Kathy Hogan Trocheck - Truman Kicklighter 01 - Lickety-Split Read Online Free Page A

son,” he said. “Check the trunk for money or luggage, dump out the ashtrays and make sure there’s no chewing gum on the seats.” Chewing gum was a rental car’s worst enemy.
    Curtis switched off the vacuum reluctantly. He liked to do things right. He got out and flicked a rag on the hood of the car.
    “You got anything doing tonight?” Butch asked, casual-like.
    Curtis scrubbed at a spot on the hood that looked like seagull poop. “Me and Tammi were just gonna maybe go out to Sunshine Speedway. You wanna ride out there with us?”
    “Might,” Butch said. He let Curtis get the windshield of the Escort covered with window spray before he spoke again.
    “Say, you remember that boy come in here and rented the green Cutlass a couple weeks ago? Blond college-looking guy?”
    Curtis straightened up and thought back. “Guy said some colored dude stole his Porsche. That the guy you mean?”
    “Yeah. That’s him. He was supposed to come last Monday and bring the insurance money to pay for the Cutlass. When he didn’t show, I took a ride over to his place. You know what he does for a living?”
    “No, what?”
    “He’s kind of like a scientist. That’s what. Works on some secret NASA space program. What he does is, he works on computers.”
    “Huh,” Curtis said. “Did the boy give you the money?”
    “No,” Butch said slowly. “He said the insurance settlement ain’t come in yet. We got to talking, though, and after I told him I was gonna have to hook up the Cutlass to the towbar and take it back, he told me about this deal he’s got going. See, Wade—that’s his name, Wade Hardeson—old Wade has got this computer at his work rigged up to pick the Double Q out at the dog track.”
    “That’s good?” Curtis asked.
    “Yeah,” Butch said, trying to be patient. “That’s real good. They had a Double Q over in Tampa last season, woman won one hundred thousand dollars on a two-dollar ticket.”
    “Cool,” Curtis said. He went over to the workbench, got a can of air freshener, and spritzed the spray around the interior of the Escort.
    The fragrance of lilacs wafted through the garage.
    Butch sniffed appreciatively. “You know, that stuff smells like the crap Cookie used to take a bath in. Not bad.”
    “Now, like I was saying,” he continued, “Wade was telling me maybe he’d meet us at the track tonight, tell us which dogs to bet on in a couple of races.”
    “And then we’ll be even,” Curtis said.
    “I was thinking, though,” Butch said, “maybe he should give us this computer thingy. So we could bet all the races. Win big.”
    Curtis looked doubtful. Frown lines crossed his grease- stained forehead.
    “I don’t know, Dad,” he said. “That Cutlass has got about two hundred thousand miles on it and the transmission’s shot. I don’t think he’s gonna think that’s a fair trade.”
    “Maybe he won’t,” Butch agreed. “That’s why I was thinking you could go with me tonight. You, me, and that .38 of yours.”
    “Ah-he-e-em.”
    It was an exaggerated throat-clearing. Both men looked in the direction it was coming from, from the doorway of the bay.
    Tammi Stargell’s body was outlined by the sunlight streaming into the dim garage. She was tall and skinny, with long, stringy arms and legs. She’d cut her dishwater-colored hair short, bleached it blond, and she had these little strands hanging down over her eyes, like some kind of anorexic sheepdog. She wore dark brown eye shadow and pale pink lipstick. Butch thought she looked like something out of the late-night creature feature. Curtis thought she looked awesome.
    “Somebody wants the Escort,” she said. “You about done, Curtis?”
    “Let me just gas it up and pull it around to the front and it’ll be ready to roll,” Curtis said, sliding in behind the wheel.
    “About time,” Tammi muttered.
    After Curtis had backed the car out of the bay, she walked over to Butch, who was pretending to read the paper again.
    “I