Page 123 of Fish in a Barrel
“No, and fuck you,” Jackson told him pleasantly. “Junior and I have some car bullshit to take care of.”
“Fine. Kryzynski’s house, Sunday? The Kings are playing.”
“We’ll be there,” Henry said before Jackson could give pushback about watching sports. Henry was right. Of course they’d be there, because Sean Kryzynski was their friend and being off duty while he recovered from a punctured lung was driving him batshit. Jackson just didn’t like being easy.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson muttered. “Don’t let Junior here cater. He thinks iced coffee should be decaf.”
Christie let out a horrified gasp. “Heathen! Jesus, no. I’ll bring beer, chips, popcorn, and something with protein. You assholes bring whatever you want.” He pulled out the radio at his side. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got this to take care of.”
Jackson looked up to where the tow truck had just arrived and breathed a sigh of relief. “And we have our own date with destiny,” he said. “Junior, go get our bags o’ crap. We’re catching a ride with the tow-truck guy.”
Henry groaned. “Can’t I just take a Lyft?”
“No. Because we’ve got two more cases to look into after this one, and I’m not stopping because somebody creamed our car.”
“But Jackson,” Henry said quietly as they walked away from Andre Christie. “What about insurance, getting the car fixed—all that?”
Jackson shook his head violently. “I’ve got money,” he said, knowing he sounded stubborn and not caring. “I’ve got money, and I’ve got connections, and—”
“Wait a minute,” Henry said, and the suspicion in his voice was fair. “This isn’t… you know…?”
“Hurricane Joey and his Nine-Inch Dick?” Jackson said, nodding. “Yes. Yes it is. Because he’s got some guys that do bodywork in their spare time.”
“But what are we going to drive in the meantime?”
Jackson didn’t want to think about it. “I got nothin’,” he said. “But Joey reassures me he’s got a vehicle I can borrow.”
Henry scrubbed his face and groaned. “Oh, I am not going to like this,” he muttered.
“You don’t have to,” Jackson reassured him. “This is all on me.”
Famous last words. God, Jackson shuddered to think.
ELLERY GOThome about an hour after Jackson did, but part of that was because Jackson and Henry had been busy, and Ellery had been doing the paperwork that came with their productivity. Jackson had texted him, assuring him that everything was fine, just fine, and he was home broiling chicken and preparing vegetables, and all was right with the world.
Ellery didn’t trust a world in which there were no wrongs. He trusted it even less when he pulled his beloved vehicle into the garage and saw the… the monstrosity parked in Jackson’s usual space.
He was at a loss. At least ten years old, with primer spots where paint had been flaked off in the weather, it had once been a deep-brown-colored Chrysler Town & Country. Since then it had apparently been with a family that washed it with rocks and then passed it on to a company that believed in stripping big gouts of paint from the sides. Ellery could barely make out the printing where the plastic ad-wrap had gone.
Cleaning and Repair…
Oh dear.
Ellery shook his head. Not angry, really, just curious. WherewasJackson’s car, and what was this abomination doing parked in its—
The car’s lights went on.
Ellery stared at it.
The lights came on, blinked once, twice, three times, and then went off. Then the car horn beeped.
“What in the he—”
The back hatch slowly began to rise.
Ellery paused, thinking he could actually look inside the demonic machine, or he could go into the house and ask Jackson what in the world of fuck this thing was doing here.
“Jackson!” he hollered, heading for the garage step. “Jackson! The actual hell!”
