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I smirked again, leaning into his claim, knowing it would unnerve him. “It doesn’t seem very smart to give a crazy person a hard time, does it?” Then I whacked him in the shoulder with the wrench, not hard enough to do more than lightly bruise, just to show him I wasn’t afraid to use it.
The man growled a curse word and screwed up his face. “He already told you. The car was just dropped off. No one’s come around about it. I fucking wish they’d taken it someplace else.”
Fair enough. I tapped the wrench against my open palm, my gaze darting between the two mechanics. “What about your regular clients, the ones youdoknow? Is there anyone who you work with regularly who’s brought in other stolen cars like hers?”
“Our clients don’t know shit about your car,” the bigger man grumbled.
“That’s not what I asked,” I reminded him, aiming another kick at his ribs.
“Fuck,” he sputtered, his head lolling back for a moment as he fought through the pain. “We don’t have any consistent regulars on that side of the business. Different people come by—maybe some of them work for the same organization. We don’t ask questions. We don’t get ID.”
Well, that wasn’t completely surprising, even if it wasn’t all that useful. “What about new people?” I asked. “Has anyone you’ve never dealt with before come in asking questions or sniffing around?”
“You mean like you and your shitty friends?” the big guy snarked.
I slammed the wrench into his kneecap to remind him just how shitty I could be. “Like us, or just seeming more interested than usual in your business in any way. Answer the fucking question.”
“No,” he grated out. “I haven’t noticed anyone like that, or I’d happily send you off to hassle them instead of us, you maniac. Have you checked out the junk yard? That’s the main chop shop in town. He knows a lot more people than us.”
I brought down the wrench on the man’s other kneecap. His shout of pain felt good as it drowned out the small cry of pain I’d heard from Maddie when she fell. Each of his sounds of discomfort warded away my memories of Maddie’s a little at a time. “Right now I want to hear from you assholes, not anyone else.”
“Man, we’re telling you all we know,” the smaller guy said raggedly.
I was becoming increasingly sure that was true, but I couldn’t let this go. I needed some kind of direction, something that brought us closer to finding that box and keeping Madelyn away from thugs like these for good.
Maybe they were connected to the larger case in ways that hadn’t even occurred to us before. I cast a narrow glance at both of the men. “What do you know about Southwestern Regional Memorial Hospital?”
I didn’t even need a verbal response to that question as they looked amongst themselves, confusion written across both of their faces.
“Never heard of it,” the big guy said. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m asking the questions here. Do you know anything about a man named Evan Silver?”
More visible confusion. “You’re fucking insane, man,” the smaller guy said. “What the hell are you going on about now?”
I couldn’t help pushing one more time. “What about the Baldwin file?”
“Do we look like file clerks?” the big guy grumbled, and coughed out a grunt when I jabbed the toe of my shoe into his side. “Fucking hell. We have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” I said. “But the car didn’t drop down from heaven.Someonebrought it around, someone picked this place. So I guess I’ll just have to keep laying into you until one of you comes up with something useful.”
I brought the wrench down on the shoulder I’d already hit, knowing it’d be tender, and gave the man a vicious grin. Then I turned to the smaller man, waving the tool threateningly. He outright cringed—and I saw a desperate spark light in his eyes.
“There was something a little weird!” he gasped out. “I almost forgot. I don’t know if it had anything to do with that stupid car, but maybe…”
“Just spit it out,” I ordered.
He winced at the threat in my tone. “I—I noticed a couple of guys scoping out the shop early one morning when I was out by the street finishing off a cigarette. It was a few weeks ago, way before the car turned up. I didn’t think to connect the two. But I’d never seen them before, and I wondered why they were checking out the place.”
I waggled the wrench again, a flare of hope filling my chest. This expedition might not have been for nothing after all. “Describe them.”
“I didn’t see them clearly… They were wearing hooded jackets and shades. Definitely guys, a couple of them. But their car—it was vintage. That was part of the reason I noticed them. They drove off in it less than a minute after I spotted them.”
Now there was a lead we could use.
“What model?” I demanded, raising the wrench one more time in warning. “Tell me every detail you remember.”
