Homicide My Own - Anne Argula [62]
Stacey and her mom would keep us in enemy territory just until we could drop them at Karl Gutshall’s garage. Then we would go on to the Coyotes, for reasons still unknown to me.
I was driving again. It gave an outlet to my nervous energy, and I couldn’t trust Odd to be in the same reality as the rest of us. We pulled up to the open bay and Karl came out from under their Honda Civic in his coveralls and his complimentary cap.
He leaned into Odd’s open window and said, “Afternoon.”
“Karl,” I said, “they’re gonna wait here for their car, if that’s okay with you.”
“Okay with me, but they might have to wait some time.”
“How long?”
“A week…two.”
My heart dropped.
“The transmission needs a complete rebuild and finding the gears is gonna take a while, even if you’re willing to go new, and I would recommend against that. I can always find used parts somewheres, but it takes time.”
“Mr. Gutshall,” said Gwen, “how much will this repair cost?”
“Oh, you’re looking at about eighteen-hundred dollars.”
Houser, apparently, wanted to analyze this, because he jumped in and asked, “How much is the car worth?”
“Less than that,” Gutshall admitted, which turned the whole thing into a no-brainer.
The lieutenant had said that Stacey and her mother were not our problem. Why could I not listen to him even in that? Why could I not just drop them by the side of the road? Odd was no help. Since beating up on Nascine he had gone all but autistic on me.
I sat with both hands on the wheel, hoping not to explode and torch us all, while Gwen signed over her title, which she always carried in her purse, expecting some day to need it at hand, and that day was now.
She bought her cars off a fella she used to date and she was sure he could find another for her and arrange an easy payment plan. I must admit I was impressed with her quiet acceptance of catastrophe. One day she had her own ride, the next day we were it, and that’s the way it goes. Lucky for them, she said, that out on this island in the middle of nowhere they would run into nice people from home, us.
Odd seemed to wake from a slumber. He turned to Karl and said his name, almost plaintively. Karl gave him his full attention, as though he’d been hypnotized with one word.
“Karl,” said Odd, “we’re going to the Coyotes. Could you please come with us?”
Now, I didn’t know why we were going to the Coyotes in the first place, and I sure didn’t know why we would want to bring along Karl Gutshall, and since the Coyotes believed he killed their son, I could not for a moment imagine that Karl would ever want to go there, but guess what?
He said, “Well, I was about to close up anyhow. I only do half a day, Saturdays.”
“And could you bring some tools?” asked Odd.
We were on our way again, not only with the two warm bodies I didn’t expect to be carrying, but with a third extra that raised the ride to the level of low comedy. Karl took Gwen’s place and she squeezed upon his lap, which did not seem to inconvenience her one bit. His bag of tools were in the trunk, along with my two grocery bags full of fireworks, and all the luggage.
We were still a mile or two shy of Indian Territory when we had to stop again. Walking slowly but as fast as she could was Cammy Nascine, her great buttocks rolling with each labored step. She was holding something, pressing it against her bosom. Her face was bruised and one eye blackened. She was drenched with sweat.
I pulled over and Odd was out in an instant, trying to comfort her. Nascine, of course, had inflicted the damage. Then, everyone was out of the car. We all clustered around Cammy.
Gwen said, “Honey, I’ve been there. Some men…well, it’s all they have left. You don’t want to be around them, then.”
“Mother, this isn’t about you,” whined Stacey.
“No, young lady, it isn’t. It’s about you. Look, listen and learn.”
“When he left he was in a hurry,” said Cammy, about Nascine. “I went to his workshop. He had it hidden behind a fishing