Motor Mouth - Janet Evanovich [60]
I clapped a hand over my mouth and told myself this wasn’t a good time to get hysterical. I could get hysterical later when I found a bathroom and I could drown out my screaming by flushing the toilet.
Beans was dancing around in the back of the SUV, barking, eyes focused on Bernie.
“We can’t put him in the back,” I said to Hooker. “Beans will want to play with him.”
We looked up at the roof rack, and then we looked over at Bernie. He was all odd angles inside the shiny black plastic bags.
“He’s heavy,” Hooker said. “You’re going to have to help me get him up there.”
I gingerly felt the bag.
“I think that’s his head,” Hooker said. “Maybe it would be better if you came over here and took his foot.”
I clenched my teeth and grabbed what I hoped was a foot, and after a lot of maneuvering we got Bernie onto the roof rack. Not sure we could have done it if he wasn’t so stiff. Hooker secured the body with the bungee cords, and we both stepped back.
“That’s not so bad,” Hooker said. “You wouldn’t know it was a body. It looks like we wrapped up a bicycle or something. See, doesn’t it look like he’s got handlebars?”
I clapped my hand over my mouth again.
Hooker tossed the shovels into the back of the SUV and closed the door. “Let’s roll.”
Ten minutes later we were still rolling without incident. The garbage bags were rattling in the wind as we drove, but the bungee cords were holding. We were taking the scenic route, avoiding the highway, Hooker reasoning that it would be easier to retrieve Bernie if he blew off the roof on a country road.
“Where are we going?” I asked Hooker.
“Back to Concord. My original plan was to leave him someplace where he was sure to be found. On the doorstep to Huevo corporate, or maybe take him back to his house. But now I’m thinking I don’t want him found right away. With the kind of luck I’m having, Rodriguez and Lucca will be the ones to find him. And they’d probably rebury him in the same shallow grave. I don’t want to have to dig him up a second time.
“I’d still like to leave him on Huevo property, but someplace where he’d be on ice for a while. I was thinking we could leave him in a motor coach. We keep our coaches parked on shop property, hooked up to electric. The air runs all the time so the coach doesn’t get funky and the veneers stay nice. Huevo probably works the same way. We could put him in Spanky’s coach. Spanky won’t be using it until February. All we have to do is turn the temperature down.”
I stared at Hooker in openmouthed stupefaction.
“What?” Hooker said. “Do you have a better idea?”
The Huevo campus is huge. Acres of landscaped lawn and clusters of perfectly maintained, brilliant white, two-story blocky buildings that house the Huevo offices, cars, transporters, and shops that build the cars. We wound our way between the buildings to the transporter garage, and just as Hooker had predicted, six motor coaches were parked in stalls, hooked to electric. The coaches were dark, no lights burning, not even running lights. There were security floods on the buildings, but not a lot of the light reached to the bus lot.
Hooker parked, and we both got out and looked up at Bernie. He looked none the worse for the trip. His garbage bags were still intact.
“You take the bungee cords off, and I’ll get a towel,” I told Hooker. “I don’t want Bernie getting Spanky’s coach all wet.”
Motor coaches have keypad locks, but everyone in the drivers’ lot uses the same universal code. I was hoping that held true when the coaches were stored. I punched in the standard number of 0’s and blew out a sigh of relief when the door unlocked. I switched my flashlight on, went inside, and found my way to the rear bathroom. I grabbed a couple large towels, leaving one on the bed, taking the other with me.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Hooker said.
We tugged at Bernie, and he tumbled off. A lot easier to get him down than it had been to get him up. Hooker took what he thought was Bernie’s head, and I grabbed Bernie’s foot again,