Duncan Delaney and the Cadillac of Doom Read Online Free

billboard manifesting Smiling Jack’s face soared over them. The Smiling Jack keeping vigil from above had manhole sized nostrils, most of his original teeth and hair, and looked thirty years younger than the worn and wrinkled gnome in the cowboy hat beside them.
    “How much?” Duncan asked.
    They had spent the previous night celebrating his first real sale, and he had a hangover twice the size of his Stetson. Smiling Jack kicked a wheel with the steel tip of a shiny white snake skin boot.
    “Brand-new radials,” he said.
    Benjamin examined the tires. “Retreads.”
    “How much?” Duncan repeated.
    His brain hurt and a foul taste resided beneath his tongue. He was in no mood for haggling. Smiling Jack pushed his white cowboy hat back. The act deviated his toupee an inch.
    “Look here.” He opened the engine hatch. “Rebuilt engine.”
    Benjamin contemplated the oil dripping onto the asphalt. “Needs a head gasket.”
    “Damn it,” Duncan said, “would you please tell me how much?”
    Smiling Jack grasped the lapels of his white coat and looked thoughtful. “I see your friend knows cars, boy. Tell you what.” Smiling Jack hawked up something green and spat. “Seven hundred and it’s yours.”
    “Seven hundred!” Duncan exclaimed.
    “And that’s one hell of a deal.”
    Duncan despaired. The night before, somewhere between the last ding dong and the third six-pack, he had extracted the shoe box from beneath his bed. When he finished counting, he had clutched less than half the three thousand he had expected to find. He had forgotten about a ski trip to Jackson Hole he treated Tiffy to the previous winter.
    “We’ll give you five.” Benjamin said.
    “I like your people.” Smiling Jack smelled a deal. He took a half-smoked cigar from his pocket and proceeded to re-ignite it. “So I’ll let it go for six.”
    Benjamin smiled back. “Four.”
    Smiling Jack frowned. He normally did not do that, and he did not want to set precedent, but he felt he must impart to these young men the seriousness of their error.
    “You got the concept wrong, boy. I set a price, you make an offer, we meet in the middle.” Smiling Jack smiled again. “Understandee?”
    Benjamin took out his Bowie knife and commenced cleaning his fingernails. Smiling Jack stopped smiling. Smiling Jack went pale.
    Here we go, Duncan thought.
    “Three,” Benjamin said.
    Smiling Jack swallowed hard. Conroy, his other salesman, was on the far end of the lot showing a forty-seven year old middle school teacher a seventy-two Volvo. Conroy carried a single-action Beretta semi-auto, but even if he were standing there Smiling Jack would have a hard time defining the threat, and you could not just launch bullets at an Indian for nothing anymore anyhow. A shimmer of sweat grew on his upper lip. He considered the fact that he paid one hundred and fifty for the van three weeks ago and that it had sat on his lot oozing oil since.
    “Fine,” Smiling Jack said. “Three. And I’ll throw in a case of thirty weight.”
    “And a tank of gas,” Duncan said. It was to be his car. He wanted to participate.
    “Sure,” Smiling Jack said. “Why not?”
    A mechanic loaded the oil and filled the tank. Duncan traded cash for pink slip and key and started the bus in a smoky blue cloud. Benjamin got in the Purgatory Truck and followed him off the lot. Smiling Jack fanned his face with his hat as he watched them drive away. Conroy came over and took a pewter flask from his jacket. He removed the cap and held the flask to his lips, then proffered it to Smiling Jack. Smiling Jack took a long pull and screwed the cap back on.
    “And they say we stole from the Indian,” he muttered.
       
    Tiffy was sitting on her porch swing next to Danny Carpenter when Duncan pulled into the Bradshaw’s yard. Danny had loved Tiffy ever since that incident in kindergarten when she kissed him in the coat closet during nap time. After that, Danny made sure Tiffy never lacked