Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he insisted.
“It’s ripped near the elevator bank,” Abby informed him.
“Whatever. I’ve never noticed it. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’ll become a big deal if we don’t-”
“Forget it,” Kessler insisted. “I’m not signing off on it. Burton doesn’t want any big repairs.” He crumpled the form and tossed it onto her desk.
Abby swept it into the trash can after he walked away. She shook her own head at his trailing form. Kessler clearly had no interest in managing a hotel. She wasn’t certain, though, that Burton wasn’t interested in maintaining his multi-million dollar property.
Resolving to take up the state of affairs of the Custer with the owner himself at her next opportunity, she went back to surfing the web. She found a promising lead and picked up her cell phone. A groggy voice answered the phone on the other end. Abby frowned at the clock on the wall. Who slept at one o’clock in the afternoon?
“ ‘Lo?” the voice on the other end rasped.
“Hi,” said Abby politely. “I’m calling about your ad online.” The caller perked up and Abby thought she may have found a winner.
She woke up late, for her, on Saturday at around 9 am, showered and threw on some jeans and an old t-shirt. She counted through the 4,500 dollars she’d gotten when she cashed the check for the panhead, stuffed it in an envelope, and put it in her purse. The she pulled out her Smith and Wesson Small Frame .38 loaded with .357 rounds and double checked the safety. She slung her purse onto her shoulder and headed out to the cab that had just pulled up on the curb.
It was a bright sunny day, if still a little chilly, and Abby thought that boded well. The cab turned into Burnout and she paid and tipped the driver appropriately and swung out of the back seat. The cab had barely left the turnaround before Shooter Sullivan came up next to her.
“Well, hey there, Vegas,” he said.
She turned to him and shielded her eyes from the sun. “Hey!”
He eyed the cab. “Car trouble?”
“No. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your place,” said Abby. Shooter looked puzzled. “I talked to this guy over the phone, but I don’t know him, and I’d rather meet up on neutral ground. I guess I should have asked before I told him to come here. But I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“What-” he began to say, but then he was drowned out by the loud sound of a motor rumbling toward them. They both turned to see a 1969 Chevy Camaro, or what used to be a 1969 Chevy Camaro, swinging into the turnaround. It was impossibly loud and Abby wasn’t sure it boded well that the owner hadn’t mentioned that it needed muffler work, too. She hoped the car would be the right fit.
It stopped in front of them and the door opened. A young kid, about 18 maybe 19, wearing cowboys boots and a pair of ripped jeans got out. He grinned when he saw Abby. Abby smiled back.
“Well, I guess you’re Abby, then,” the kid drawled.
“You must be Dave.”
“I sure am.” Then he scowled at Shooter. “Bring your boyfriend?”
“Nah,” Abby assured him. “He owns the place. Why don’t you pop the hood and let’s take a look?”
The kid hesitated then headed back to the car and released the hood latch. Abby lifted it up and rested it on the metal arm.
Yikes. It was a mess. Carburetor appeared to be jury rigged and the distributor cap had a small crack in it. It was a wonder the kid managed to put 111,000 miles on it because it looked like it had never had a tune up.
The kid came up beside her. “I’m asking 5,000,” he said.
Abby hid her smirk. “Uh huh. Except I’m only offering 2,500,” she replied, opening up negotiations. Everyone heard the crunch of gravel and looked over as Tex strode up, stopping beside his boss.
“Hi!” Abby said to him, and couldn’t help but smile.
“Vegas,” Tex said, eyeing the car.
The kid looked at Shooter and then back at Abby. “This here’s a classic car,” he told her.
Abby stood up and looked at him. “This here is a classic car that needs, for starters, a new clutch assembly, a new air intake system, a new muffler, which you didn’t mention over the phone, and I know you think I didn’t hear that grinding when you hit the brakes, but I sure as shit did and that means it needs new discs, too. And that’s just what I’ve been able to suss out in the 30 seconds you’ve been here. So, I’m offering 2,500.”
The kid stared at Abby and scratched his head. She leaned forward. “This is the part where you make me a counter offer,” she stage-whispered.