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Wormy wheezed out a laugh and spat another stream of tobacco juice. “So it seems. We’ll get you fixed up. Got some stuff that’ll take the paint right off. Though you might consider keepin’ it how it is. Thataways everyone’ll know when you’re comin’.”
“I’ll consider it.”
A white Cadillac pulled into the far bay, and I froze as I remembered what Vaughn had told us about Reverend Oglesby being run off the road. Wormy went down to greet the middle-aged guy who got out of it, but I didn’t recognize him. A tan passenger van pulled in next to the Cadillac and I lost sight of it.
I rubbed at my arms with unease and tried to maneuver around to get a license plate number from the Cadillac, but the car was already in the bay with another car pulled in behind it, blocking most of the car from my view. It would have looked suspicious for me to go down and start checking things out. Kenny Laubach saw me staring as he made his way to the rack of tools along the wall, and I quickly turned my gaze.
I needed to find out who owned that white Cadillac. Not that there weren’t a million white Cadillac’s out there to begin with, and the chance of that being the same one was probably slim, but I needed to know. I was going to have to ask George, no way around it.
I turned my attention back to my Suburban and watched as George worked the levers and chains with expertise. His muscles strained across his shoulders and arms, and when he lifted his arms to release the lock on the pulley, I saw the tiny mark on his tricep. My hand felt for the Beretta in my pocket and I took a step back before I remembered we were in public.
It wasn’t a large tattoo, but it was a symbol I’d recently become familiar with—a shield and sword design topped by a crown. It matched the brand I’d found on Reverend Oglesby perfectly.
“It’s slow this morning,” George said, making me jump. It was the first words he’d said to me since we’d left the funeral home. “I’ll get started on the tires now. Wormy can deal with the other later. It’ll be $1200 total. Cash or credit.”
The spit had dried up in my mouth and the familiar taste of fear rose like bile in the back of my throat. I was tired of the fear. Tired of looking over my shoulder every time I went outdoors. But I couldn’t seem to help it. And obviously there was that need for fear if men like George Murphy were involved in what we thought they were.
I took my hand from the pocket that held my gun and wiped my sweaty palm on my coat. I needed to stay calm and play it cool. Jack would be here soon. At least he would once I texted him and told him about the tattoo on George’s arm and the white Cadillac.
I think more than a minute went by with us staring at each other in silence, and it wasn’t until I felt the calm start to take control again that I realized what he’d said. “Twelve-hundred dollars?” My voice chose that moment to crack and fade, and I coughed to try and hide it.
“Four new tires and the paint removal. That’s labor intensive.”
“What about four used tires?” I asked.
“I’d have to go over to the dealership in Richmond. They have pre-owned. I could probably have them by Monday. Tuesday if they aren’t backed up. Still run you eight-fifty though.”
I could put the tires on my emergency credit card. Barely. But I’d been using it to live off of while I’d been recovering, and my limit would be maxed out if I did. But Mrs. Perry’s interment would help alleviate that some.
“Fine. New tires it is.”
I waited until George had the Suburban in the bay and then went in the tiny office that also doubled as a waiting room. There was a black and white TV in the corner and wood paneling on the walls. It smelled of grease, sweat and old cigarette smoke. There was a coffee pot plugged in with what looked like a fresh brew, but I couldn’t bring myself to try it.
I texted Jack with a bunch of capital letters and exclamation points, telling him about George and the Cadillac, but I didn’t hear back from him immediately, so I figured he’d found something helpful and couldn’t get away. I cracked my knuckles anxiously and watched George through the grimy window as he replaced my tires.
The auto shop filled up over the next hour, but no one joined me in the little office, and when I walked outside to stretch my legs, I noticed the Cadillac was no longer there. I saw Wormy Mueller looking at me this time, his gaze a little concerned, and I realized I’d been staring at the empty bay where the car had been for longer than was probably normal. I gave him a non-crazy kind of smile and headed back into the office to finish waiting.
Several of the townsmen came and went, sitting outside to talk to the mechanics who weren’t busy. The women who brought their cars by usually walked a block up to the Towne Square to do some shopping while they waited. But there were enough people around that I felt a semblance of safety when George came in an hour later. He wrote out a ticket silently and I gave him my credit card, looking around once more to see a trio of customers outside the station and five of George’s mechanics working on different vehicles.
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” I said, watching his face carefully. “I’ve never seen it before. What is it?” I pointed to the little symbol under his sleeve, but George ignored me and swiped the card.
He attached the receipt to a clipboard and slapped it down on the counter for me to sign. I grabbed the pen and went to scrawl my name when George grasped my wrist. The nausea hit me first as my stomach roiled at his touch, and then the blackness started to creep in towards the outer corners of my eyes.
“Don’t touch—” I barely got out before sweat popped out on my skin.
He tightened his grasp and I might as well have had Jeremy Mooney’s fingers around my throat again. I couldn’t get the air in, no matter how hard I tried.
“You ask a lot of questions that don’t need to be answered, J.J. Graves.” His voice was barely a whisper, but I heard him plain enough. I started to struggle, trying to pull my arm away, but George was too strong. “Look where it’s gotten you. You can’t look anyone in the eye, and you flinch every time someone gets close to you. You think people don’t notice that sort of thing? The smell of your fear is so strong I can almost taste it.”
“Take your hand off me.” I had to think about each word as it came out of my tormented throat, but still my voice trembled and broke under the strain.
He didn’t do as I said. “You and your sheriff are going to end up dead if you keep poking your nose into things best left unbothered.”
I realized he was telling me something important, and if I kept my mind focused on the case, the blackness would recede. My lungs relaxed and I took in a big gulp of air. My skin was cold beneath George’s fingers, but I was still standing on my own two feet.
“Who? Give me a name, George,” I said, much calmer than I felt.
“You know who.” His grip tightened more and he shook me a little. I’d have bruises. “They won’t care who you are. And you’ll never see it coming. They have eyes and ears everywhere. And if you try to leave, they’ll taunt you and use you until they lose interest. They will not give up if you stir up this hornet’s nest.”
