stuck the sidearm in his waistband, and told Kerry that he had to get going. He stretched his free arm around his brotherâs shoulders, gave him a playful shake, and asked him not to tell anyone heâd stopped by for a visit.
Kerry made a zipped-lips motion with his fingers and smiled in his typical bland, gullible way.
âIâll call you from the road,â Larson said. âDoes Lenny have anybody working with him?â
âHe sure donât.â
Larson left his brother on the front porch, walked up the lane, got in the Honda, and drove away. It was time to find a new vehicle, and he knew just the man to help him make the switch.
Â
Â
The garage where Kerryâs pal Lenny had his auto body repair shop was along an alley at the back of a house. Parked at the side of the garage were four cars with crumpled fenders, bashed-in front ends, or smashed door panels. Along the backyard fence, a sweet four-wheel-drive pickup with an off-road package was parallel parked.
The sound of a grinder on metal greeted Larson as he got out of the Honda. He spotted Lenny at the back of the garage, working on a rear rocker panel, and walked to him.
When Lenny looked up and saw Larson, he turned off the grinder, lowered his mask, and smiled. âWhat brings you by here in the middle of the day?â he asked. âYou got some work for me?â
Larson had figured Lenny would mistake him for Kerry. He pulled out the semiautomatic and pointed it at Lennyâs face. âYouâve got the wrong twin, my friend.â
Lenny pushed his safety goggles up to his forehead and blinked hard. His face flushed red and he started to breathe rapidly. âWhatâs the gun for?â
âYouâre kidding, right?â Larson said. Lenny was short. In fact you could call him stubby. He had big round eyes and a thick neck that made him look porky.
Lenny put the grinder down. âI donât even know you, mister.â
Larson half-expected him to start stuttering like Porky Pig. âIâm going to kill you for calling Crime Stoppers on me.â
âI did no such thing,â Lenny blustered, almost stuttering.
âThatâs a lie, Lenny. Tell me one more lie and youâre a dead man. Did you do it for the money?â
Lenny stared into Larsonâs eyes for a long moment and then slowly nodded. âTimes are hard. I needed the cash. Ainât even got it yet.â
Larson smiled. âThatâs better, Lenny. Itâs always good to tell the truth.â
âDonât kill me.â
âWeâll see about that. How about we get in your truck and go for a ride.â
âTake the truck, the keys are in it.â
âI need a driver, Lenny. Is it gassed up?â
âI filled the tank yesterday.â
âExcellent. Do a good job as my driver and I might let you live. But first, we need to bring that Honda in here and lock it in your garage. Letâs go.â
Larson kept Lenny company with the handgun aimed at his chest while the Honda got put away out of sight. In the pickup, Larson stowed the rolled-up clothes under the passenger seat with the shotgun and told Lenny to head east on the state highway toward the town of Clayton.
âWhere are you taking me?â Lenny asked. He was sweating through his shirt.
âOn a scenic country drive.â Larson cranked up the air conditioner. âHow long have you lived in Springer, Lenny?â
âTwelve years come this September. I got a wife and two teenage kids. Thatâs why I needed the money.â
âPerfectly understandable,â Larson said amiably. âDo you know the back roads around here?â
âSome,â Lenny answered.
âGood. Iâm gonna tell you what roads to take. If you get me to where I want to go, you may just live to spend that Crime Stoppersâ money on your wife and kids. You savvy?â
Lenny gulped and nodded.
About twenty-five miles outside