Hiding Tom Hawk Read Online Free Page A

insurance companies.” Tom was afraid to breathe. He was pushing his luck with these demands, and he tried to look angrier than he felt while he watched Robert’s face blanch.
    Robert pleaded, “No. Please no. Look, you can keep my other car if I can’t get you the money.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Yes, as God is my witness.”
    “I guess I can live with that, Robert.”
    “I don’t know your name.”
    “Tom Hawk.”
    Robert pumped his hand eagerly. “Robert Matthews. I really appreciate us keeping this quiet.”
    “Yeah. Is your other car, the one you said I can use, here?”
    “Uh-huh. Beth lets me keep it in the garage. Come on.”
    They walked behind the house to a three-car concrete block garage, much newer than the house but still no more recent than 1930. There were cracks in the walls, there was rust on the faded and sagging double doors, and it had needed a new roof for a long time. Robert wrestled with the first set of doors and revealed his second set of wheels. Tom had assumed the Plymouth was his work car, and he would give Tom something better to use. He was disappointed.
    “Is that what I think it is?” He eyed what looked like a scale model of a fifties convertible, with a scraggly chocolate brown canvas top over a tiny faded vanilla body.
    “Yes, sir. It’s a 1955 Nash Metropolitan, the only one in the county, maybe the only one in the Upper Peninsula. How about that, huh?”
    Huh, indeed. The diminutive roadster was rare, but hardly desirable, let alone collectable. “Does it run?” Tom questioned doubtfully.
    “Well, geez, sure it will, for a month or two. It was made in England so it’s not so good when the weather is cold.”
    Cold weather accounted for three quarters of the year in Houghton, Greg had told Tom. Nine months of winter, and three months of bad skiing. “Can I get in it?” meaning, Can I even fit in this toy?
    “Go ahead. It’s not locked. Actually, the door locks don’t work.”
    That probably didn’t matter, as there was a hole in the side of the canvas top where you could stick your arm through and grasp the inside door handle. Tom moved the seat full rearward—there wasn’t much travel—and squeezed in. It was freakishly small. Every surface of the little cabin seemed to touch him like he was wearing a vanilla-colored metal jumpsuit. Maybe he could drive with the top down. Regardless, he had to take this or walk.
    He clambered out. “I want to keep the Cutlass in this garage until it gets repaired.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Beth might not like that. She can have a temper. “
    Robert was scared of his landlady.
    “You’ll have to convince her.”
    “Yeah, I suppose I will. Hopefully she’s in the house. First, just give me a minute here.”
    Robert walked to the Plymouth, opened the back door and pulled out five or six pizza boxes. He put them in the trunk, covered them carefully with a tarp, locked the trunk and tested the lock. He was putting food in a car trunk in August?
    “It’s a pretty hot day.” Tom unconsciously massaged his shoulder.
    “Huh? Oh, you mean my, ah, pizzas. They’ll keep. Are you sure someone shouldn’t look at that arm?”
    “I’ll be fine. Maybe we can go to your room and get me those two hundred dollars?”
    “Right.”
    “Maybe you should call your boss now too, and see if he’s going to help you out?”
    “Yeah, I guess. I’m hoping he’ll pay because he’ll want it kept private too. He might just fire me. He doesn’t like me all that well. I wasn’t paying enough attention to my driving.”
    Unemployed, Robert would have a hard time paying for repair of the Cutlass. Tom encouraged him. “I’m sure you’re a good employee. An accident can happen to anyone. You worry too much.”
    “I suppose I do. A lot is going on. I’ve got this personal thing coming up, this person coming to see me. I’m nervous about it.”
    Nervous was the word, all right. Robert feared Tom, his boss, and his landlady. It sounded like