Lemons Never Lie

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Authors: Richard Stark
them."
    Purgy had reached the truck, and now he turned around and made a down-pushing motion with one hand to tell them to stop. Hughes left the engine running, and opened the door, and a second later so did Grofield.
    It was very strange. They were waist deep in dogs, and it was like moving through a sluggish black sea full of eyes and teeth. The dogs kept circling, kept moving around without ever making a single noise, and always moved out of the way whenever Grofield or Hughes or Purgy walked anywhere. But Grofield kept being aware of them, down there around his wrists, moving, watching, waiting, and after a while the total absence of sound – no barking, no growling, nothing – became the most nerve-wracking part of it, as though tension were being built that would have to end with incredible noises and destruction.
    Purgy and Hughes immediately started talking about the truck, and Grofield did his best to pay attention and not think about the dogs. In the usual manner of buyer and seller, Purgy kept pointing out how good the truck was and Hughes kept suggesting flaws it probably had. "Looks as though she was driven pretty hard," Hughes said, holding the driver's door open and leaning his head in beside the seat. "Look at that brake pedal, how she's worn on the one side. Some cowboy drove the hell out of her."
    "Why, that truck's only two years old," Purgy said. He had a high-pitched voice, but very hoarse, as though he'd worn his throat out reaching for high notes. "Barely broke in," he said. "Where you going to find a truck this new at the price I'm asking?"
    Grofield stood and watched. This wasn't his specialty; he was along to drive the extra vehicle if they bought the truck.
    Hughes looked under the hood. "Got pliers on you?"
    "You ain't gonna take it apart," Purgy said.
    "Just want to take a look. We need a tape measure, too."
    "You don't want much," Purgy grumbled, and turned to Grofield. "See that bread truck there? Take a look in the back, there's a toolkit, bring it on over."
    "Okay."
    "Dogs!" Purgy yelled. "Stay!"
    They stayed. Grofield walked across the brown dirt to the bread truck and found the toolkit in the back, and none of the dogs followed him. But when he started back he saw half the dogs back there by Purgy standing absolutely still and watching him. Six or seven of them, that was, with an equal number still moving around Hughes. Grofield carried the toolkit over and put it on the ground by the truck, and the watching dogs started to mill with the others again.
    Hughes took the pliers and tape, and handed the tape to Grofield. "Size of the opening in back," he said.
    "Right."
    The inevitable three or four dogs traveled with him as he went around to the back of the truck and opened the doors there. He climbed up into the trailer, and was half-surprised that none of the dogs leaped up after him.
    The interior of the trailer was bare, except for two pipes running the length of it just above head level. To hang furs on, probably. Grofield measured the opening, spent a minute walking around the interior, stamping on the floor, pushing against the walls, and then he dropped down amid the dogs again and went back to where Hughes and Purgy were arguing over a sparkplug in Hughes' hand. Purgy was saying, "I give you this truck the way it come to me. I don't switch sparkplugs, I don't set back the mileage, I don't do nothing. It's yours, the way the guy drove it in here, for two grand."
    Hughes said, "Now you know I'm not gonna pay two thousand dollars for this truck."
    "Where you gonna get a truck like this?"
    "As hot as this? Nowhere." He turned and looked questioningly at Grofield.
    Grofield said, "Fifty-seven inches wide, eighty-four inches high."
    "Narrow," Hughes said. "I'm not sure we can use it at all."
    "You don't want to buy the truck," Purgy said, "nobody's got a gun to your head."
    Grofield said to Hughes, "The floor seems okay."
    Hughes nodded and leaned in at the engine.
    Purgy said, "What are ya

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