Salvation Read Online Free Page A

condition. All
in all, it was fairly nightmarish.
    Skye cut the engine and was out of the
truck almost before it stopped moving, dashing up to the clock and running his
hands over the face. “This is the greatest thing ever,” he exclaimed as I
climbed over the bench seat and got out through his door. “Please tell me it
still has its gears,” he murmured, ducking down and looking behind it. “Oh wow,
it does!”
    Meanwhile, a stooped African American
man of about ninety had come out of a trailer to our right. He slowly made his
way over to us, relying heavily on an ornate wooden cane that he clutched in a
hand gnarled by arthritis. “Hey there, Skye.” His voice was gravelly. “I’m glad
Elvis called you first. I told him you’d appreciate somethin’ like this.”
    “It’s amazing.” Skye was totally
sincere, an expression of awe on his cute face.
    “You know, a lot of people want them
clock gears and things,” the little old man said. “This here is a high-demand
item.”
    “Elvis already told me I could have it
for a hundred, Tommy,” Skye said with a grin. “It’s too late to jack up the
price.”
    “A hundred! He’s givin’ it away! How am
I supposed to make a livin’ with my grandson handin’ out deals like that?”
    “Repeat business! You know I’m a
customer for life, Tommy.”
    “Yeah, you better remember ol’
Tommy once you’re a big shot artist!” The man’s smile was made up of more gold
than teeth.
    Skye smiled too. “You know I will.
You’re totally stuck with me.” He turned his attention back to the clock,
taking hold of the hands and positioning them at ten and two. “Where’d it come
from?”
    “An old toy store in Vallejo that’s
gettin’ torn down to make room for some kinda fancy transit center. A few
pickers including Elvis got to go in there first and do some salvage.”
    “It’s so great,” Skye murmured.
    “It’ll never fit in the truck,” I
pointed out.
    “Sure it will,” Skye said. “We’ll make
it fit. By the way, Tommy, this is my new friend Trevor. He works with my
brother. Trevor, this is the legendary Tommy Dulane, greatest trumpet player to
ever come out of the west coast swing scene, and now purveyor of fine
architectural salvage.”
    That earned another big smile from
Tommy. “Now you’re just butterin’ me up. How short on cash are ya?”
    “I’m not just saying that. You’re a
legend, Tommy. It has nothing to do with the fact that I only have seventy-six
dollars.”
    “You know we have a strict
cash-on-the-barrelhead policy here, Skye.”
    “I know, but I have to have this!
You know I’m good for the rest. Please, Tommy?” He actually hugged the huge
clock to his slender body, his big blue eyes pleading.
    “Rules are rules, kid.”
    Skye let go of the clock and dashed back
to his truck, where he began digging through the mess on the floor. A moment
later, he waved a crumpled dollar bill. “Seventy-seven dollars!” He held up the
brown paper bag. “And two sandwiches!”
    I wanted to protest that he was trying
to give my lunch away along with his, but the look of sheer desperation on his
face made me feel bad for him. I pulled out my wallet, counted my cash, and
said, “I have six bucks, so we’re up to eighty-three dollars. Look how much
room that thing is taking up in your salvage yard, Mr. Dulane. It’s filling
valuable real estate. Wouldn’t you like to see it gone? I know I would if this
was my place.”
    Tommy chuckled at that and finally
relented. “Fine, but just this one time, you hear? And keep it quiet! I don’t
want word gettin’ out that Dulane’s is extending credit to any little
blue-haired white boy that comes along and says pretty-please.”
    “I won’t say a word,” Skye promised.
    “I expect the rest next time I see you,
kid. Keep your lunch, though. The two of you look like a strong breeze would
knock you right over, you need those sandwiches more’n I do.”
    Skye jogged over to the little old