Free Kathy Hogan Trocheck - Truman Kicklighter 02 - Crash Course by Kathy Hogan Trocheck Page A

drums, stacks of tires, a huge Dumpster, mounds of asphalt roofing tiles, paint cans, discarded car parts. Why would somebody fence in junk, Jackie wondered?
    Then she spotted something through the mounds of discards. There was a door into the garage thing and it was open. A shaft of light leaked out into the darkening lot and she saw a flash of bright red paint. Devil red.
    “I knew it,” she said smugly.
    Getting up the fence was surprisingly easy. But once she was at the top, the trip down looked a lot scarier. She closed her eyes and climbed down, feeling for a grip with her foot rather than looking.
    It was dusk, probably a little after eight. Who was inside that building? Jeff, maybe? If he was there, she’d catch him, red-handed, with her car. Ream him a new asshole. She crept between a row of tires, hoping to get the jump on him, heading for the open door.
    When she got closer, she ducked down behind what looked like the passenger seat to a van. The leather had rotted in the sun and foam rubber was bursting from the seat and the back. The door to the garage was maybe ten feet away. The red she’d seen was definitely a car. Her Corvette?
    Her hands stung and her calves burned and ached from her fence-climbing stunt. What had happened to her jazzed feeling? She was this close, and she was scared. Might pee in her pants, she thought, immediately pushing the idea aside. Nobody was moving inside the garage.
    Jackie bit her lip. Screw ‘em. It was her car, wasn’t it? She made a quick dash to the door, stopping just outside, poking her head cautiously around the corner.
    There was her Corvette. Her very own lemon.
    She darted inside. The front end of the ‘Vette was hooked up to a black tow truck.
    She knew it! They were getting ready to move it, hide her car now that Cantrell and his boss knew they couldn’t get away with stealing from Jackie Canaday. That she had the goods on them. They wouldn’t take any chances with it breaking down on them again. That’s why they had it hooked to a tow truck. Only now that she looked closer, she saw that the back end was all bashed in, the taillights busted out, a big hole gashed there.
    What the hell? They’d stolen her car and then wrecked it? She stepped closer and looked in the rear window.
    There was something in the hatch.
    The body was curled up, like somebody who was asleep, with black plastic garbage bags sort of wrapped around it. But the head was all wrong. The neck was twisted awkwardly, so the face was toward her. There was a hole in the face and a lot of blood, but she wouldn’t forget that dimple. Or the carefully moussed hair.
    She jumped, back-pedaling fast, and collided with a silver van.
    Its alarm whooped and echoed in the metal building. “Warning!” a stern voice boomed. “Step away from this vehicle.”
    She didn’t just step, she ran for her life.
    When she was on the other side of the fence, it occurred to her that her hands were cut and bleeding. As she rounded the corner of the garage, she felt a draft from the seat of her jeans, and the knee, too, where she’d snagged her pants on the fence.
    Ollie met her at the corner. His face was beet red and he was breathing hard. “Christ,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here. A cop car just pulled in.”
     

Chapter TEN
     

    “We’re going to jail,” Jackie said, breathlessly, diving headlong into the backseat of the Nova. “Prison. There’ve been Canadays in trouble before. I’m not saying different. But nobody ever went to prison till now.”
    “Be quiet,” Ollie hissed, pulling the driver’s door closed. He raised his head up slowly until it was level with the window.
    “Here comes the gray Lincoln,” Ollie said. “It’s that boss. He’s getting out now, going over to talk to the cops.”
    “Ronnie Bondurant,” Jackie said. “Jesus. Jesus. He killed that boy.”
    “What are you talking about?” Ollie said, whipping his head around to look at her. “What