Free The Long Lavender Look by John D. MacDonald Page B

and grease-blackened T-shirt.
    Thick black glossy hair that fell to his big shoulders.
    "You Mr. McGee?" When I nodded, he said, "I'm Ron Hatch. My father is Johnny Hatch. He owns this place. He didn't want me to fool with that Rolls on account of on an impounded car, we're stuck with it. But I couldn't stand having it just sit. So he said it had to be on my own time.
    I just finished with it maybe an hour ago. I pulled the tank and the head, got it all kerosened out, blew the fuel lines, got the ignition system all dry, coil and all. The battery took a charge. That tire is done, and I guess you'll have to check around Miami to find a Dunlop that'll go on that rim."
    "I'm grateful you didn't let it sit, Ron."
    "Hell, it's a great old brute. All that hand-lapping and custom machining and fitting. The bushings are like perfect, Mr. McGee. But there's this problem." He had the big leathery banana-fingered hand of the born artisan. He pulled a complex fitting out of the pocket of the jeans. "See where this is broke off fresh? It maybe happened when you hit the bank, going down.
    It's the fitting out at the end of the steering arm, front left. I put a clamp on there for temporary, just enough to baby it out here to park, but you couldn't drive it. There's no machine shop I know of can make one on account of right in here, and here, they're not standard threads, so they wouldn't have the taps the right size, and it isn't something you can cast because it takes a lot of strain."
    "I've- got a mechanic friend in Palm Beach at a place where they stock Rolls parts from the year one."
    "Maybe he'll have to have this to match it up right. Meanwhile ... maybe I could do some body and fender work."
    "What do I owe you so far?"
    He looked uncomfortable. "The way it works, garages have to bid for the county contract. So it's seventy-five dollars for towing, and ten dollars a day for it while it was impounded. With the tax that's a hundred and nine twenty. Once we got word this morning from the sheriff's office we could release the car to you, then the ten a day stopped."
    "And if they'd kept me in there for ninety days?"
    "Then ... if people don't want to pay the storage, like if the car isn't worth it anyway Dad wholesales them for what he can get. The word around was that you and your friend had surely killed Frank Baither and you got caught, and that's why my father said it didn't make any sense working on your car. But ... I just couldn't stand seeing it sit the way it was, machinery like that. I mean I did it on my own and if you figure you don't want to pay anything over the towing and storage, that's okay."
    I separated two bills from the packet Lennie had handed me. A fifty and a hundred. "Get me a receipted bill on the towing and storage, please. And put the rest against your hours and we'll settle up when you're done."
    "Body work?"
    "You wouldn't use a filler, would you?"
    "You better be kidding." And I knew how he'd do it, banging the dings out with the rubber mallet, sanding, burnishing, smoothing, using a little lead sparingly where it couldn't be helped, sanding down a couple of coats of primer, then using a top-quality body paint, sanding between coats.
    "Do you expect to be able to match that paint, Ron?"
    "It's a terrible paint job anyway. I'd rather do the whole thing. What I'd like to do it is yellow in a lot of coats of a good gold flake lacquer with a lot of rubbing between coats."
    "Sorry, but it has to stay blue. Sentimental reasons."

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    He shrugged. "That same shade?"
    "Not exact."
    He smiled for the first time. He looked relieved. "I can get it looking fine. Wait and see. I hope you get that fitting soon. I can't really fine time it unless I can open it up some on the road. On the lift isn't the same."
    The old man in the office came out and bawled, "Ronnie! Come get the phone!"
    The boy took off, big lope, long strides. And the immediate image was superimposed on memory. The determined look of the girl,