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

boy?”
    “Jeff,” Jackie said. “He’s dead. I saw him. In that garage. In my car. The ‘Vette. Shot in the face, wrapped up like garbage. Oh, Jesus. I never want to see something like that again.” She shivered even though it was probably ninety degrees inside the closed-up car.
    “He was dead? You’re sure?”
    “Oh, yes,” Jackie said soberly. “And it was my car. They had it hooked up to a tow truck in there. Ollie, I touched it. My fingerprints are all over that car. What if they try to make it look like it was me that killed Jeff? People saw me yelling at him yesterday. And today. What if they try to say it was me? They could do that. Make it look like I broke in. Shot Jeff, ‘cause I figured out he was the one who stole my car.”
    “Nah,” Ollie said. But his voice somehow lacked the ring of conviction.
    “What’s Bondurant doing?” Jackie asked. She couldn’t bring herself to look.
    “He’s checking the lock on the door. Now they’re walking around to this side. Stay down. Hey. Now they’re walking back toward the front. Hey! He’s showing the cops a car.”
    “A car?”
    Now Jackie sat up to look for herself.
    Sure enough, Ronnie Bondurant had the door of a midnight-blue Gran Torino open. The taller of the two cops, a skinny white guy, walked around and slid behind the wheel. Ronnie bent down to show him something. He stood up, brought out the key ring, selected a key, and handed it to the cop.
    They heard the motor start. Saw the other cop laugh, shake his head, then get in the passenger seat. The headlights came on and the Gran Torino glided out of the Bondurant Motors’ car lot at a sedate ten miles per hour. After all, they were cops, and they were on duty.
    Jackie stared at the disappearing red taillights. “They’re going for a test drive. There’s a dead guy in that garage, and those goofballs are going for a test drive.”
    Ronnie Bondurant beat it toward the office. He wasn’t running, but he was making good time. He unlocked the door and stepped inside. They saw lights switch on.
    “We’ve got to do something,” Jackie said. “By the time those cops get back, anything could happen.”
    “What can we do?” Ollie asked unhappily. He’d been more than willing to eat Vietnamese food and go along with the charade of a stakeout. It was exciting. But now, things had gone too far. He hadn’t counted on finding a body or breaking and entering or getting mixed up with police and heavily armed used-car dealers.
    “Let’s just leave,” Ollie suggested. “Right now, before that Bondurant guy comes out and spots us.” He turned the key in the ignition and started the Nova. The gas pedal was going to be a problem. As would be seeing over the steering wheel.
    “We can’t just leave,” Jackie said, tugging at his arm. “Jeff’s dead. And he’s in my car. We’ve gotta call the cops. Or they’ll find him and think I did it.”
    “You? You couldn’t have killed him. I was with you all night. You don’t even have a gun. I’m your alibi.”
    “They might not believe you,” Jackie said. “That’s why we’ve got to be the ones to tell them about the body. I’ll go back inside the restaurant and call 911. You stay out here and watch, okay?”
    “Okay,” Ollie said reluctantly.
    Jackie was gone for a long time. Ollie watched the front door and the side of Bondurant Motors so hard that his neck got a cramp and his eyes started to water.
    He glanced across the street toward the Candy Store, just to rest his eyes. Cars were still streaming into the parking lot and people were lined up to get inside. But now the short bald bouncer he’d seen before was gone.
    In his place was the woman of Ollie’s dreams. She was statuesque and slender, with long, jet-black hair that streamed over her shoulders and skin the color of lightly toasted almonds. She appeared to be wearing nothing more than a pair of sneakers, a gold lame bikini top, and a matching thong. When she bent over to