap. Maggee sighed, dabbing sweat from his forehead.

"And where's that money, now, Mr. Gray," Maggee said.

"You can call me Pepper."

"Is that what your friends call you?"

"Yessir."

"I'm not your friend," he said spitting into a trash can. "Where's the money?"

"That guy took it, the one whose truck I took."

"He has the money?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You just had it with you?"

"In my wallet."

"In your wallet?"

"Yessir."

"How much did he give you?"

"Sir?"

"How much money did he give you?"

"Four hundred dollars."

Maggee stared in disbelief. "Four hundred dollars?"

"That's what I said. I couldn't believe it either."

Maggee rubbed the back of his neck.

"Four hundred dollars for sabotage. A murder."

"Murder?"

"The car flipped into oncoming traffic!"

"Listen, I didn't mean nothing by that. It was the car, the car just flipped over, I didn't kill anybody! The car did!"

"And you sabotaged the car, causing the accident. This is first degree murder!"

"Oh, man," Pepper said rocking in his seat. "Oh, goddamn."

There was a knock, Maggee opened the door. Evans poked his head in and glanced at Pepper, whispering to the sheriff. Maggee nodded.

"Do you smoke?"

"No sir."

"Well I'll leave this anyhow." Maggee reached into his pocket, he set a crumpled cigarette and a worn matchbook on the table. He left the room, the door clicked behind him.

Pepper bit his lip, still swaying back and forth in the chair. "Oh, mang," he said. He looked down at the cigarette. He opened the matchbook, there was a single match attached to the cardboard. His wrists were heavy in the cuffs, he took the cigarette in his fingers and raised it to his mouth. He tore the match from the package, flipped it and struck the strip. It refused to light. He struck it again, and again, the scent of sulfur filled his nose. He snapped the match over the book once more, it lit and immediately burned out.

THE END

Chapter 14

2008-02-05T08:30:00.001-05:00

Sheriff Maggee wiped his forehead with his pocket rag. "You'd think the heat would break after the sun was gone," he said wringing the rag out on the floor of the car.

"Nah, Sheriff. The whole season's sticky, night and day," Evans said, eyes on the road. He glanced at the sheriff. "Where you think that boy run off to?" he asked.

Maggee looked out the window, a few of his hairs blowing about the others stuck to his forehead. "Might as well ride in the shoulder, Ed. Boy said he left him on the side of the road and he can't have gotten so far out."

"All right," Evans said. The car slowed as it rolled to the shoulder, Evans drove on. "What are we gonna get him for?"

"Well, let's see. He stole that truck. He ran. I guess that's good enough to get him locked up while we figure out the rest."

"You think he's got anything outstanding?"

"Hard to say. If he's been as erratic all summer as he's been today there's no telling."

"Pretty deep, huh?"

"To his eyebrows, Ed."

"Sheriff Maggee?" a voice came from the radio. Maggee grabbed the piece.

"Yes, Sandy."

"Sheriff we just got a call from a dispatcher in county. Said that there's been another truck stolen. From a Stop 'n Fill on Botts Road."

"Off Route 4?"

"That's one way to get there, yes."

Maggee looked ahead as the BOTT RD 1/2 MILE sign came into view.

"Heading what direction?"

"South on 213."

"Description on the truck?"

"Potato chips."

"What?"

"It's a Tater Thins potato chips truck."

"Okay, Sandy," he said putting the piece back.

"Think this is our guy?" Evans asked.

"Who could be so desperate as to steel a slow, heavy, diesel-driven monster like that?"

Evans hit the siren as the squad car skidded back onto the highway.

* * *

Pepper struggled with the truck, pumping the clutch and working the massive stick shift with his left hand crossed over his body. His right arm was cradled in his lap, his fingers wrapped around the bottom of the steering wheel. Several times the engine jolted, the gears grinding in their engagement. He cursed as he navigated the roads, moving cautiously.

"Come on!" he yelled, leaning forward as he shifted. A large sedan sputtered in front of him, the left turn signal blinking for the past quarter mile. Pepper could see the mocking handicap icon on the license plate in front of him, the chair with its gearless wheels. "Move it!" he screamed, catching sight of a yellow light ahead. The sedan slowed. Pepper yelled as he shifted down and kicked the break.

The intersection was empty. The sedan and the rumbling Tater Thins truck were the only vehicles in sight. The black, open parking lots at either side of the road were empty, the shops in the strip malls were dark. Pepper checked his mirrors for other cars, looked left, right and left again. He shifted the car into gear and began to maneuver the truck around the sedan. A flash came across the side view mirror, a flicker of blue in the distance. "Oh goddamn!" Pepper said. He bit his lips as his eyes welled. He turned the wheel as quickly as he could, his left arm stretched across his stomach, shifting awkwardly. The truck started into the intersection and he shifted again, he could hear the rising wail of the siren. The truck rolled into the intersection gaining speed, Pepper shifting with difficulty.

In the mirror the lights were growing larger, the siren louder. Pepper moved the truck around a mini van, an obstacle in an otherwise empty street. He struggled with the gears again as the truck climbed a small hill. The squad car was closer now, only a few hundred yards behind. The truck reached the peak of the hill and started down its steeper and longer side. Pepper shifted the car into neutral and covered the break.

There was a stoplight at the bottom of the hill, cars were stopped at the intersecting road. The truck accelerated as it pitched down the hill. "Come on," Pepper said steering with both hands. "Come on!" he shouted, the light had turned yellow, the squad car broke over the crest of the hill behind him. He let off the break. Pepper flew through the light screaming as it turned red, the squad car close behind.

Pepper glanced at his mirror, the blue flashing behind as a pair of white lights tore across the length of the glass. A blast of crumpled metal came from behind, in the mirror he could see a mass of blue and white. He let out a joyous, broken laugh. He studied the mirror, neither car moved. Another car approached and slowed, stopped, a figure ran towards the scene, a silhouette in the headlights.

The truck moved on as the scene played in the mirror. Pepper felt a jolt in the cabin and looked through the windshield. The truck crossed over a grassy median, smashed a telephone and before he could slam the breaks had plowed into the front of a liquor store. The neon liquor bottle flashed above as the glass front of the building shattered around the truck.

Chapter 13

2008-01-28T22:51:00.000-05:00

Deputy Evans and Sheriff Maggee tore down Route 4 heading west.

"How far do you think he's got?" Evans asked.

"Hell if I know, Ed. Might have got turned around again. For all we know." The sheriff spit out of the open window.

"I wish you wouldn't do that Sheriff."

"What's that?"

"It just ends up on the side of the car."

The deputy kept his foot down, the siren wailing.

"What was that?" the Sheriff said, looking towards Evans.

"What's what?"

"When we just passed that break in the median, I saw it, I saw the truck."

"Oh, hell," Evans said, turning the car onto the left shoulder. He quickly turned the car around, now driving against traffic in the median. "I don't like this!" he said.

"We're fine," the Sheriff said.

Evans turned the car onto the AUTHORIZED VEHICLES ONLY road and turned onto the shoulder.

"Come on, let's get on this," Maggee said.

"All right," Evans replied and got the car to speed, merged into the left lane. "Should we leave the siren on?"

"We got to. Only way anyone will clear out."

Moving at 90 miles an hour the squad car made quick progress over traffic.

"I can't believe this guy. Turned around on us again!"

"There it is!" Evans said and up in the center lane by a few hundred yards was the orange truck.

"Okay let's get in there," the Sheriff said.

Evans maneuvered the car in behind the truck.

"Son of a bitch," Maggee said.

The truck slowed, pulled to the right lane and eventually the shoulder.

"I'll get this one," the Sheriff said climbing out of the car. He took his revolver from the holster, pointed at the truck.

"Get out of the car!" he said. "Put your hands where I can see them and get out of the car."

Evans was standing at the passenger's side of the vehicle, his gun drawn.

Denny slowly climbed from the car, keeping his hands high above his head. "Okay, okay!" he said.

"Put your hands behind your head and turn around," the sheriff called. "Now back up towards me. Evans!" Deputy Evans held his gun at Denny, Maggee drew his handcuffs. "Get down on the ground, now put your hands behind your back." The sheriff put the handcuffs on Denny.

"What the hell you doing, boy?" Maggee asked.

"It's my truck," Denny said.

"Like hell," said Maggee. He reached for Denny's wallet. "Your license in here?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. The registration is,"

"Did I ask you where your registration was?" He handed the license to Denny. "Give Sandy a call," he said.

"Now you hold tight," Maggee said walking to the truck. He opened the glove box, found the registration beneath a warm bottle of beer and unfolded it. "Huh," he said.

"You want to tell me how you got your truck back?" Maggee asked.

"We got a call from our friend, he works at the Tops and said he saw someone in my truck. Said he asked for directions to Route 4 west so my brother and I we got on the highway and got him to pull over and took the truck and left him on the side of the road."

"You left him there?"

"Yeah we left him there."

"Why didn't you call us?"

"Didn't want to let him get any further away," Denny said.

"So this guy is just standing on the shoulder of Route 4, walking to the next exit?"

"I don't know," Denny said. "I think he's got a broken collar bone."

* * *

Pepper was walking West along the shoulder of Route 4. He was moving slowly, walking backwards, facing traffic with his thumb held out. The sky was beginning to turn yellow, a few cars were wearing headlights.

"Somebody please just pick my ass up," Pepper said out loud. "Any old body will do." Pepper heard gravel turning behind him, a car had stopped. He walked over and looked into the cabin through the passenger window. The window slid down.

"You need a ride?" a woman's voice called from inside.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said and reached for the handle. He cried out in pain, feeling the fracture of his collar bone, and opened the door with the other hand. He climbed into the car, "Thank you very much," he said shutting the door.

"Where are you heading?" the woman asked. Pepper looked at the woman, his mouth parted. She looked back at Pepper.

"Uh, just to the next exit's all I need," he said.

"All right," she said, putting the car into gear.

They drove in silence, the only sound coming from the engine and shifting gears. "What happened to your shoulder?" she asked.

"Oh, I just got a little beat up, that's all," Pepper said looking out the window.

"What a shame," she said. "What was the fight about?"

"Well I took, I borrowed my friend's car. I guess he needed it or something. So he was pretty mad about it and hit me."

"And made you walk home?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

The woman turned the car for the exit ramp.

"Left or right?" she asked.

"Uh," he said looking at a sign listing gas stations. "To the right, it'd great if you could take me to that Stop n' Fill."

"Okay," she said and turned the wheel.

"I really can't thank you enough," Pepper said. "So thanks a lot."

"No problem. Anything else I can do?"

"No ma'am," he said unbuckling his seat belt. "Well wait. I'm out of money, do you happen to have a few dollars?"

She was reaching for something under the seat. "Sure," she said holding out a five dollar bill. "I hope your night gets a little better," she said.

"Thanks, I'm glad that someone is looking out for old Pepper."

"Pepper?"

"Yeah, that's me," he said stepping out of the car.

"I'm Monica."

"Well Monica you just about made my night."

"So long," she said and drove off.

There were a few cars parked in front of the Stop n' Fill, a large Tater Thins truck was stopped along the side. A man in a canvas uniform was wheeling crates of potato chips into the store.

Pepper opened the door and looked at the clerk. "You all got any hot dogs?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Right over there," he said pointing to a case. "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Pepper said walking over. He took a plate and a bun from the counter, opened a rotating rack and picked out two dogs with a pair of tongs. Ketchup, mustard, relish, chopped onions and a few jalapeno peppers. He took a few napkins and walked over to one of the booths along the front window.

"How much do I owe you?" he said, his mouth full.

"Let's see," the clerk said. "That's a be 88 cents."

"Can you break a five?" Pepper asked chewing. He took a large bite of the double stacked hot dog and let out a long sigh. Holding the hot dog in one hand he used the other to pick up some pieces of fallen onions and relish. He put them back onto the hot dog.

Pepper looked outside, over the flattened cigarette packages on the asphalt, a discarded straw. Night had fallen, and the red circular Stop n' Fill sign reflected in a pool of water from a leaking air conditioner. He watched as a car pulled up to the pumps. A man climbed out, so tall that it took more than a moment for him to straighten himself. He was dressed in black, large boots and a belt with shining attachments.

"Oh god dang," Pepper said, onions falling. He quickly stood up, dug the five dollar bill and dropped it on the table. "There's the five dollars," he said to the clerk, quickly. "This place got a back door?"

"Yeah. It's in the back," the clerk said.

"Thanks," Pepper said. He moved quickly down an aisle of magazines, squeezed past the uniformed man as he loaded the shelf with chips. "Sorry, man," Pepper said. The uniformed man grunted as he placed a bag of cheese curls on the shelf.

"Evening, officer," the clerk said as the tall man walked in. The officer nodded and walked over to the coffee counter. He poured himself a cup, leaned against the counter and took a sip.

The potato chip man wheeled his dolly towards the back of the store.

"What do I owe you for the coffee?" the officer asked.

"Ah," the clerk said. "It's on us."

"Why thank you," the officer said. "Slow night?"

"Yeah. I guess you could say that," the clerk said adjusting his apron. "What about on your end?"

"About the same."

"Hey!" a voice came from the back of the store. "HEY!" the voice came again.

The officer jolted up as the potato chip man came scurrying back into the shop.

"That guy's got my truck!" he yelled.

Chapter 12

2008-01-22T09:24:00.000-05:00

Pepper held tight to the wheel staring down the strip in the afternoon sun. He sang to himself, "I'm gonna run til the runnin's done, I'm gonna run if there ain't no sun, gonna run, Anyway I can, gonna run, man oh man." He spit out the open window. "Now that could have been a hit. Wouldn't need any money after that one. 'Next on the charts it's Peter Gray with Wanted Man. Stay tuned for the Tar Heel Coffee hour, I'm Bill Lindsey, it's Three O'Clock.'"

A large gray pick up truck skidded into the gas station parking lot, it stopped slanted across three parking spaces in front of the shop. The silent man was behind the counter looking to the door. Two young men climbed down from the cab, they were dressed alike in faded jeans and worn flannel shirts, their hair was long and flat. They walked quickly to the door, the driver of the truck flung the door open.

"So what the hell is it?" he said.

The man behind the counter folded his arms. "Hi, Denny. He just came in and asked for directions."

"That's it?" the other man said. "Just stopped in real quick?"

"Yep," said the quiet man.

"Did you call the police?" Denny asked.

"No, Denny. Thought you two could handle it better than they could."

"You're right about that," Denny replied. "Don't want to leave this one for a regular Jonathan Law."

"Well what's this guy look like?"

"Normal, man in his early thirties I guess. He was wearing work clothes."

"That's not much, Chris," the other man said.

"Denny's truck is orange, that'll make it easy."

"What else did he say?" Denny asked.

"He asked for directions to Route 4 west."

"That's where we're going, then," Denny said.

"He's got a twenty minute head start," Chris said.

"Well lucky for us my brother Carl here is a real fine driver," Denny said.

"Sure am. My middle name is Driving Dangerously," Carl said.

"Your middle name is Dean," Denny said.

"Shut up and let's get out of here," Carl said. They climbed into the car, Carl floored it for Route 4.

* * *

Deputy Ed Evans sat at the wheel of his patrol car heading west on Smithson Avenue, Sheriff Maggee sat in the passenger seat.

"Fine way to spend an afternoon, huh Tom?" the deputy asked.

"Yeah, real fine," the sheriff said looking at a stack of papers in his lap. "It doesn't make a bit of sense, Ed. Seems like he was driving around in circles. 11:15 orange truck headed west on Shirley Street, 11:23 orange truck seen headed north on McGinty, 11:30 orange truck spotted heading south on McGinty street, 11:42 orange truck seen on Highway 3 heading north. Twelve o'clock, truck is on Tidewater going East, 12:13 truck is heading south on Rowers."

"Maybe it was two trucks," Ed said.

"No, I don't think so, Ed. Sounds like the bastard was lost."

The radio cracked with static. "Sheriff Maggee?" a young woman's voice came from the speaker. The sheriff took the receiver.

"Yeah, Sandy."

"A man just called from the Getrol station off 209. He said that a man in an orange truck came in and asked for directions at about noon."

"Where'd he ask for directions to?" the sheriff asked.

"He was trying to get to Route 4 heading west."

"Good work, Sandy," the sheriff said placing the receiver down.

Deputy Ed Evans flicked the siren and slammed the gas.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Carl," Denny said gripping the handle in the truck's door. The truck weaved in an out of traffic, curling over on the shoulder. Denny held tightly to the door, shaking in his seat as the car passed from the shoulder and back into the left lane. He looked out of the window, a car full of vacationing college girls looked up at the truck with fright. The driver of the car, a young girl with large sunglasses, kept her eyes on the road as she began to cry.

"We're gonna get him," Carl said. "We're gonna get this guy!" he screamed.

"Let's try to stay alive, Carl," Denny said. "What's the use of the truck if there's no one left to drive it."

"Calm down, Denny. We're in fine shape. This isn't anything. Barely anyone on the road," Carl said shifting gears.

"How far down do you think he is?"

"He was ahead of us by twenty minutes."

"My guess is that he isn't speeding. Trying to act casual."

"In a truck like that?"

"Maybe he's color blind."

"Maybe he's dumb."

"Bet he's both."

"You're on."

Carl hit the horn of the car in a rapid staccato. "Move it!" he yelled, breaking the truck.

"What are we gonna do when we get him?" Denny asked.

"That's up to you, big brother. We could stomp him good. Real good."

"You still got that extra tire iron?"

"In the back, yep. Some chain, a can of spray paint. Whatever, man."

"Lots of possibilities," Denny said. "What a piece of work. Steals my car in an oil change."

"Why didn't you just change it yourself?"

"I keep asking myself the same thing. I was treating myself, you know?"

"Just shows you," Carl said. "It's a luxury you can live without, paying for something you can do yourself."

"Carl!" Denny shouted. He straightened up in the seat.

Carl jammed the accelerator, ahead on the highway was an orange pick up going steady in the right lane. It disappeared over the crest of a hill.

"Goddamn, goddamn," Carl said. He crossed the truck from the left lane to the right shoulder, taking the car up to 90 miles an hour. When the crossed over the hill they saw the truck again.

"That's it," Denny said. "That's my truck. That's my goddamn truck."

Carl pulled the car over to the left lane, a white two door skidded off to a stop on the shoulder. A horn blared.

Pepper looked into the rearview of the truck. "Oh, man," he said looking up. He could see the gray truck weaving in traffic, the driver pumping the horn. He let up on the gas. "This guy can go on ahead, man." Pepper let the speed down to 50 miles an hour.

Carl was gaining on the truck. "He's slowing down," Carl said. "Making this easy on us." The trucks were side by side. Denny rolled the window down and looked over at Pepper.

"PULL OVER" he screamed over the wind and engines. Pepper gave a confused look. Denny screamed again, motioning to the shoulder with his thumb. "PULL OVER," he screamed again. Pepper slowed the car, it rumbled off the road into the shoulder. The gray truck pulled in behind it, Denny and Carl quickly scrambled out.

"Get out of the car!" Carl screamed. "Get out of there."

Pepper opened the door and climbed out slowly. "Okay, okay, man. Whatever you say."

"Do you know whose truck this is?" Denny asked. Pepper's mouth fell open, stunned. He took as step backward into the open truck door.

"Do you?" Denny asked.

"Yours, sir?"

"Yes. It's mine. This is my goddamn truck!"

"Oh, man. I had no idea. I'm sorry man."

"Yeah, I'll bet. I'll bet you'll be real sorry in a minute here," Carl said. He took an axe handle from the back of his jeans.

"Listen guys, I'm in a bit of trouble myself. I'm just trying to get out of town. You can have your truck back. You can take it. I'm just trying to stay a step ahead."

"What you running from?" Denny asked.

"Screw him, Denny!" Carl said.

"Hold on, hold on. What you running from, man?"

"I'm just in a bit of trouble."

"What kind?" Denny asked.

"Now I don't want to say anything. The less you know the less you'll be responsible. You just get your truck back and I go on walking down this interstate."

"I'm gonna break your arms," Carl said.

Pepper's face went white.

"I'm gonna break your elbow in," Carl said walking towards Pepper.

"Stop, Carl," Denny yelled. "Let's just take the trucks and get the hell out of here. We don't need trouble, we just need to get the hell out of here."

"Give me one good goddamn reason not to break your arms," Carl said.

Pepper stammered. "I don't know, I don't know mang. I just needed the car. I just took it."

Carl advanced on Pepper, raising the axe handle.

"Carl!" Denny yelled.

He swung the handle hard, landing on Pepper's shoulder. Pepper yelled.

"Ah! Ah!" he grabbed it with his hand. Carl raised the handle again.

"You piece," Carl said but stopped as Denny grabbed the wooden club.

"Let's leave it at that, Carl."

Carl stood still, breathing heavily. He looked at Pepper, standing with his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, guys. I'm real sorry. I didn't mean no offense. Just need the wheels."

"Give me your wallet," Carl said.

"Oh, no, man. No, man," Pepper said leaning against the open door of the truck.

"Give me your damn waller!" Carl screamed. He grabbed Pepper by the shirt and turned him around. He reached into his back pocket and took the wallet.

"Jesus," Carl said unfolding the stuffed wallet. He took the stack of bills and threw the wallet at Pepper. "Thanks for the trouble," he said.

Denny walked to his truck and pushed Pepper out of the way. Carl walked back to his truck and started the engine, revved it. "See you at home," he called from the window. Denny put his hand out the window, giving his brother a thumbs up.

Denny pulled onto the highway. Carl hit his horn at Pepper, who looked up and staggered into the brush off the shoulder. The gray truck passed him, accelerated and turned onto the highway. Pepper fell onto his knees in the tall grass and watched the trucks disappear in the distance.

Chapter 11

2008-01-15T23:03:00.000-05:00

Sheriff Thomas Maggee wiped the back of his neck with a rag, looking over an open file folder at his desk. An oscillating fan sat at its edge, curling the corners of paper as it passed back and forth. "Sandra!" he called out and wiped his neck again.

A young girl came to the doorway, a few pieces of frizzed brown hair, wet with perspiration, stuck to her forehead. "Yes, Sheriff Maggee?"

"The coffee ready?" he said still looking at his files.

"I just took it off the burner, it should be in a few minutes," she said folding her hands.

"Thank you, Sandy."

"I'm going to go back to my desk now, Sheriff Maggee." As she turned a deputy approached.

"Morning, Sandy," he said.

"Hi, Deputy Evans."

They crossed awkwardly in entering and exiting.

"Tom," he said walking up to the desk.

"Hi, Ed."

"Tom, I just got word from Roger down at Evergreen that a car's been stolen."

The sheriff snapped his head up. "Yeah, when?"

"Just now. Said a guy came in looking for work, hired him on the spot. They asked him to do an oil change and as soon as he got into the car he just tore off," the deputy said. He dabbed his mustache with a handkerchief.

"How does he know the man?"

"He doesn't."

"And he's stolen a customer's car?"

"Yes."

"Do we have a number for the plate?"

"Yes."

"Well let's get an APB out."

"Already did."

"What make?"

"It's an orange pick up, standard pick up truck."

"Probably just some transient."

"Roger said he was driving like he had someplace to go."

"Or someplace to leave," the sheriff said standing. He was tall, thin, with a pair of suspenders holding his trousers a few inches above his ankles. His hair was matted to his scalp in a mix of sweat and grease, he dabbed it with his rag.

"Sandra!" he called. A pair of shoes scuttled on the hallway carpet.

"It's ready," she called form outside the door. She passed a paper cup to Maggee.

"How do you drink that lukewarm sludge, Tom?" Ed asked.

Maggee had the cup slung back, gulping the contents quickly.

"Because, Ed," he said slamming the empty cup to his desk. "Sometimes you gotta drink your coffee quick," he put his keys into his pocket. "It's too goddamn hot for coffee anyhow. Let's git."

* * *

Pepper eased the speed of the truck now a few miles from the Evergreen Service Station. He took the truck at the speed limit, craning his neck around the cabin wildly, trying to read every street sign he passed. "West, west, west," he said to himself, seeing only a series of interstate and byway numbers. "Dang the streets!" he said slamming his fist on the steering wheel.

An orange and yellow GETROL sign caught Pepper's eye, he turned the car into the parking lot. He left the engine idling and ran inside.

"You got any road atlasees?" he said as the door swung open.

"Atlasees?" the clerk said.

"Atlases."

"Well now that you're speaking American," the employee said. "Yeah, we got some," he pointed to a rack beside an empty, rotating soft pretzel warmer.

"Thank you," Pepper said. He grabbed an atlas, tossed it on the counter. "Can you tell me to get on a highway west outta here?"

"Outta the county?"

"Yeah."

"Well where you heading?"

"Just west."

"Just west," the clerk said, totaling the sale. "Dollar and a quarter," he said. Pepper handed him some change. "Just west, well you go outta here, go down, uh, two lights. You make a left when you see the Johnson's, that's the knife outlet, make a left there and then you go down to where the road kinda bends around, take the first fork, there's three forks and that'll put you out to Colonial Valley, you take that just a lick and you'll see signs out for Route 4. Then you take that West."

Pepper had been standing in the doorway, propping one of the doors with his back, listening to the directions. "Thanks," he called and jumped back into the truck. "Damn clerk!" he said throwing the car into gear. "The hell did that guy say?" he said as the truck entered the street. He passed the first traffic light, looking back and forth at the opposite sides of the road. "Ain't a taco stand," he said. "Dang, mang. God dang." The truck rolled on almost past the turn, "Knives!" Pepper said, turning the wheel hard. He kept on driving as before, glancing at everything along the way. "Oh, mang!" Pepper said, spotting the forks in the road head. He began stammering as the distance shortened. "Ah, ah, ah," he said, turning the truck down the second split in the road.

It was an exit ramp, Pepper held the wheel at a sharp angle as the truck looped with the asphalt. "What the hell is this?" Pepper said as the road straightened. "Goddamn!" the acceleration lane was a short one, he glanced at his mirrors frantically and merged. He had turned onto a four-lane interstate, in the confusion of merging he had missed a few signs having seen them but not read them. The truck kept in the right lane, Pepper took the first exit he could. At the intersection he followed the sign pointing towards the most fill stations. He turned into the first and again left the car idling and ran inside.

A set of bells rang as he opened the door. "Hi," Pepper said. "You know how I can get to Route 4 west?" he said. The man behind the counter stared at Pepper, his eyes nearly obstructed by a long black bowl cut. His mouth twitched under a heavy mustache. "Well, can you?" Pepper said staring at the man. The man at the counter continued to stare straight at Pepper as he stood rigid with anticipation. "Please?" Pepper blurted. The man kept his eyes on Pepper.

A creaking came from the back of the store followed by a set of footsteps. Pepper looked around the shop, paper cut outs of sweating bottle of beer, a few brightly colored piñatas hung from the tiled ceiling. The man emerged carrying a massive bag of potato chips, rubbing his hand on the leg of his pants. He looked at the man behind the counter, then followed his gaze to Pepper.

"Hi," Pepper said.

"Hello, there," the man with the chips said.

"Can you tell me how to get to Route 4 west?"

"Yes."

"Thank god," Pepper said.

"You go out of here, make a left onto the road here. You get on 33 heading towards Salt Street. Then you take the exit for McCrea North. You're going to go through three lights, at the third you make a left onto Braughman, there'll be a Knuckle's on the left, that's the deli. So you'll be on Braugham and you take that down to 217, which is a right turn. From 217 a left onto Parcette Boulevard. The road then will kind of bend around and you take the first fork. That's the first out of three but you take the first you can. That'll put you onto McGinty and from McGinty you'll get signs for Route 4. You can take it west or east for that matter." The man dug his hand to the bottom of the bag of chips.

"Thanks," Pepper said, and ran back to the truck. He started to drive out of the lot then turned the vehicle around and parked it back in front of the shop. Pepper ran inside, the man with the chips had disappeared. The staring man stood glaring from behind the counter.

"Hello?" Pepper called out, walking past the counter. He saw the man with the chips down the aisle, he turned to Pepper. "Hey you think you could write those directions down right quick?"

The man nodded, his mouth chewing. He walked to the counter and wiped his hands on a napkin. He then took a pen from his pocket and wrote the instructions on the same napkin. "There you are," he said handing the napkin to Pepper.

"Thanks again, thanks a whole lot!" he said passing through the door. In the truck Pepper read the directions over a few times. "Okay, a left out of here," he said turning the car onto the road. Now, back on that highway, Salt Street."

The silent man watched Pepper turn out of the parking lot. Reaching under the counter he lifted a telephone onto the counter. Holding the receiver to his ear with one hand he turned the dial with a stiff finger from the other. He waited, leaning against the counter with his free hand.

"Yeah, Denny?" he said. "It's Chris. I'm fine, yeah. A guy just came by the shop. He was driving your truck."

Chapter 10

2008-01-08T00:34:00.000-05:00

Dawn broke over the highway, crossed the asphalt flat and glanced Pepper's side mirror. He squinted in the sharp light and snapped his head, fighting exhaustion.

"Keep your floor to the, keep your foot on down there," he muttered, his voice dry and brittle.

In his weakness Pepper would let off the accelerator every few minutes before snapping his neck straight and plunging his foot again. Over the course of the night the odometer had turned 621 miles, the needle of his fuel gauge was pointing EMPTY. With his foot slipping again from the pedal Pepper's head drooped into the steering wheel. He corrected his posture at the sound of the car horn.

"All right," he said aloud. "All right."

He turned the car into the next exit ramp and followed a sign for the first motel. The familiar pattern of filling stations and diners led the way to the motel, Tasty Bites All Nite, gasoline and cigarettes.

Pepper caught a sign for The Rip Van Winkle Motor Inn ahead. Its marquee read WINKS: $6/night. A neon illustration of a sleeping Van Winkle appeared along the roof. He turned the car into the lot and stopped it at the office.

Through the window Pepper could see there was no one standing at the counter. A shrill drone poured from the small lobby as Pepper opened the door. There was a small man vacuuming the floor, old and bald, very thin in a navy work suit with short sleeves. Several feet of white extension cord bunched at his feet. He watched the base of machine as he pushed it back and forth. Pepper waved to the man, he was turned away from the door.

"Hey!" Pepper called. The man continued to push and pull the vacuum, holding the cord away from his body with one hand. Pepper walked up behind the man and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped in surprised, dropping the cord and the handle to the vacuum, turning to Pepper.

"You scared me! Dammit!" he shouted over the machine.

"What?" Pepper yelled back.

The man bent over and switched the vacuum off.

"I said you damn near killed me, with fright."

"I'm sorry. I called but you didn't hear me."

"I guess not. I'm sorry for that. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like a room."

"Single bed or double?"

"Single."

"One bed or two?"

"One."

"All right."

"Could I get one on the back side of the motel? Away from the road?"

"Sure." The man walked behind the counter and without looking plucked a key from a ring of dozens without looking. He unlocked a cabinet filled with keys, hooks for every room. He handed a set to Pepper. "How's room 35 sound?"

"Just great," Pepper said, taking the key ring. "What's I owe you?"

"Well it's $6 per night."

"Like it says outside."

"Yessir."

"Okay, thanks."

"Yessir."

The room was small, it smelled of disinfectant. The floor was covered in a thick purple carpet and pushed against the wall was the promised single bed, a lamp, clock and a small dresser, at the back of the room were a shower stall and toilet. Pepper locked the door behind him, drew the curtains and fell, face down, onto the bed.

Dee and Bridgestone sat quietly in the office. The girl sat in a chair with her arms folded, leaning forward. Bridgestone has inserted himself behind his desk, he held his face in his hands and sighed.

"So that was it?" he asked.

"Yeah, just dropped me at the first pay phone we saw."

"And you called a taxi?"

"Uh huh. He said he worked on the car, that he was in trouble with the police."

"He is now."

"Has he been in trouble before?"

"Sure he has. But for drinking in public, being drunk in public. He stole some beer. Minor business."

"This could be the real deal."

"Who knows what he did to that car."

"And he stole yours."

"I'm not worried about that. I hardly use the thing. I'm not going to charge him with that."

"But he's running."

"He sure is. And he can't have a goddamn dime to his name."

"Are the police going to be back?"

"I'm sure. And if not we should call them. We can't hurt Pepper so much by telling them what we know. It's not much, we'll be able to keep clean with them."

"I guess so."

Bridgestone's chair let out a sharp creak as he leaned back. "Where's he going, now?"

"He didn't say. He only told me he was going to keep on driving."

"West?"

"Maybe so. Maybe not."

Bridgestone rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and looked to the ceiling of the office. He put his elbows on his desk and sighed heavily. Looking at the wall of the office he grunted.

"What?" Dee asked, sitting up slightly. She followed his gaze to the poster hanging next to the board, her eyes traced the length of the orange arch.

In room 35 of the Rip Van Winkle Pepper snored loudly. He was sprawled over the bed, his feet hanging over the end. A maid and her squeaking cart rolled to his door, the maid knocked. Pepper opened slowly opened his eyes, the knocking came again. The maid was turning the key in the door as Pepper sat up.

"Hello?" he called.

A voice gasped on the other side of the door. "Room service" called a voice from the other side of the door.

"It's okay. My sheets are still clean."

There was no response. Pepper could hear the wheels of the cart squeaking away.

Pepper rubbed his face and let out a moan. By the clock beside the bed it was just after 2PM. Pepper opened the top drawer of the dresser, inside was a small bible and a local telephone directory. He took the phone book and began leafing through. Air conditioning, alterations, ammunition, astrologers, automobiles. He read through descriptions for dealerships giving particular attention to used lots. A few had sprung for large color advertisements with photographs of the lots, colored pennants, worn vehicles.

There was a photograph of a large car lot, superimposed was a portrait of the dealer himself. In large yellow text,

PETE GRIGSBY
MANY MAKES AND MODELS
AUTOMOBILES BOUGHT AND SOLD

There was an address and a phone number. Pepper tore the page from the phone book and shoved it into his pocket.

At the motel office a woman was seated at the desk.

"Hello," she said as Pepper walked in.

"Hi. I've got a room already, number 35."

"Okay."

"Well I'm hoping you can tell me how to get to Burgess St."

"Oh, sure. That's easy. You go out of the lot, here, and make a right. Go down three blocks, make a right onto Canal and Burgess is just a few blocks down. What's the address?"

"Um," Pepper said, reaching for the ad. He unfolded the page. "1406," he said. The woman frowned at the page from the defaced phone book.

"Make a left at the light."

"Thanks a lot," Pepper said leaving.

The lot was much bigger than the photograph in the phonebook let on. Pick up trucks, two-doors, four-doors, even a few semi trucks at the edge of the lot.

"Mr. Grigsby's got it all," Pepper said as he pulled his car in. He took a few passes through the lot, driving slowly as a browsed. "No particular place to go," he said to himself as he passed low rider.

Pepper entered the office, there were a few chairs along the windowed wall looking over the lot and an empty reception desk. He rang the bell. A familiar face appeared, he waved to Pepper as he approached, his mouth chewing.

"Hi there!" he said adjusting the waist of his pants.

"Hi, I'd like to sell you my car."

"Great!" he said, his mouth still partially full. He swallowed. "Which is it?"

"It's right outside, here. The white four-door."

"All right, all right, let's take a look."

The two went outside and walked around the perimeter of the car. "Looks good, how many miles does she have?"

"83,000," Pepper said.

"Okay, okay. And how's she run?"

"Great as far as I can tell."

"I see," he stood with both hands in his pockets, rocked back on the balls of his feet. "Well, how much you looking to get for it?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know," Pepper said. He scratched at his cow lick. "Three hundred?"

Grigsby nodded. "All right, all right. I'm going to take it into the garage, get our mechanic to take a look and we'll talk some more. How's that sound?"

"Fine. That's fine," Pepper said.

"Great."

In the office Pepper thumbed through a airline magazine. He started reading an article, Down Home In Denver, when Grigsby returned.

"We're all through. And everything looks fine."

"Oh, good news, then."

"Yes."

"What'd we say earlier?"

"I don't know."

"I think it was three hundred?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well I'd like to make it four."

"Hundred?"

"Yes. Four hundred."

"Gee, that'd be great."

"Then there's just the matter of the title."

"Oh. About that. I don't have it with me."

"Well, I see. I see. It's very difficult for me to buy a car without a title."

"Oh, is it? There isn't anything you can do?"

"There is something, but I'm afraid it isn't a cheap adjustment."

"I just don't have a title for the car, that's all."

"Well I could buy it, but I'm afraid it'd have to be for a little less."

"How much less?"

"I can give you only the original three hundred."

"Well that sounds fair. For a vehicle like this. After all, it is three years old."

"That is it. That it is."

Pepper played with the keys in his pocket. Grigsby folded his arms and leaned back on his heels. "Can you take cash?"

* * *

"Back in business," he said to himself. He reached for his wallet and cracked the fold open. He remembered Mr. Gerald Ford's wallet, swollen with bills. Pepper took the stack of money from the fold of leather and fanned it with his thumb a few times. "Talk about a chunk of change," he said.

Slowly, being sure to count each bill, sure that each bill was not stuck to the next, Pepper counted out his money. What had been spent from the original four hundred, added to the three hundred he'd received from selling Bridgestone's car. There was $642 in all.

"Almost six hundred and fifty dollars," Pepper said with his hands on his hips. He admired the grid of money laid out over the bed. "All of it's mine. Minus what I'm paying for this room," he said, counting the walls. He stacked the money into a single pile and put it back into his wallet. Pepper returned to the phone book, this time scanning for automotive repair shops.

It was a few easy blocks back to Canal Street. Pepper remembered passing the Evergreen Service Station on his trip to Pete Grigsby's. It has the same single-garage design of Bennett's and judging by the few cars out front seemed to have a steady clientele. Pepper walked onto the floor, from under the giant rolling door, and greeted the first person he saw.

"Hi," he said.

A man rolled out from underneath a red pick up. He was young, wearing a greasy baseball cap turned backwards.

"Can I help you?" he said.

"I'm looking for the man in charge."

"That would be Roger," he said wiping his hands. "Roger!"

A moment later a man emerged from a rear office. Roger was short and round, he wore a mustache, cramming his round nose and black eyes between heavy eyebrows. He wore a white dress shirt with short sleeves and a red tie. The man's blue trousers rode halfway up his round torso. "What's it?" he said pulling at his belt.

"This man here wants to talk to you."

"Is that so?" he asked, looking at Pepper.

"Yessir."

"What can we do you for?"

"Well I'm not here to have work done. I'm looking to do work."

"Come again?" the man said.

"Well I'm hoping you could give me a job."

"A job?"

"Yessir."

"I don't think we need any help at the moment."

"You sure about that?"

"Well what kind of spectacular services do you think you can provide the Evergreen Team?"

"I can change oil in 4 minutes."

"Flat?"

"Yessir. Sometimes less."

The man at the dolly laughed from under the car. Pepper cleared his throat.

"I'm not fooling," Pepper said.

"Well let's see it, then. Curtis, get out from under there," the man instructed.

"But I aint' through yet!"

"I said get out, come on."

Curtis wheeled out, wiped his hands on a rag before throwing it down.

"Let's see what you got, son," the man said.

Pepper got straight to work. With precision he raised the car with a jack and placed the jack stands, loosened the drain plug with a socket wrench, removed the oil filter, removed the oil filter cap and began adding oil. Under the car he replaced the drain plug, removed the drip pan, removed the jack stand and lowered the car. He stood up and dusted his hands.

"I'll be damned," Curtis said.

Roger shook his head. "I can't deny it. I'm impressed. You keep changing oil like than and we'll keep you around for a good long while."

"Oh that's great, sir," Pepper said smiling. "Really great. I knew I wouldn't let you down."

"When can you start?" Roger asked.

"Right away, sir."

"Great. There's a pick up outside, the orange one. Why don't you change the oil on that one, there?" he said. "Curtis will get you the keys."

"Sounds fine, sir."

Roger turned back to his office.

"Sir?" Pepper called out. "I don't think we got a formal introduction."

"Oh, that's right. Roger Vagts," he said holding out his hand.

"Stanley Sherman," Pepper said shaking.

"And that there's Curtis," Roger said pointing.

"And I'm here Curtis," he said pointing to himself with his thumb.

"A pleasure to meet the both of you."

Curtis handed Pepper the keys to the pick up.

"You got it from here?" Curtis asked.

"I guess I do," Pepper said walking towards the truck.

The driver's door was unlocked, Pepper climbed into the cabin. He took a deep breath and gripped the wheel tightly. From the truck he could see Curtis inside the garage, his legs poking out from under the vehicle. Pepper found the keys in his pocket, slid the right one into the ignition. He gave it a firm twist and pumped the gas.

"Here goes," he said, throwing the car into reverse. With a shriek of the tires, a black stain on the concrete, Pepper peeled out of the parking lot, onto Canal Street and slammed the accelerator for the freeway.

Chapter 9

2008-01-01T20:46:00.000-05:00

From the street the house was black and silent. A few low voices drifted from the porch. The first customers of the night had arrived, they stood leaning against a railing.

"What are you going to do once you get in there?" came one voice.

"Probably pay for the girl."

"What?"

"They make you pay in advance, here."

"Oh. Well I mean after that."

"After that, hmm."

The screen door flung open, Pepper moved through the door frame quickly. "Hello, gentlemen," he said as he made his way down the stairs to the street.

"They said they weren't open!" one of the voices called.

Pepper kept on towards the streets, to Bridgestone's white four-door at the curb. He pulled the unlocked handle and climbed in.

"All right," he said.

The first key did not fit the ignition. Pepper tried the next, not a match.

"God," he said examining the ring. "That's the key to my room," he said turning the keys on the ring. The next key slid clean into the ignition. He turned it, threw the car into gear and drove off from the house.

"That's more like it," he said turning a corner. There were a few other cars out, a man walking two dogs. Pepper slowed the car at a streetlight and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Okay." At an adjacent street another car approached the light and stopped. "Oh, God," Pepper said. "Oh dang mang." It was a patrol car, its turn signal pointing towards the house. Pepper sat rigid in the driver's seat. "Trouble time," he said wringing his hands on wheel. The light changed, Pepper drove on, the police car turned in the opposite direction. "Okay," Pepper said, watching the rear view mirror.

He pulled the car into Kramer's, a large yellow gas station with twelve covered pumps. He stopped the car and got out to pump. As the car filled Pepper leaned against the trunk with his arms folded. Inside two clerks chatted behind the counter, a group of young men and women poured out from the bed of a truck. Pepper went inside to pay.

The floors were slightly damp and shiny, the smell of bleach hung in the air. The kids had bunched around the beer coolers. A boy stood behind his girlfriend, his arms around her waist. "Where's this place?" the girl asked.

"It's Daniel's place. You know, up on South Anchor," one of the boys said.

"Oh yeah," she replied.

"How many should we get?" one of the girls asked, staring at the refrigerator.

"Six," said one boy.

"Seven," Pepper said. They turned and looked at him, standing at the end of the isle with his hands in his pockets, staring. They slowly turned back to the cooler and started to collected their cases of beer. Pepper walked to the counter.

"Pump nine, please," he said to the clerk.

"Okay, that'll be $16.45."

"All right," Pepper said, reaching into his wallet. He slid two tens across the counter. "How's that?" he said tilting his head back.

"That's fine, sir," the clerk said. "And your change."

"Thank you," Pepper said taking it. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have any maps, would you?"

"Sure would," the clerk said pointing to a display rack.

"Great." There were several maps, county, local, state, regional. Pepper sighed. At the bottom of the rack was a large, spiral bound road atlas. NIFTY FIFTY ROAD ATLAS. There were a few bright pockets of text over the photograph of the Grand Canyon. NEW AND UPDATED ROADS AND HIGHWAYS. PLUS MEXICO AND CANANDA*

The kids we hauling the cases to the register, eight in all. They began to place them on the counter.

"You got ID?" asked the clerk.

"Sure do," said one of the girls, holding out her card.

"Okay," he said and began ringing up the cases.

"Where's the party at?" Pepper asked. One of the boys turned to him.

"Ah, just at a friend's place."

"Oh. He sounds cool."

"Yeah, Gary. He's all right."

"All Right Gary. That's what I'd call him. 'Hey man, what do you think?' 'Oh, I don't know.' 'Maybe we should ask All Right Gary, Hey, Gary what do you think, man?' 'I think that'd be all right.' That's what I'd say," Pepper said.

"Okay that's twenty six dollars," the clerk said. One of girls paid. "Thank you." The kids began to file out past Pepper.

"All right you guys have a good one," he called. Not one turned their head.

"This, too, please," Pepper said placing the atlas on the counter.

The car sailed along the freeway, a few other set of headlights passed by, moved on up ahead. Pepper was focused, his hands tight on the wheel his eyes straight ahead, the car pointed west. He started drumming his fingers on the wheel, then flipped on the radio.

I gotta gal called Betty Jo,
She's all right if you want to know,
But some nights she's mighty mean,
Dunk my wallet in kerosene.

He sang along, nodding his head, whistled the choruses to the end of the song.

"Well up next on our Midnight Melody set we've got one from George Brown-"

"Pepper"

"-and the Kodachromes, new music by Geraldine Winslow and of course our local weather."

Pepper glanced at the back seat.

"Pepper." He turned the radio off and listened, looked again over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pepper."

Startled, he took his foot off of the accelerator. A truck wailed his horn behind him.

"What and the hell?" he said.

A figure leaned up in the back seat.

"Who the hell is back in there?" he said.

"It's me," the voice came low and raspy. "It's Dee."

"What?"

"It's Dee."

"I heard you, I heard. What and the hell are you doing in there?"

"Sleepin'."

"In the car?"

"I just wanted to take a nap before work."

"For shit's sake, lady."

"What?"

"Jesus Christ."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just," Pepper blinked hard. "I'm just driving, that's all."

"On 44?" Dee turned her head to read a sign for an exit. "West on 44, just taking a drive? We're an hour from the house!"

"So what?"

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going," Pepper began wringing his hands on the wheel. "Listen," he said. "I'm in a little trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Police trouble."

"What?"

"Yeah, the police want to talk to me."

"Talk to you? About what."

"I don't know."

"Pepper."

"A car that came in the shop."

"Why you running from that?"

"Well it got in a pretty bad accident and they want to see if I know anything."

"Okay."

"And if I had anything to do with it, I guess."

"Did you?"

"Maybe."

"What happened?"

"Remember that accident a couple days ago?"

"That big one on eight?"

"Yeah. The driver, the car that flipped into the other lane. That's the one."

"Oh, God."

"So now I'm getting out of town."

"Who's car is this?"

"You got in it!"

"You took his car?"

"I'm borrowing it."

"Pepper he'll give the police the license plate number. They've got to have come by the house by now."

"Well they ain't getting me. Not old Pepepr Gray."

"You need to drop me off."

"What?"

"You need to take the next exit and let me out of the car someplace that's got a phone."

"Who are you going to call?"

"I don't know yet, you need to get me to a gas station or something and get a taxi so I can get back to the house."

"Why don't you just stay, ride with me."

"No."

"It'd be like Bonnie and Clyde, driving away from the law. Murdering all the while."

"No."

"But without the murdering."

"No, Pepper, turn here, take this exit, get me home."

"Fine," he said, taking the next ramp.

The road following the exit was dark and sparse. A few filling stations on either side of the street, dark and closed.

"Maybe just a phone," Dee said. "Just call a taxi."

"You got any money?"

"No," she said quickly. "I won't need it."

"You won't need any?"

"I know a couple of tricks, Pepper."

"I guess you must," he said.

"Pull in here," Dee said. "There's a pay phone right there." Pepper turned the car into a closed diner and stopped by the phone standing in the parking lot.

"I lied about the money. Give me a quarter."

"All right," Pepper said reaching into his pocket. "One quarter," he held it out to her from the window.

Pepper flicked the dome light and opened the atlas to the United States map. He bisected the country with his finger, tracing a line from right to left, tapping at the coast.

"Taxi will be here in a few," Dee said approaching.

"Yeah? You gonna be all right?"

"You could wait for him to show up."

"Sure."

"So where are you heading, now, Pepper?"

"Can't say."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't know."

"Oh."

"Yeah. But one thing's definite. I'm gonna drive on and drive and drive until I can't stay awake anymore."

"Then what?"

"Get a hotel room for the night, or sleep in the car."

"Uh huh."

"Wake up and do it again."

"Until what?"

"Until I'm far away."

"Ever thing you'd be doing this?"

"Dropping you off in Evanston?"

"No. No, I mean driving off, running from the police. For questioning. They're going to be suspicious."

"You think I'm guilty?"

"I don't know."

"Well I am."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Something happened."

"Well if I tell you that's one more person involved."

"You already dragged me out here."

"And now you're going back. And all you know is that I'm driving."

"And that you stole Bridgestone's car."

"I'm borrowing it. He gave me the keys himself."

"But you ain't bringing it back."

"Well,"

"Are you?"

"Someday."

A car pulled into the lot, a red JUDSON CAB. The driver brought the car up to Pepper's and rolled his window down. His face was fat and tan, covered with a heavy stubble. He was a thoroughbred fry cook. "You call for a cab?" he called.

"Yes," Pepper yelled back.

"Okay," the man said back.

"Pepper," Dee said. "Take care of yourself."

"Sure thing, Dee. And be sure to skimp on the details. I don't know so you don't know."

"I don't know," she said.

"That's a girl," Pepper said, and gave a wave.

Dee climbed into the back of the car, said something the driver and the car pulled back onto the street.

Back on the quiet highway Pepper rode in silent concentration. He drove a steady 65MPH in the center lane, passing exit at after exit, keeping west on the freeway. Pepper didn't share any of his attention for the road with the billboards he passed, advertisements for plump hot dogs with parallel squirts of mustard and ketchup, a photograph of a sleeping woman covered in downy white bedding, a winking lady with an invitation to an exclusive club. Pepper saw the blacktop, painted lines and hanging headlights.

Chapter 8

2007-12-17T23:22:00.001-05:00

Pepper was slouched down on the toilet, his feet spread far apart, his shoulder blades against the bowl. Above him a fluorescent light flickered, he watched the fluid as it coursed back and forth in its tube. The box of bills was on his stomach, his fingers folded and rested on its lid, the wrapping paper in a ball above the box.

He sat up, then stood with the box in both hands. Pepper turned around, placed the box on the floor, then opened the lid of the toilet and dropped the paper in. His tongue between his teeth he lifted his leg and pushed the lever with his foot.

In the locker room Pepper worked the dial of his lock quickly. With one hand he clicked the door open, shoving the box onto the locker shelf with the other. He grabbed a navy canvas jacket and threw it on, looked around the empty room and shoved the box into one of the pockets. He zipped it, slammed the locker and started back to the floor.

"Hey, Russ," Pepper said, knocking his knuckles lightly on the door.

"What's up?" Russ said not looking up from his check book.

"Uh, I think I'm going to head home early. I'm not feeling so good. I feel bad."

"Yeah?" Russ said looking up. "You must be, you'd have to be a damn fool to wear a jacket in a hot season like this one."

"I guess I am a little cold, I hadn't thought of it."

"Got a fever?"

"Maybe so."

"You'll be missing a couple of hours on your next paycheck."

"I ain't worried about that, Russ."

Russ looked at Pepper for a moment, took a deep breath. "All right. I hope you feel better."

"Thanks, Russ. I'll see you."

"Okay."

Pepper turned, his hands in his coat pockets.

"Leaving early, Benny."

Benny looked up from a crate of oil containers. "Why's that?"

"Under the weather."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. When'll you be back?"

"I'm not sure."

"When you're better?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Pepper said with a shrug. "I'll see you."

"All right, mang. Bye bye," Benny said, placing an oil container on the shelf. Pepper turned and left.

"Russ was right," Pepper said a few blocks from the garage. He unzipped the jacket and peeled it slowly. It stuck with the clusters of sweat under his arms and along his back. He grunted shaking his arm in the sleeve.

The house looked more welcoming than usual as Pepper approached, somehow softened, the large cracks and spots of missing paint disappeared, the torn screens looked mended. It was the slant of the late afternoon sun that favored the house, for Pepper it was the stack of Alexander Hamilton engravings in his pocket.

He let himself into his room and sat down heavily on his cot. A few feet away from the cot a single ant zagged across the floor. Pepper watched it, moving in bursts, stopping to flex its antennae and darting again, until it disappeared into a dark corner in the room. He continued to stare after the ant.

Pepper left his room in the final minutes of shadow and walked to the front of the house. The porch would be dark soon and in another half an hour it would be filled with customers waiting in blackened silence. It was quiet inside the house, no voices fell from the rooms into the hallway. Pepper stopped in the doorway to the living room, the curls of copper green paint were still, the dirty, yellowed curtains didn't blow. One of the girls sat in a tattered brown recliner, her eyes obscured by a mass of black tangled hair. She thumbed through an out-dated TV Guide.

"Hello," Pepper said.

She looked up, "Ding Dang Dong's on tonight."

"Yeah, what's that?" Pepper asked.

"Game show. You go on and pick the celebrity that you think can guess a radio song in the fewest notes. Johnny Chancellor is on tonight, and Rosie Hawkins."

"Sounds like a lot of fun."

"Yeah, I wish we had a TV."

"Could be neat."

"A color TV."

"Too much for me, it'd look like a little doll house, people moving around in a box."

"Uh huh," she said turning back to the magazine.

"You seen Mr. Bridgestone?"

"I think he's in the office."

"Oh, alright." Pepper leaned on the door frame for another moment. "See ya later," he said, turning.

The office door was closed, Pepper could hear a radio chat show from beneath the door. There was a calendar hanging from a nail in the door, the photograph for the current month showed a plate with glistening eggs and bacon, an oil-black cup of coffee and two triangles of toast with precise squares of butter. The text along the top of the photo read "Everything Tastes Better In Paradise." The bottom corner of the photograph read "Paradise Diner", the address and phone number followed. Below the calendar was a red sign with text in white.

HOUSE RULES
1. Payment required in advance
2. Absolutely no refunds
3. One customer per girl
4. No hitting

Pepper knocked at the door.

"Yeah?" Bridgestone called from inside.

Pepper turned the knob and pushed. Bridgestone sat wedged behind his desk, tight between the arms of his office chair, his stomach creased against the edge of his desk. There was a single chair against the wall between the door and the desk, there were three filing cabinets pushed against the opposite wall, with a small lamp on top. Bridgestone scribbled in a notebook with one hand, punching the keys of an adding machine with the other.

"Hey, Mr. Bridgestone."

"Pepper," he said tapping at the keys.

"Sorry to bug you, but you happen to have a bus schedule lying around?"

"Yeah, should be one tacked to the board there," he said. Pepper looked above the chair and beside the cork board was a photograph of an orange bridge.

"San Francisco," he said. "You know my boss has the same poster in his office. Kinda funny, huh? But I guess a place that nice must be popular. Who wouldn't want to be in a place where the sun always shines and there's never a drop of rain or a cloud of fog?"

Bridgestone tore a long strip of tape from the end of his machine, pulling it hand over hand as though he were bringing in a life preserver. "Yeah it's a good place. Schedule's right there."

"Oh, yeah," Pepper said. He turned and plucked a pin from the board. He unfolded the schedule in his hands. "Huh, no pictures, just all words and times. Getting on a bus and going. I don't see how people fly. You don't see anything from up there, you just get on a plane, wait a few hours and then you're in some other place. But in a bus, or on a car, you see every inch of it." With the schedule fully unfolded in his hands Pepper struggled to close it, trying the simple folds over and over. "Well thanks for the info, I hope you don't mind me borrowing it."

"Yep, that's fine," Bridgestone said, sharpening a pencil with a pocket knife. Bridgestone's phone rang as Pepper reached for the doorknob.

"See you later," he said over his shoulder.

"Okay, Pepper," Bridgestone said, grabbing the receiver. "Hello?"

Pepper shut the door behind him.

"Pepper!" Bridgestone called. "It's for you."

"Yeah?" Pepper said, opening the door.

"Yep," he said holding out the receiver. Pepper took it.

"Hello?"

"Pepper, it's Russ."

"Hi."

"Listen, Pepper. You've gotta be real relaxed, okay?"

"Uh, okay."

"There's a few cops down here."

"What?"

"I said relax."

"Okay."

"There's a few cops down here and they've got Benny in the break room and they're asking him about an oil change we did a couple days ago. Turns out the car that flipped this morning was in our shop."

"How do they know that?"

"There was a receipt in the glove box. So they're down here talking to Benny. Then they want to talk to me."

"About what?"

"I don't know, I guess it makes sense, we had the car they want to see if we noticed anything wrong with it."

"And they're talking to Benny?"

"And then they want to talk to me."

"Okay."

"And then they want to talk to you."

"What for?"

"You were here that day."

"Yeah."

"So they want to talk to you about the car."

"I don't remember it."

"A red Mustang, Pepper. How many of those do we ever see?"

"Well there were two last week."

"Uh huh, you do remember. Look they just want to talk to you about it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, they're sending an officer by your way."

"What?"

"I gave them your address."

Pepper's mouth hung open, his eyes lost their focus.

"Okay?" Russ said.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. All right," he said, handing the phone to Bridgestone.

"What was that about?" Bridgestone asked, putting the receiver back in its cradle.

"It was Russ. From work."

"Oh."

"Needs me to come by and pick something up."

"I see."

Pepper sat down in the empty chair.

"You mind if I borrow your car?"

Bridgestone looked up from the desk and met Pepper's gaze.

"My day was pretty damn long, I just want to get over there and right back."

"I thought I saw you come home early."

"Can I borrow the car?"

Bridgestone was struggling behind the desk, leaning back in his chair, grunting as he put his hand into his pants pocket. "Must be the other one," he said trying with the other hand. Pepper heard the brush of metal. "You'll be right back?"

"Yeah, right back."

"All right," he said, tossing the keys. Pepper swatted them into his palm.

Chapter 7

2007-12-10T22:59:00.000-05:00

Pepper was overcome with a rigid tremble, a stiff shock of excitement. He stood facing the shelf, the radio crackled,

When you've passed on to the other side
Think of those you've left behind.
When it comes to your tomb go with the trusted name
Chose a custom tombstone by Walter Payne!

"Sick," Russ said. "Walt's gone and totally lost it." Pepper tilted his head to one side. "Said he wanted to put a bright spin on it, thought it'd be good for business. A tombstone's a tombstone, everyone knows it, you just gotta buy one. It's like a shower curtain, you just gotta have one. You all right, there, Pepper?"

His mouth had parted slightly, his mouth full of saliva.

"Pepper," Russ said, looking around the garage. He started to walk towards the shelf, "Pepper, can you hear me? Hey! It's me, Russ, what the hell is wrong with you, man?" Russ stood behind him, put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a light shake. "Huh, Pepper?"

"Huh?" Pepper said. His muscles loosened a little.

"You just staring off at that shelf. You think it's time to order more oil? Were you counting how many canisters we go through in a month? It's a pretty big number, sometimes it make my head spin, too."

Pepper began to move his head in a slow circular motion. "Nothin', it's nothin' Russ. Just a bit of a spell, you could say that I guess."

"A spell, huh."

"Yeah, I'm real sorry."

"Hey guys," Benny called. Russ and Pepper turned towards the door.

"Benny," Russ said.

"I'm real sorry I'm late, there was a bad accident."

"We heard, I was stuck in it, too," Russ said.

"Oh, okay," Benny said relieved.

"But Pepper here, you know he walks to work. He's got it all figured out," Russ said.

"I guess so, Russ. I just about got it all figured out," he said, looking up at the ceiling. "Yep, my number's coming up pretty soon."

"Now you're telling fortunes, huh? A fortune-telling oil man. They should put your name in the paper," Russ said.

"You hear that, Pepper? The papers, huh. Front page stuff," Benny said, smiling at Russ.

"You think he's front page business, Benny?" Russ said, leaning back a little.

"Oh yeah, Pepper all the way to the front page. Straight from Bennett's garage to A1." They laughed.

"Let's get to work, huh, guys?" Russ said, turning to his office.

"Yeah, okay," Pepper said.

Benny began raising a coupe. "You want to help on this alignment?" he called.

"Yeah sure," Pepper said.

"Ok, good," he walked underneath the car. "These tie rod ends look awful."

"They look brand new, Benny."

"I think they look awful."

"I don't know what you're looking-"

"Come on, Pepper. This is what we do. We get the idea to the customer, to the customer's head, that these tie rod ends are garbage and then they pay for an alignment, parts, labor, come one Pepper."

"Oh yeah."

"And then, that turns into money."

"Seems like a lot of work for a little money."

"One hundred and ninety bucks."

"Split up, minus parts."

"Well that's pretty good still."

"I guess."

"What you call a lot of money, huh?"

"Four hundred, for yourself."

"Yeah, okay."

"For two minutes' work."

"Yeah, you go and crap out a pound of gold, sure."

"Ain't even that hard."

"What ain't that hard?"

"Nothing," Pepper said wiping his forehead. "Nothing, man."

"Well we got the parts, you wanna go and get them?" Benny said, working to removed them already.

"Sure, okay," Pepper said. With his hands in his pockets he started for the storage room around the back of the garage.

"Hey, Pepper!" Russ called. Pepper turned to see Russ in the doorway to his office.

"What?"

"There's a guy on the phone for you, says he wants to talk to you."

Pepper started walking quickly to the office. "What's he want?"

"Just said he wants to talk."

"All right."

"Phone's on my desk."

Pepper walked in and picked up the receiver from on top of a stack of invoices.

"Hello? Oh, Mr. Ford, hello," he stared at Russ. Russ looked past Pepper and out the window of his office.

"Oh, I'm sorry I'll wait outside."

"Yes, Mr. Ford I'm glad to hear from you."

"Well Pepper I heard about an accident this morning."

"Me too, on I-8."

"Yes, on I-8, seemed like a nasty wreck."

"Man on the radio said there was a big back up."

"I heard that too, very bad news. Very grizzly wreck."

"Any injuries reported, yet?"

Ford sighed. "I'm afraid that the driver of the car was killed."

"Oh that's too bad."

"Yes," he said. "Well can you meet me for lunch, maybe that'll brighten our afternoon."

"Sure, down at the Doggie?"

"Why not. I'll see you there at 1:30, how's that?"

"That'd be okay."

"Good bye, Pepper."

"So long, Mr. Ford."

He put gently put the phone back into its cradle and stood for a second. he focused on a poster above Russ's desk, a color photograph of a brightly colored bridge. "San Francisco," Pepper said quietly. He opened the door to the hall.

"Who was that?" Russ asked.

"A friend, just an old friend."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna go out to lunch later on. Meet up with him."

"All right, that sounds nice."

"Should be a very nice time."

Pepper got to the Doggie Diner a few minutes before one. He took a seat at one of the picnic tables, sitting on the top with his feet on the bench. Moving his fingers around in his pocket he found a bottle cap and started to chew it, looking up at the sky, squinting at into the sun. A car pulled up, Pepper blocked out the light with his hand.

Ford got out of the car carrying a small package under his arm.

"Hello, Pepper," he said.

"Hi, Mr. Ford," Pepper said, holding his hand out for a shake. Ford looked down, his hand wasn't as black it was at their last meeting. They shook.

"I got you a little something," Ford said raising the package. It was small, rectangular, wrapped in red paper with white polka dots.

"Oh, you shouldn't have."

"Well, I couldn't help myself. I'm afraid I've got to be going. I hope you like the gift."

Pepper looked at Ford, his mouth open. "Uh, Mr. Ford what about, um."

He was climbing into his car, strapping his seat belt. "Yes?"

Pepper bent down and whispered to Ford, "The, the money we talked about."

Ford rubbed his eyes and lifted them to stare at Pepper. "It's there, it's all there in that box."

"Oh! Oh, okay," Pepper said, he began to loosen the tape at one end.

"Don't! Open it here, don't open it, wait until you get home."

"Oh, sorry. Well thanks."

"Yeah," he slammed the door to the car, backed out of the lot and drove off.

Pepper held the package with both hands, he looked down at it and smiled and started back to the garage.

Benny was finishing replacing the tie rod ends when Pepper got back.

"That was a quick lunch."

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, heading towards the office. He walked down the hallway and to the break room and sat down at one of the tables placing the package in front of him. With his finger he began to loosen the tape at one end.

"Hey, Pepper," Russ said. "What's that?" He took some change from his pocket and started to feed it into the vending machine.

"Oh, a gift."

"From your friend?"

"Yep."

"You gonna open it?"

"Maybe."

"What is it?"

"I - I don't know, yet," Pepper said, pushing the taped end back down. He took the box and put it under his arm. Quickly, he stood up and walked into the hall and began walking towards the back of the building. The hall was empty, the air conditioner blasted, the fluorescent bulbs rang quietly. Inside the bathroom Pepper opened the door to the stall, got inside and locked it. He sat down on the toilet and put the package on his lap. Again he began to finger one of the taped ends, he tore the tape and unfolded the paper. It was a box for checks.

"Checks?"

Removing the lid, Pepper sighed at the sight of a ten dollar bill. He put his finger into the box and dug it down to the bottom of the stack. Lifting it between in his fist he smelled the stack of bills. He fanned them under his nose, over his eye lids, pushed them against his lips for a kiss. Leaning back on the toilet he sighed again.

Chapter 6

2007-12-04T21:52:00.000-05:00

Riding on the sidewalk Pepper peddled hard, his shirt several shades darker, completely soaked in sweat. He stood on the pedals of the bike, his strokes awkward and angular over the small frame. Moving in the direction of the sun Pepper squinted, breathing heavily. An alternating stream of frozen food and ice cream trucks passed by, at each block he spotted a limousine with a cabin full of cold, dark air.

Arriving at the garage Pepper didn't bother to dismount the bike, instead riding it straight onto the floor.

"Benny!" he called out.

"Nice bike, mang." Benny was sitting behind the wheel of the mustang. He cocked his head to one side. "Pepper, you said you were gonna call your momma."

Pepper dismounted the bike and let it drop to the floor. His chest was heaving. "I did," he said, standing with his hands on his knees.

"Before or after you went swimming?"

"What? Benny, you finish that oil change?"

"Yes sir, now I'm just waiting until the gentleman comes back."

"You think he'd like to see you sitting there like that?"

Benny frowned. "Yeah, I guess not," he said, getting out of the car. "Sure is nice sitting in there, though."

"I'll bet it is, Benny," Pepper said, still halved over. Taking his hands off of his knees he stood up straight, moaned. "Dear god." He looked around the floor of the garage, spotted a tire iron and slowly walked over to it.

"What you gonna do with that?" Benny asked.

"Put it back where it goes."

"Nothing goes no place around here."

"Benny why don't you take a handful of washers and go get us some peanut butter crackers."

"Okay," Benny said, walking to the back of the garage.

Pepper moved over to the car with the tire iron and quickly wrenched a few of the lugs loose on the front passenger side wheel.

"Is my car ready?" a voice called from outside of the garage. Pepper stood as the man approach. "Huh, all set, huh?" the man asked.

"Yes sir, all set for you to go," Pepper said dusting his hands.

"Okay, what do I owe you."

Pepper raised his hand and pointed straight above.

"What?" the man said. He tilted his head back and read a blue banner. In white letters, "OIL CHANGE $19.95."

"Twenty dollars? Are you out of your mind?"

"It's the going rate, sir. Average on oil."

"How much is a quart of oil?"

"Two dollars."

"So you're charging $18 for labor?"

"Well the Mustang, it takes five quarts of oil."

"Well, then," he said reaching into his pocket, producing a thick wallet. "Thanks for all the help."

"You're certainly welcome," Pepper said handing him the keys.

The man stuck out a twenty dollar bill with two fingers. "And we hope to see you in another 3,000 miles."

The man climbed into his car and slammed the door closed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, cutting on the engine. He pumped the gas, threw the car into reverse and quickly drove from the garage.

"That's right," Pepper said looking after the car. "You won't be dreaming of much. Tonight or ever."

"Who are you talking to, Pepper?"

He jumped. "Goddamn, Benny, how long you been standing there?"

"I don't know. Why you care about that guy's dreams?"

"I don't. I don't care about them."

"Okay. Well here's your sandwiches," he said handing Pepper the crackers. Pepper tore one of the plastic corners with his teeth. "Listen," Benny said spitting cracker, "you can hear the sidewalk crying in the heat."

* * *

The end of the day had come after the slow drag of afternoon. Pepper wore a bit of a smile on his face during the aching walk home. There were a number of cars parked along the street in front of the house as he approached, the windows lit in nearly every room. A busy night for the girls.

He walked around the back of the house, looking up at the house, imagining the movements that matched the sounds that came from the open windows. At the door he took his key ring from his pocket and after thumbing past a few other keys remembered that Bridgestone still had his room key.

"Goddamn," he said. "If this doesn't beat all," he said, turning back to the front of the house.

Turning the corner of the house he heard voices. On busy nights any waiting clients had to wait on the front porch until the next girl, or if their wallets allowed it, the girl of their choice became available. The porch was crowded with figures, the only light coming from the ends of lit cigarettes.

"Hey, fellas," Pepper said walking up. No one replied. He went straight for the entrance and open the screen door. It was pushed shut immediately by the man closest to it.

"What's the idea, guy?" he said in a low, excited voice.

"No idea, mang."

"If you want to go in you gotta get in line," said someone behind him.

"Well look, I happen to live here."

"Sure bud, I'm the Emperor of Japan," said the man behind him.

"You gotta get in line or I'll get you in line," said someone at the far end of the porch.

"Come on, guys," Pepper said.

A metal lighter flicked open. Its owner held it near his face, tanned, wrinkled, its long nose nearly hanging over the top lip.

"If you think you're going into that house before any of us you have another thing coming," he said.

Pepper sighed. "I'm not going in to see a girl, I'm just talking to Mr. Bridgestone. I live in the basement."

"Bull shit," the man with the lighter said, shoving Pepper in the chest.

"Hey!" Pepper called, stumbling back, the men behind him pushed him back towards the flame.

"What's your goddamn problem, don't you understand there's rules at this house?"

The door swung open.

"What's going on out here?" Bridgestone called.

"This asshole thinks he can jump the line," a man said.

"Who thinks they can?"

"It's me," Pepper said.

"Pepper?" Bridgestone asked.

"Yeh, I just wanted to get my key.

"Your key? Oh, right, your key," he said reaching into his pocket. "Should have said so."

"Well these guys wouldn't let me get to the door," Pepper said.

"Huh," he said, turning the key off the ring. "Pepper, why don't you come in for a minute."

"Okay," and the two stepped inside.

They stopped in the hallway, Bridgestone still working on the key. "I'm sorry about the johns," he said. "They can get a bit out of hand. Only but so much action these girls can handle."

"I know it."

"Here," Bridgestone said, handing Pepper the key. "Thanks for letting me copy it."

"Yeah, it's fine. Listen, now that I'm in here, you mind if I grab a quick shower?"

"A shower?"

"Yeah I haven't bathed in days. And the past few having been pretty rough."

Bridgestone leaned in towards Pepper and pulled in a little air. "Christ boy you ain't kidding. Yeah, make it quick though."

"Thanks a lot," he said, walking to the bathroom.

"Pepper, I think the hot water heater's broken," Bridgestone called.

"Really?"

* * *

Pepper heaved the large garage door open, the morning light broke across the floor, reflecting on a rainbow spot of oil and water, a few scattered tools. With a yellow-handled broom he swept around the shop. Then he collected some of the stray tools and placed them on a bench, then collected a few bags of trash and hauled them around to the back of the shop. In doing a bit of cleaning had done more work at the shop in the minutes before opening than he had all week. He found his bottle of mouthwash and took a pull.

Pepper found a chair and propped his feet up on a milk crate, waiting for Russ or Benny to arrive, day dreaming about the money.

Maybe I could go back to the Doggie, for lunch and dinner in the same day, or maybe somewhere else like the Casa del Taco, maybe buy a new hat, the kind with a fuzzy thing on top, some whiskey, a lot of beers, a new pillow for my cot, a lamp for my room, a copy of Cans, a subscription to Cans, a whole year of cans, goddamn. Even a trip, I might could take a trip, some place far away, maybe Broadsburg, that's two hours from here by car.

"Morning, Pepper," Russ said walking in.

"Oh, hey Russ."

"Sorry I'm late. There was a bad traffic jam on the way."

"Yeah, where at?"

"At the Green Street ramp to the highway. Apparently a bad accident on the interstate."

"Really?"

"Yeah it's all over the radio."

Pepper took his feet from the milk crate and sat up. Pulling at the waist of his pants he walked over to a radio above the shelf of oil canisters and switched it on.

"-before the intersection of the Planter's Ridge Bridge. It's a fifteen mile back up, none of the morning commute has been able to get through as the accident occurred early this morning before the rush hour. A nasty sight from 2,000 feet in the air, back to you, Dave.

That's Pete Sampson with our Eye in the Sky, reporting on this morning's big news, a wreck on Interstate 8. It appears that a car driving southbound was flung into northbound traffic when the driver lost control of the car, colliding with a tractor trailer, now overturned, and creating a lot of residual accidents and, as Pete said, miles and miles of traffic delays. Easily the worst accident in recent county history."

Chapter 5

2007-11-26T23:33:00.000-05:00

"I'm sorry, sir," Pepper choked as his mouth filled with saliva. "Yours is what car?"

"The Mustang out front, it's the only car out there," he said crossing his arms.

Pepper walked to the edge of the garage. "That red one?"

"Yes, can you change the oil in a red car or should I take it someplace else?"

Pepper rubbed his hands against the thighs of his pants.

"Well?" the man said.

He straightened up and began walking towards the back of the garage. Moving quickly he called over his shoulder, "Sure, sure. Benny here will take care of it. Benny, you can change the oil for this gentleman, can't you?"

"Of course," Benny said, tightening his bandana. "Of course I can."

Pepper nodded to Russ as he passed the office, he walked quickly down the hallway to the locker room.

"Oh man oh man" he muttered. He spun the dial of the lock over and over, "Oh man, oh goddamn," he struggled to align the combination, tugging after a few turns, starting over, finally getting the door unlocked. He bent over a little and looked into the locker. "God damn!" he said and slammed the door shut. He paced in the narrow row of lockers, turning his fist in the palm of the other hand. A sharp pivot on his heel and he turned out of the room and walked back to the floor. He was moving fast but kept his legs straight, went over to a bench and began opening and closing metal drawers stacked on the counter. Screws, washers, clips, pencils, larger washers. He found the wrench he was looking for and shoved it into his pocket.

"Benny I have to run out. I'll be back."

"Where you going?" Benny called from inside the car.

"Gotta go," Pepper turned and looked at Benny, bouncing in place on his toes. "I gotta go and call my momma," he turned and split.

There was a haze over the street, the sun was bright but not sharp, dull in the thick humidity. Feeling the heat through his canvas outfit Pepper moaned. "Who loves the sun?" he said. When he was just clear of the garage he began to sprint. "Goddamn lady," he said swinging his arms.

Hearing a crack of laughter Pepper looked across the street. In the shade of a recessed doorway a few kids sat eating popsicles. Their bikes were piled against the side of the building. He quickly glanced up and down the street, some cars close by, and shot across the road. Horns blared.

"Hey, hey guys," he called approaching their stoop. One of the kids was draining the orange liquid from the end of the plastic popsicle tube. "What you say that if I can guess what grade you're in you let me borrow one of your bikes?"

"No way!" said a skinny kid in a mesh tank top. "I don't even let Casey borrow my bike and he's my cousin," he said pointing his thumb at a freckled face.

"You ain't borrowing my bike, neither!" said another, wrapping his empty plastic tube around his finger.

"Nuh uh, can't ride mine," said Casey.

"Come on just give me one guess," he pleaded.

"Fine, one guess," said the first boy. "But you're still not getting my bike I just want to see what you gonna say."

"Fifth graders!" Pepper blurted.

The kids erupted with laughter. One of them slapped his knee.

"Do I look like a giant to you?" the first boy said.

"Yeah, a giant?" said the other, lifting the shoulders of his tank top and puffing his cheeks. "I'm gonna drink all your milks! You better run!" he said, the others laughing.

"Well, what if I buy you some ice cream?"

"We just had popsicles, where you gonna get ice cream, anyway?" Casey asked.

"From that truck," Pepper said pointing, "down there." The boys turned to look, shielding their eyes against the sun.

With their heads turned Pepper grabbed the bike closest to him, jerked it away from the wall and began sprinting with the bike rolling beside him. The boys turned.

"Hey!" called tank top. "He's taking our bikes!"

"He's taking our bikes!"

"Help! Help!"

They all began wailing, running after Pepper. He stopped, straddled the bike and began pedaling off as fast as he could. The boys kept chase.

"He's stealing it! He's stealing my bike!"

"Help! Stop - thief!"

"Burg-u-lar! Burg-u-lar!"

Pepper pedaled on, down the street.

He kept on, pumping his legs over the small frame of the bike, looking for any sign of the woman and her Mustang. "Come on, come on," he said looking around. His eyes stung in a mix of heat and sweat. He kept darting his eyes and head about, looking for the car.

He slowed as he approached a traffic light. Stopped, he panted heavily and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He squinted down the road, the cars blurry, he wiped his eyes again. He saw something up at the next light. The cars ahead slowed to a stop and against a large yellow cement mixer Pepper could just see the outline of the Mustang.

"Hot damn!" he hollered and stood to pedal. A horn and the squeal of brakes, Pepper had gone head first into moving traffic. The drivers in the intersection slammed their breaks, cursed, eyed their children. He looked around quickly and kept on. He stood up, pumping his legs as fast as he could. The car became closer, the light changed and the vehicles began moving slowly. Pepper managed to catch up, pulled along side the vehicle. He looked over, it was the woman from before.

"Ma'am!" he called still pedaling. "Ma'am!" he screamed. She looked over, her mouth opened at a startled angle. The car slowed in her distraction. "Pull over!" he called. She made a face. "Pull over!" he said, motioning to the side of the road with his head. Pepper rode his bike into the next parking lot, CARTER'S MEMORIAL, got off the bike and leaned it against a fence that wrapped around a large cluster of tombstones in varying heights and stone. The woman pulled her car in after him.

"What's this all about?" she called in a high voice.

"Ma'am, I just wanted to be sure of something with your car," he panted. "I didn't check it before you left, I just want to be sure it's all right," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"What is it?"

Pepper was already on his knees, tightening the screws on the wheel.

"Okay," he said standing. "I think that'll take care of it."

"The wheel? What was wrong with the wheel? I had the oil changed, what is there to do with the wheel?"

"Just a safety measure, ma'am," he said returning to the bike. "You have yourself a nice day." He mounted the bike and took off back to the garage. As he pumped he repeated it to himself, "Four hundred dollars." In rhythm with each push of the bike's gears, "Four hund'rd d'llrs, four hund'rd d'llrs, four hund'rd d'llrs, four hund'rd d'llrs."

Chapter 4

2007-11-21T00:13:00.000-05:00

Pepper finished his lunch by forcing the last bite of tuna against his throbbing stomach. He let out a long, agonized groan. "I did it. I finally did it." He looked at the two empty drink containers, the pint, the empty bag of chips, the paper hot dog tray. Uncontrollably, he groaned again. "This must be the feeling of satisfaction," he said clenching his shirt in his fist. He stood up, looked at the trash on the table and turned to walk back to the garage.

It was noon, humid and heavy as Pepper walked back. The cement and bricks of the buildings he passed seemed to crumble in the heat. Every glass and metallic surface he passed, bumpers, windows, mailboxes, a garbage man's keys, put the searing reflection of the sun into his eyes. His feet barely left the pavement, scraped along the sidewalk as he felt the combination of sugar water, ice milk, fried potatoes, tuna fish, mayonnaise and the animal pieces they put into hot dogs wrestle in his stomach. Sweat poured out making rings at the neck of his shirt, under his arms and over the area of his back.

Pepper slowly approached the garage from the sidewalk. Benny was sitting on the floor cutting underwear advertisements from the paper. "What oven you crawling out of?" he said as Pepper approached. "Damn."

Pepper continued his slump step into the garage. A few feet inside he collapsed to the floor.

"Jesus, Pepper," Benny said, putting his scissors down. "What's wrong with you?"

Pepper groaned again and rolled onto his side. Benny walked over and Pepper uttered something. He crouched down, "What'd you say?" Pepper let out another brief moan. "I don't know, man," Benny said. Pepper hiccoughed, paused, and his body contracted around his stomach as he threw up.

"Oh, oh goddamn," Benny said standing up. "That's gross. That is so gross, man. Why would you eat stew on a hot day like today?" Benny backed away.

Pepper muttered. "Shut up, shut up Benny. Shut up."

"Whatever you say," Benny said. He took his bandana from his head to cover his face.

Pepper continued to lay on his side, whispering to himself incoherently. "You just go ahead and pass out, mang," Benny said. "We ain't getting anything done today anyhow."

* * *

The roll of the garage door woke Pepper. His eyes parted slowly, the garage was full of light.

"Pepper! Pepper! God damn, boy, what, oh God look at all the upchuck. What the hell happened?"

Pepper recognized Russ' voice. He opened his eyes and stood up slowly.

"Back early, Russ?"

"Early? Early, no Pepper it's 7:30 in the morning," he said, handing Pepper a roll of paper towels. "Take care of the mess you made. And get changed, you smell like a wet grass bag," he turned towards his office.

"Morning?" he said. "Oh, damn," he whispered to himself. "Oh, damn." Pepper balled up a few paper towels for the mess and walked to his locker. He unbuttoned his shirt, opened his locker, took a pull from the mouthwash and swallowed. "Oh, no," he blurted and threw up again. "Oh, god."

He managed to change his work clothes, left with the socks and briefs from the previous day, and headed to the floor.

"Pepper," Russ called as he passed. "Come in here a sec. Sit down, tell me what you been up to, yesterday."

"Well I had lunch down at the Doggie Diner and the next thing I know I'm on the floor of the garage."

"The Doggie? But you don't get paid until next week."

"Oh, I know I know. But this gentleman Gerald he took me there and bought me lunch and he's gonna give me four hundred dollars."

"Four hundred dollars?"

"What?"

"You said 'four hundred dollars.'"

Pepper stared at Russ. "Well, what I meant to say is I must have eaten four hundred dollars of food because later on it just made me so sick that I couldn't keep any of it with me."

"All right. And who's Gerald?"

"He's a buyer," Pepper paused. "And a seller. A little bit of both, really."

"Okay, and this guy just took you to lunch?"

"Yeah."

"And how'd you meet him?"

"Well he just come in the shop said he had car troubles so I said oh I'll take a look, sir, so I did and it turned out all he need was some air in a tire and he said that's all what's the charge so I told him no charge and he said well let me get you lunch so I agreed and he took me down to the Doggie and I got some food and that was that, Russ."

"You'd think any soft-handed, scarf-wearing carpet salesman would be able to put air in a tire."

"Yeah I know," Pepper said, relieved. He pursed his lips and scratched behind his ear. "I'm the best liar this side of the Mississippi River," he thought.

"Okay let's get to work, Pepper," Russ said looking at some folders on his desk.

"Yeh, all right Russ," he said standing. Pepper wiped his forehead with a sigh. As he exhaled a red Mustang entered the garage. "Well I'll be damned," he said to himself.

"Check this out, Pepper," Benny said, pointing to the car. "In for an oil change, I can't wait-"

"Well seeing as that's my field of excellence I'll take it from here," he said. A woman was driving the car, a large pair of sunglasses buried in a lot of blonde hair.

"It'll only take a few minutes?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, in and out," Pepper said.

"I'll run to the bank, then," she said, handing Pepper the keys.

"All right, it's just across the street, there."

She rolled her eyes, but Pepper missed the gesture from under the sunglasses.

"Oil, oil, oil change!" he said, walking to a shelf for a few quarts. He cracked the plastic yellow cap off of one and sniffed it. He exhaled heavily.

Pepper raised the car and as the oil drained he took a wrench and loosened the lugs a few turns. "Took all of thirty seconds," he said to himself. Pepper finished the oil job, lowered the car and spun the key ring around his finger. He whistled a bit, pacing around the garage.

"All set?" the woman called, walking into the garage.

"Yep, nineteen dollars," Pepper said. She handed him a twenty. "I'll run and get change."

"No, keep it," she said taking the keys.

"Why thank you, thank you very much, ma'am."

She turned the engine and drove out of the garage. Pepper dusted his hands and watching the car drive off imagined the sounds it would making flipping five or six times on the interstate.

Benny was replacing a rear-view mirror on a pick-up truck as Pepper walked over. "What you working on, Benny."

"Just a rear-view, mang."

"Yep, the old rear view. Gotta have eyes on the back of your head, huh? Keep one step ahead of the other guy, don't ya?"

"Sure thing, Pepper."

"Yep, a sure thing," he said. He heard an engine approaching, then cut off and parked outside. The door slammed, and a tall man entered the garage, a cigarette clenched in his teeth. He removed his sunglasses.

"How about an oil change?" he called. "Absolutely," Pepper said.

"Great. Mine's the Mustang outside."

Chapter 3

2007-11-12T21:17:00.000-05:00

Pepper felt a chill of disbelief. "Four hundred dollars?"

The man leaned forward in his seat. "If you'll just hear me out," he spoke slow and calm.

"I'm all ears. Don't need a damn octologist to tell me that," Pepper said, putting the car in motion.

"Why don't you pull in, here?" the passenger suggested, pointing to the Doggie Diner at the end of the block.

"Fine," Pepper said, turned the wheel into the lot and parked.

"I've heard some good things about you, Pepper."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, very good things. A kid named Teddy told me all about you, said you could use some extra money, too."

"I knew he wasn't all bad. I guess he's right about the money, too. And I'm good things, that's for sure." Pepper was talking with his hands, making fast, circular gestures. "I mean to say I'm good, I'm a good guy good at all kinds of stuff. I can do anything."

The passenger leaned back in his seat. "Well let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. I want you to really consider this job before you take it."

"Well, okay. Okay," Pepper said, wringing his hands on the steering wheel.

"You're a mechanic and what I need done is real mechanic's work. There's going to be a car coming in to your shop later this week, a red Mustang. Just coming in for a routine oil change, which I hear is your specialty."

"It is, sir, changing oil is a craft I'd say I've perfected."

"That's wonderful news. Well what we need is a little extra work. Pepper, can you promise me that what we say will stay here in the front of this car?"

"Yes I can. I won't say a word to another soul."

"All right. This is very sensitive, and it's important that it remains confidential. When the car comes in this week we need to be sure that the breaks are cut, entirely. We're hoping that when the car leaves the shop the breaks won't function and that the driver will be - "

"Taken care of, like in the movies."

"Yes, Pepper. Just like in a movie."

"Well I got a real problem with that."

"I understand," the man said quietly.

"Is this guy some kind of asshole?"

"You could say that."

"Is he the kind of asshole that likes to drive?"

"Yes, he's very fond of his cars, driving them. I can see why you wouldn't want any harm done to another car enthusiast."

"Does he like to drive fast?"

The passenger looked at Pepper for a moment. "Yes, he does."

"Well then what I could do is loosen the nuts on one of his wheels. It won't be very noticeable at first. Once he gets out onto the freeway, highway, starts speeding, the wheel will shake and break off, it'll make the car flip. That should most definitely take care of him."

"Can you be sure?"

"I've seen worse happen when the wheels are loose on accident. And I'll make em real loose."

"I see. Well you are the expert on these matters, Pepper."

"Not to toot my own horn, but yes, I do consider myself to have a highly qualified expertise," he said, tilting his head back. "Now about this money issue," Pepper said, rubbing his chin.

"Yes, I'm sorry that we can't offer-"

"I believe we agreed on four hundred dollars?"

The passenger again paused a moment, looking at Pepper.

"Four hundred dollars, in cash."

"Then I believe we have a deal."

"Excellent, Pepper, excellent."

Pepper stuck out his hand, the man looked down at it, rubbed with grease, the ends of his fingernails totally black. The man shook it and looked at Pepper. "Can I, buy you lunch?"

Pepper nodded. "Yeah, that would be real good."

They exited the car, the man walked ahead. Pepper whispered to himself, "Four hundred dollars."

The Doggie Diner was a walk-up restaurant, single window for orders and checks. A woman in a loose t-shirt was standing behind the glass, her deep-fried hair fell unevenly around her face.

"Why don't you go ahead and order. Please, get whatever you want," the man said.

"Okay, thanks," he said, leaning back to look at the menu. "I'll have a hot dog, and a Coke. Let me get a small french fry, and a half-pint of tuna fish. Let's see I'll have an orange milkshake, too."

The woman was still writing, "Will that be all?"

"Can I get mustard, mayo and ketchup on the dog?"

"Sure."

"And some relish?"

"Okay."

"Oh and some chips?"

"They come with the hot dog."

"No I mean right on the hot dog."

"I'll let you do that."

"Well, okay."

"Will that be all?"

"You gonna have anything, sir?"

The man stood to the side with his arms folded, looking at the asphalt. He looked up, "No, no thank you."

"It'll be six dollars and seventy-six cents," she said looking at Pepper. He gave her a blank look. The man stepped over, taking his wallet from his pocket. Pepper's mouth parted as the full wallet fanned open. The man handed her a ten.

The two men stood at the counter, waiting on Pepper's food. "Could I have the keys back, Pepper."

"Sure thing," he said, handing them over. "Sure was nice to drive that thing. Gotta sell a lot of," he stopped. "What is it you do, by the way?"

"Oh," the man said, putting the keys in his pocket. "Buying, selling, a little bit of both, really."

"I see, buying and selling. That's the way to go, you've got to buy it to sell it." Pepper was rocking back and forth on his heels. "And, I'm sorry maybe I'm getting a little personal, but what's your name, again?"

"My name is Mr. Ford. Gerald Ford."

"Gerald Ford, I think I've heard that name before."

"I would hope you have."

"Well I'm glad to put a name to a face."

The counter window slid open. "Number nine," the woman called. The parking lot, the counter, were empty. Pepper looked at the ticket in his hand. "Guess that'll be me."

"Pepper I've got to be going. I hope that we can count on you this week."

"You sure will, Mr. Ford. Absolutely."

"Number nine," the woman called again.

"Goodbye, Pepper."

"It's been a pleasure meeting you!"

Pepper took his sack of food from the window and found a seat at a picnic table on the building's shaded side.

"And now we feast," he said, unrolling the paper bag.

Chapter 2

2007-11-05T22:09:00.000-05:00

From a small window high on the wall a thin strip of light broke across the concrete floor of Pepper's room. Last night's container lay on its side, its fumes waved in the light through the open end. In a loud, heavy sleep Pepper was stretched over the covers on his cot, his arm folded under his chest, his shoes on his feet, his belt at his waist, a stream of drool coming from his mouth over the edge of the cot. He breathed heavy and slow.

Shoes scraped down the stairs to his door, a large beating hand announced the guest.

"Pepper!"

He moved his head, his mouth open. The beating was louder.

"Pepper!"

Rolling onto his side Pepper let out a hoarse moan, he cursed quietly. He slowly sat up on his cot, propping himself with one arm, gingerly moving the other. He closed his fist and moaned again. "God damn."

"Pepper open this goddamn thing."

Pepper stood and began walking towards the door, his arm crooked at an angle. Outside the man kicked the door, Pepper unlatched the lock. The door swung open, the room filled with light.

"At last, at last. Good morning, Pepper Gray."

Pepper stood still, his face constricted around his closed eyes. "My goddamn arm is asleep."

As the man entered the room went dark again, his body nearly filling the door frame as he passed through. He had a worn straw hat on his head, the short sleeves and buttons of his filthy linen shirt were stretched to their limit. He shuffled in quickly to the corner of the room.

"I want you to give me your key, Pepper." He bent down to pick up a few rolls of toilet paper. "Just for the day, I don't want to hear any different, just for the day, now. I'm going to duplicate the damn thing so you can go on sleeping and I don't have to stand around waiting for you and your arm to wake up." He grabbed a spray bottle of Briten Up and walked over to Pepper. "The key, now Pepper."

"All right," he said, reaching for his keys. He took it from the loop and handed it out. "Here you go."

The man had the spray bottle in one hand, the rolls of toiler paper under the other arm. "Just put it in my shirt pocket." He did. "Okay well I'll see you later then," he said.

The room was dark as exited, Pepper shut the door and the room was dark again. Pepper sat on his cot, removed his shoes and found a complete change of clothes in a plastic bag under his folding bed. He checked his watch, it was almost eight o'clock.

Pepper left his room, walked up his stairs and around to the front of the house. He slowly opened the screen door, the heavy main door already open. It was quiet inside, he passed through the entry way and to the bathroom. He grabbed a bottle of yellow mouthwash and turned to leave.

"Pepper," a woman's voice came from the parlor. He turned around. She stood in the doorway in a pair on panties and a red frayed and faded robe. Her ribs were nearly visible through a thin layer of skin, her eyes purple in their wells.

"Why, hello, Dee. And good morning."

"Where are you off to?"

"Work, as usual."

"Still over at Bennett's?"

"If today is the same as every one for the last sixteen years, then yes, I'm at Bennett's," he said smiling. "Seen Mister Bridgestone, this morning?"

"I haven't had the pleasure. Seeing him all the time you'd think I'd get to skip a morning once and while."

"You could always sleep until noon."

"You could always fall over a bridge into heavy traffic."

"At least it'd make today different from the rest." He put the mouthwash into his back pocket. "See you, Dee."

"Bye."

Pepper left the house for work.

The garage door was open when arrived. Inside Benny was already draining the oil from a Chevrolet.

"Morning, Benny," Pepper called.

"Hi," Benny said, tightening his bandana. "What the hell you doing?"

Pepper was squatting over the floor, the bottle of mouthwash in one hand, the cap in the other. His cheeks inflated, deflated, he spit into the floor drain and then gasped. "I don't want to offend nobody." Before standing he picked up a washer from the floor.

"If you kept your mouth shut then no one would hear you or smell you," Benny said. He turned back to his work.

Pepper walked to the back of the shop, put the bottle in his locker and headed for the break room. He stood in front of the vending machine, considered Captain Mack's Fried Cheesers, inserted the washer and pressed A-9 for a package of pink Puffy Sno-Puffs.

Back on the shop floor Pepper had his breakfast. "Russ called," Benny said. "He ain't coming in today."

"And why the hell not?"

"Said he's got a 'pointment with the octocologist."

"You mean the octologist."

"Whichever. His ear is all fucked up he said. Must be, too, he kept having me say the same shit over and over again."

"Oh well." Pepper shoved his second Sno-Puff into his mouth. "Guess it'll be a slow day. Works out, really. Russ isn't around to make us keep doing stuff, and we make more money by charging extra labor for doing absolutely nothing."

"My kind of day," agreed Benny. "This oil's just about changed, already."

"I guess we could work on that truck that was dieseling."

"Pepper!"

"Oh, yeah. I meant to say I'll be sitting in the break room."

"Yeah, okay."

Benny and Pepper headed back to the break room, put their boots on the table and stared at the ceiling.

"So, Pepper. I always wanted to ask you something."

"What's that, mang."

"What's it like living where you live?"

"Ah, the basement ain't so bad."

"No, I mean in a whore house."

"Well. First of all it's a brothel. Mr. Bridgestone runs a fine establishment."

"All right."

"Second of all, it's the storage room of a brothel, it's not a basement. And number two, it's the best thing on Earth, mang! Just this morning the first face I saw was Dee's, she's this real hot lady, a real fox, the number one girl, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, okay. What was she wearing?"

"A robe, underwear."

"And?"

"And nothing, mang. Just saw her there with her chest just hanging out. Flapping like the American flag in the wind."

"Goddamn, goddman!"

"Goodamn right, mang."

The service bell rang in the garage.

"Shit," said Pepper, standing up. "I'll go check it out."

"Okay," said Benny, draping his bandana across his eyes.

A man in a gray suit was waiting in the garage. "Hello, there."

"Hi," Pepper said approaching. "What can we do for you?"

"Well, I think my clutch is overheating. I smell this burning rubber when I've run the car."

"Hmm, could be, could be. Where do you have it parked?"

"Oh, right outside," he said, motioning behind him. "Can we take a look?"

"Of course."

Waiting in the lot was a black Jaguar. "Dear lord! This thing's giving you trouble?"

"Yeah, I can't believe it, either."

"I'll be sonofabitched, this thing looks brand new."

"It is. Here, why don't we get in, you drive, tell me what you think."

"Why didn't you take it to the dealer?"

The man pointed the keys at the car, a beep disarmed the car and he handed the keychain to Pepper.

"All right, let's see," he said, excited. He started the engine, adjusted the mirrors and seat. They took out of the lot.

"Seems to be shifting just fine. Sounds fine, no rubbing,"

"Well,"

"And there's no odor, I don't quite-"

"Listen, let's just cut to the chase here."

Pepper down shifted the engine, and stopped the car at a light. He looked at the passenger.

"How would you like to make four hundred dollars?"

Chapter 1

2007-11-01T19:25:00.000-04:00

It was a hot and muggy night. Hours after sun set the air hung heavy and thick. Cars not worth stealing rattled in the streets, swaths of bugs circled the lamps. A single fluorescent flicked in the garage of Bennet's Auto Repair, its last two employees closing for the night.

Russ, the shop manager, took a can of Schlitz from a small cooler and leaning on the closest Pontiac cracked it open. He took a long pull. "What a ridiculous day," he said throwing the can aside.

A voice came from under the car, "It wasn't so bad, mang." Pepper Gray slid out from underneath, leaned up from his dolly.

"Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me, Pepper? After that brown out, just sitting here in the shop for four and a half hours waiting for the power to come back on, in this stinking heat, in this god-forsaken garage, breathing the smell of gasoline all day. You can cross this one off with a marker on your calendar, Pepper, but mine's going to have a big goddamn skid mark across it."

"I feel like I've been changing oil all day," wiping his brow with a filthy pink rag.

"You have been, Pepper."

"I guess you're right. You ever drive some place, and show up there, cut off the engine and wonder how you got there?" Russ took his keys from his pocket. "Kind of like auto pilot, just becomes automatic, you know, you just end up there. Changing oil can be like that."

"Well, good night, Pepper."

"Good night."

Pepper stood, walked to the shop sink and leaning over watched the beer he'd had at lunch stream from his bladder and down the drain. He scratched the back of his head, closed the rolling steel garage door and locked the shop for the night.

He headed out of the shop in the opposite direction of home, kicking along slowly. On the sidewalk the street lights hummed, the insects flicked on the bulbs. Passing underneath Pepper felt the asphalt crackling from the heat. In the distance, above the yellow fog of the lamps, Pepper could hear the drone of the moon, a brother to the fluorescent discs in the garage.

There was a cluster of teenagers in front of the Sunbeam Gasoline smoking mentholated cigarettes, passing a paper bag around. They turned as Pepper approached. "Hey, Pepper" said the tallest of the group, running his hand over his fresh flattop. "Nice hair cut."

Pepper looked up at his bangs, hanging just over his eyebrows. "I haven't had a haircut in months, Teddy."

"Fuck you."

He turned and entered the store, maneuvering his way to a spot beneath a cardboard sign for Custer's Light. Pepper took a twelve-pack from the fridge and read the box quietly to himself. "Appalachian-brewed with the finest rice and barley." He looked back to the fridge and read the only truly important text, "12PK $4.99."

Pepper lifted the case to the counter and nodded to the frayed, toothless woman behind it. He put his hand into his pocket, digging for his cash, admiring the tilt of her burgundy purple wig. Empty, he switched to the other pocket. Empty, too. "Goddamn," he muttered. He reached back to his wallet, opened the fold and as he'd expected found it empty. "Goddamn it." He took the case, returned it to the fridge and walked out of the shop.

The teens were still on the walk, crowded around a trash can. "Hey, you guys can spare me any change? Like a buck each, I don't have any money and I really just need to get a buzz going."

"Ah, shit, Pepper you know we don't have any money. Why else would we be sharing this Pink Petal?" Teddy said.

"Yeah, I thought it was worth a shot."

"I got you, mang," said Plant, a pudgy kid in a denim vest.

"Bullshit, Plant, why'd you hold out on us?"

"I gotta keep some cash for an emergency, like this one," he said reaching into his pocket. "I know I've got it someplace." Pepper held out his hand. "Five bucks, I know it," he switch to another pocket, his hand deep inside. "Oh, here it is," Pepper leaned closer, Plant made a noise with his throat and spit into Pepper's open hand. The group erupted with laughter.

"Man that was messed up man," Pepper said, wiping his hand on the trash bin.

"You deserve it and you know it," Teddy said. Pepper turned and walked away to the sound of enthused high-fiving.

It was a few blocks back to the garage, and a few blocks past that home. Pepper approached the shop, his head hanging in disappointment. He kicked an oil can in the gutter, looked into the shop. By the single flickering light inside and noticed a flash of green on the shop bench. He took his keys from his pocket, entered the shop and went over to the bench. In white text the green can read Tinnley's Paint Thinner. At the sink he filled the half-empty canister with water, pocketed the can, closed the shop and headed home.

Pepper lived the basement of a large white house. The screens peeled from every window, the paint chipped and splintered from the siding. He walked around the back of the house, slapping the bugs from his face as he struggled for his keys under the single bulb over the entrance to his room. He spit a gnat from his mouth as he quickly swung the door open and closed again. Inside he pulled the string for the room's single bulb and sat heavily on his cot. He took the paint thinner from his pocket and after a few determined swallows was fast asleep.