Motor Mouth

THREE

A car door slammed outside the warehouse and Hooker, Gobbles, and I went rigid. A beat later the lock tumbled on the side door and Felicia Ibarra and her pal Rosa Florez walked in. Rosa works in one of the cigar factories on Fifteenth Street. She’s in her forties. She’s half a head shorter than me and twenty pounds heavier. And while I like to think of myself as having an okay shape, I’m built like a boy compared with Rosa.

Beans gave a happy woof and took off at a gallop, chugging across the room like a freight train. He skidded to a stop in front of Felicia, put his two front paws on her chest, and she went down to the floor with Beans on top of her.

Hooker gave a whistle, pulled a dog biscuit out of his pocket, and tossed it across the room. Beans’s head snapped around, his eyes opened wide, and he abandoned Felicia like she was yesterday’s news, thundering off in search of the biscuit.

“He likes you,” Hooker said to Felicia, helping her get to her feet.

“Lucky me,” Felicia said. “It’s a dog, right?”

Rosa hugged Hooker and me. “We just came to say hello. We never see you anymore.” She looked over Hooker’s shoulder and went wide-eyed at the hauler. “Omigod, this is one of those NASCAR trucks, isn’t it? It’s the thing the car goes in. How does it work? Where do you put the car?”

“The car goes in the top,” I told her. “The ramp is on hydraulics. It lifts the car and the car gets rolled into the bay on the top.”

“And who’s this?” she said, eyeing Gobbles.

“This is Gobbles. He also works for Stiller Racing.”

“Ladies,” Gobbles said, bobbing his head.

“Are you a driver?” Rosa wanted to know.

“No, ma’am,” Gobbles said. “I’m a spotter like Barney. And during the week I do some detailing.”

Felicia swept past me to the hauler. “What’s in the downstairs? I always wanted to see this. I just want to look in the door,” she said. “Just take a little peek.”

“No!” Hooker and I said in unison, blocking the way.

Rosa tried to see around Hooker. “Does this truck have one of those lounges with black leather couches where all the drivers have sex?”

“We don’t all have sex there,” Hooker said.

“Is there someone back there now?” Rosa asked. “Someone famous?”

“No,” Hooker said. “No one’s back there.”

“Your mouth is crooked,” Rosa said. “Your mouth always gets that little crook in it when you tell a fib. Who’s back there? It’s not a movie star, is it? I’m not giving up until I find out.”

There was a loud woof and then a thud from inside the hauler. We all turned and looked and saw that Beans had gone into the hauler through the side door and was trying to get Oscar Huevo to play. He’d managed to knock Huevo over, and now he was jumping on him, making growly dog sounds. Huevo didn’t move or squeak, so Beans straddled him and sunk his teeth into what I suspected was Huevo’s shoulder.

“Holy crap!” Hooker said.

He threw a biscuit at Beans, and Beans snapped it up in midair. The next biscuit fell short, and Beans had to jump over Huevo to get it.

I ran to the SUV and opened the back hatch. “Get him to jump in,” I yelled to Hooker. “Throw some biscuits in here.”

Hooker whistled and tossed the biscuits, and Beans galloped across the floor and sailed into the SUV. I slammed the hatch closed and leaned against the car, my hand over my heart.

“What is that?” Felicia wanted to know, looking into the hauler. “It looks like a big bag of chicken parts. No wonder the doggie wanted to chew it. What are you doing with chicken parts? Are you having a barbecue party?” She elbowed Hooker out of her way and stepped into the hauler. “It smells funny in here,” she said, bending for a closer look. “I think these chicken parts are rotten.” She suddenly straightened and made the sign of the cross. “This isn’t chicken parts.”

Hooker blew out a sigh. “It’s a dead guy.”

“Holy mother,” Rosa said. “What are you doing with a dead guy?”

I gave Rosa and Felicia an abbreviated version of the last six hours. Felicia made the sign of the cross at least ten times, and Rosa listened with her mouth open and her eyes half popped out of her head.

“I gotta see this,” Rosa said when I was done. “I gotta see the dead guy.”

We all returned to the hauler and gaped at Huevo.

“He doesn’t look real,” Rosa said. “He looks like one of those wax people. Like he was made for a horror movie.”

Especially now that he had big tooth marks in his shoulder.

“What are you going to do with him?” Rosa wanted to know.

Hooker and I looked at each other, sharing the same thought. We now had a dead man with holes in him that perfectly fit Beans’s canines. We couldn’t just put Huevo back in the locker like Gobbles had suggested. Sooner or later it would occur to people that there’s only one dog on the circuit with teeth that big…and Hooker would be dragged into the murder mess. Even without that, I couldn’t put Huevo back in the locker. It felt disrespectful to dismiss him that easily.

“I think he looks like fish food,” Rosa said.

Felicia did another sign of the cross. “You better hope God wasn’t listening to that. Suppose this man is Catholic? It would be our fault he doesn’t get a prayer over his body. It would be a black mark on our soul.”

Rosa cut her eyes to me. “Can’t afford to get too many more of those.”

“Yeah,” Hooker said. “I’m standing in a hot hauler, staring down at a Mexican with a hole in his head. Wouldn’t want to push my luck by pissing God off.”

“We should take him to his relatives,” Felicia said. “It’s what God would want.”

“His relatives are in Mexico,” I said. “What would God’s second choice be?”

“He must have somebody here,” Felicia said. “He wouldn’t be traveling alone. Where is he staying?”

We all shrugged. It wasn’t as if we could go through his pockets and find a matchbook.

“Not in a motor coach,” Hooker said. “Probably in one of the big hotels on Brickell Avenue.”

“We need to put him someplace where he’s going to be discovered,” I said. “If we leave him in the hauler, he might be taken to Mexico and disposed of and his family would never know what happened to him. Hard to know the killer’s plans. We could leave him in the hauler and make sure the police find him, but it’ll be even more of a scandal for NASCAR. And chances are good that Hooker and Beans will be brought into the investigation. Hooker might even become a suspect. So I think we need to find neutral ground. We need to leave Huevo someplace not associated with NASCAR and someplace where he’ll be found and recognized.”

“The Huevo corporate yacht is tied up in South Beach,” Gobbles said. “We could put him on the yacht.”

“That would be nice,” Felicia said. “We could take him for a ride. I bet he’d like that.”

“He’s dead,” Hooker said. “He doesn’t like anything. And that’s a terrible idea. We’ll get caught and arrested and spend the rest of our lives in jail. We’ll never get him on the yacht without being seen.”

“Then maybe someplace close to the yacht,” Felicia said. “God likes the yacht idea.”

“What, do you have a direct line?” Rosa wanted to know.

“I got a feeling.”

“Uh-oh, is it just a feeling feeling? Or is it one of those Miguel Cruz feelings?”

“I think it might be a Miguel Cruz feeling.”

Rosa looked at me. “That’s a serious feeling. Felicia had a feeling Miguel Cruz was in trouble, and an hour later he fell into a sinkhole on Route One, car and all, and broke his back. And another time Felicia told Theresa Bell she should light a candle. And Theresa didn’t do it, and she came down with shingles.”

Hooker looked pained. He drove race cars. The only vision he really related to was a back bumper.

“How about this,” Hooker said. “In the interest of moving on with our lives, let’s put Oscar in the SUV and drive him to South Beach. We can go to the marina and look around for a nice final resting place for him. Then we can check into a hotel for the night, and we’ll figure the rest out in the morning when we’re not so creeped out.”

I nodded agreement. I was hoping I’d go to sleep and wake up and find out none of this had ever happened.

“We gonna have to scootch him to the door,” Felicia said. She looked at Huevo through the plastic wrap. “Okay, mister, we gonna move you now. You gonna be home soon.” She looked over at Gobbles. “You and Hooker gotta grab hold of Mr. Dead Guy’s behind, or something.”

Gobbles clapped a hand over his mouth and ran for the bathroom.

“Gobbles got a weak stomach,” Felicia said. “He’d never make it in wholesale fruit.”

“If we scootch him along, we’ll rip the plastic,” Rosa said. “I think we gotta carry him. I’ll get one side and Hooker can get the other side.”

I got disposable gloves from the box in the tool chest and gave them to Hooker and Rosa. They took opposite sides of Huevo. Hooker got his hands under Huevo, then turned white and started to sweat again.

“I can do this,” Hooker said. “No problem. I’m a big, tough guy, right? I don’t go all pukey just because I’m carrying a dead guy around, right? It’s not like I’m gonna get cooties, right?”

“Right,” I said. Trying to be supportive. Glad I wasn’t the one with my hands under Huevo’s dead ass.

Hooker and Rosa got Huevo out the hauler door, down the ramp, and set him on the cement floor. We all took a couple steps back and fanned the air.

“We gotta rewrap Mr. Dead Guy if we’re taking him for a ride,” Felicia said. “Mr. Dead Guy don’t smell good.”

I ran to the hauler and came back with boxes of plastic wrap, some duct tape, and a can of room freshener I’d snitched from the bathroom. We sprayed Huevo with Tropical Breeze, rewrapped him in plastic, and secured him with duct tape.

“I think he looks good,” Felicia said. “You can hardly see where he got chewed on. He looks like a big present.”

“Yeah, but some of the smell is still leaking through,” Rosa said. “We’re gonna have to strap him to the roof rack.”

I hustled back to the hauler and returned with three air fresheners shaped like pine trees and designed to hang in a car. I tore their cellophane wrappers off and taped them to Huevo.

“That’s better,” Felicia said. “Now he smells like a pine tree. It’s like being in the forest.”

“Good enough for me,” Hooker said. “Let’s get him in the car.”

Hooker and Rosa picked Huevo up and walked him to the SUV. A big shaggy head appeared in the back window, nose pressed against the glass.

“WOOF!” Beans said, eyes riveted on Huevo.

“You got a real sicko dog,” Rosa said to Hooker. “You’re not gonna be able to put Mr. Dead Guy back there with Cujo. Mr. Dead Guy’s gonna have to go in the front seat.”

I moved the front seat back as far as it would go, and Hooker wedged Huevo in and closed the door. Huevo looked like he was intent on the road ahead, knees bent and pressed against the dash, feet on the edge of his seat, arms tucked in at odd angles. Probably best not to dwell on how his arms got to look like that.

Felicia and Rosa slid onto the backseat, and Beans snuffled them from the cargo area at the rear of the SUV. Gobbles, fresh from the bathroom, climbed in with Beans.

Hooker stared in at Felicia and Rosa. “You don’t have to go with us to South Beach. It’s late. You probably want to get home. Barney and Gobbles and I can handle this.”

“That’s okay,” Rosa said. “We’re gonna help you.”

Hooker draped an arm around my shoulders and whispered into my ear, “We have a problem, darlin’. I was going to leave Huevo sitting in front of a Dumpster. Taking him to the marina is a stupid idea.”

“I heard that,” Felicia said. “And you’re not leaving that poor Mr. Dead Guy sitting by a Dumpster. Shame on you.”

Hooker did an eye roll and took the wheel, and I squeezed in next to Rosa. Hooker drove north to First Street and headed east. He wound his way through downtown Miami and picked up the MacArthur Causeway bridge to South Beach. It was after midnight and there weren’t a lot of people on the roads. Hooker turned south onto Alton and pulled into the lot by Monty’s Restaurant. Miami Beach Marina and Huevo’s yacht were just beyond a fringe of trees. And the entire marina was lit up like daylight.

“I wasn’t counting on so much light,” Felicia said.

“Maybe we could steal a car and leave him in valet parking,” Rosa said.

“What’s to the side, past those trees?” Felicia wanted to know. “Looks like there’s a driveway going somewhere.”

“It’s for deliveries to Monty’s,” Hooker said.

“I think we got a delivery,” Felicia said.

Hooker cut his eyes to her. “You sure it’s okay with God?”

“I’m not getting any messages,” Felicia said. “So I’m thinking it’s okay.”

Hooker dimmed his lights and pulled into the driveway, close to the delivery door. We wrangled Huevo out of the front seat and set him on the little cement pad in front of the door.

“How they going to know what to do with him?” Felicia asked. “Maybe no one recognize Mr. Dead Guy.”

I went to my bag and returned with a black Magic Marker and wrote OSCAR HUEVO in big letters on the top of Huevo’s head. We all got back into the SUV, Hooker cranked the motor over, and Beans started barking. He was doing his bird-dog impersonation, his attention riveted on Huevo.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rosa asked. “Maybe he thinks we leave his chew toy behind?”

And then we saw it. The dog. It was a big scruffy mutt, and it was creeping in on Huevo. Huevo was a dog magnet.

“This won’t work,” Felicia said. “God won’t like it if Mr. Dead Guy turns into dog food.”

We got out of the SUV, picked Huevo up, and put him back into the passenger seat, next to Hooker.

“Now what?” Hooker asked. “Does God have a plan B?”

“Go back to the parking lot,” I told him. “We’ll just put Huevo on top of a car. The dog won’t be able to reach him there.”

“What about cats?” Felicia asked. “Suppose some kitties find Mr. Dead Guy?”

I cut a death glare at Felicia. “God’s just going to have to deal with it.”

“Yeah,” Rosa said, “if it’s all so big-deal important to God, let him keep the cats away.”

We returned to the lot and slowly drove around. Hooker stopped at the end of the second line of parked cars. He was looking at one of the cars and grinning. “This is the car,” he said.

I looked past Hooker. It was Spanky’s gift car from Huevo. It was a brand-new, shiny red Avalanche LTZ sport utility truck. The vanity license plate read DICK69. Most likely sounded good on paper.

“What’s Spanky’s truck doing here?” I asked.

“Huevo probably invited him to spend a couple days on the boat,” Hooker said.

We hauled Huevo out of our SUV and put him into the back of Spanky’s truck. We sat him with his knees tucked up, facing the road behind him, looking like he was waiting to go for a ride.

“There’s something funny about the dead guy,” Rosa said. “From this angle, I could swear he got a stiffy.”

“Have some respect,” Felicia said. “You’re not supposed to look there.”

“I can’t help it. It’s right in front of me. He got a big boner.”

“Maybe it’s just rigor mortis,” Felicia said.

Hooker and Gobbles went over and took a look.

“Died in the saddle, all right,” Hooker said. “I hope I don’t go blind from seeing this.”

Felicia made the sign of the cross, twice.

A half hour later we were back in Little Havana. We dropped Rosa off, Hooker hung a right at the next cross street, drove one block, and pulled to the curb in front of Felicia’s house. It was a two-story stucco deal, crammed into a block of identical two-story stucco deals. Hard to tell the color in the dark, but peach was a good guess. No yard. Broad sidewalk. Busy street.

“Where are you going now?” Felicia asked Hooker. “Are you going back to your condo or your boat?”

“Sold them both. Didn’t get enough chances to enjoy them here in Miami. We’ll check into one of the hotels on Brickell.”

“You don’t need to do that. You can stay with me tonight. I’ve got extra room. And everybody would like to meet you in the morning. My grandson is here. He’s a big fan. Just pull around to the alley in the back where you can park.”

Minutes later, Gobbles was tucked into a bunk bed above Felicia’s grandson, and we were standing in a bedroom that was charming but roughly the size of a double-wide bathtub. It contained a chair and a twin bed…and now two adults and a Saint Bernard. The curtains on the single window were mint green and matched the comforter on the bed. A crucifix hung on the wall over the headboard. We had the door closed, and we were whispering so our voices didn’t carry through the house.

“This isn’t going to work!” I said to Hooker.

Hooker kicked his shoes off and tested the bed. “I think it’ll work just fine.”

Beans looked around the tiny room and settled onto the floor with a sigh. It was way past his bedtime.

“I like it,” Hooker said. “It’s homey.”

“That’s not why you like it,” I said. “You like it because there’s only a twin bed in here, and I’m going to have to sleep on top of you.”

“Yeah,” Hooker said. “Life is good.”

I unlaced my sneakers. “You make a move on me and life as you know it will be nonexistent.”

“Boy, that really hurts. Have I ever forced myself on you?”

“I’m talking about wandering hands.”

“Jeez,” Hooker said. “You’re a real spoilsport.” He unzipped his jeans and had them halfway off his ass.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-shouted.

“I’m getting undressed.”

“No way!”

Hooker was down to his T-shirt and Calvins. “Darlin’, I’ve had a long day. I lost a race, I stole a truck, and I left Oscar Huevo DOA in an Avalanche. I’m going to bed. And I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’ve had just about all the excitement I could handle in one day.”

He was right. What was I thinking? I wriggled out of my jeans and cleverly removed my bra without removing my T-shirt. I carefully stepped over Beans, crawled in next to Hooker, and tried to find a place in the bed. He was against the wall on his side, and I was plastered against him spoon fashion, my back to his front, wrapped in his arms, his hand cupping my breast.

“Damn it, Hooker,” I said. “You’ve got your hand on my breast.”

“Just holding on to you so you don’t fall out of bed.”

“And I’d better be wrong about the thing poking me in my back.”

“Turns out I have a little energy left for some more excitement.”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Did you ask the man in the boat?”

“Do not even think about the man in the boat. The man in the boat isn’t interested. And you’re going to be sleeping on the floor with the dog if you don’t get a grip on yourself.”

I opened my eyes to sunlight pouring in through the pretty mint green curtains. I was partially on top of Hooker, his arm draped around me. And I hate to admit it, but he felt nice. He was still asleep. His eyes were closed, and a fringe of blond lash lay against his suntanned, stubbled face. His mouth was soft, and his body was warm and snuggly. It would be easy to forget he was a jerk.

Barney, Barney, Barney! Pull yourself together, the sensible inner Barney yelled. The guy slept with a salesclerk.

Yes, but it wasn’t as if we were married, or even engaged. We weren’t even living together, Barney the slut answered.

You were dating…regularly. You were sleeping together…a lot!

I blew out a sigh and eased off Hooker. I slipped out from under the quilt, stood, and stepped over Beans and into my jeans.

Hooker half-opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and still husky from sleep. “Where are you going?”

“Time to get up and go to work.”

“It doesn’t feel like time to go to work. It feels like time to be asleep.” He looked around the room. “Where are we?”

“Felicia’s house.”

Hooker flopped over onto his back and put his hands over his face. “Omigod, did we really steal a hauler?”

“Yep.”

“I was hoping it was a dream.” He propped himself up on one elbow. “And Oscar Huevo?”

“Dead.” I had my shoes on and my bra in my hand. “I’m going to the bathroom and then I’m going downstairs. I smell coffee brewing. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Ten minutes later, I was across from Hooker at Felicia’s kitchen table. I had a mug of coffee and a plate heaped with French toast and sausage. Felicia and her daughter were at the stove, cooking for what seemed like an endless supply of grandchildren and assorted other relatives.

“This is Sister Marie Elena,” Felicia said, introducing a bent little old lady dressed in black. “She come from the church on the corner when she hear Hooker is visiting. She’s a big fan. And this guy behind her is my husband’s brother Luis.”

Hooker was shaking hands and signing autographs and trying to eat. A kid climbed onto Hooker’s lap and scarfed down one of Hooker’s sausages.

“Who are you?” Hooker asked.

“Billy.”

“My grandnephew,” Felicia said, putting four more sausages on Hooker’s plate. “Lily’s youngest boy. Lily is my sister’s middle child. They’re living with me while they look for a place. They just came here from Orlando. Lily’s husband got transferred.”

Everyone was talking at once, Beans was barking at Felicia’s cat, and the television was blaring from the kitchen counter.

“I have to go,” I shouted at Hooker. “I want to get to the car. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided to take a look. Just in case.”

Hooker stood up at the table. “I’ll go with you.”

“When Gobbles gets up, tell him to stay in the house,” I told Felicia. “Tell him we’ll be back later.”

“Dinner at six o’clock,” Felicia said. “I’m cooking special Cuban for you. And my friend Marjorie and her husband are coming. They want to meet you. They’re big fans.”

“Sure,” Hooker said.

“But then we have to leave,” I said to Felicia. “We need to get back to North Carolina.”

“I’m in no rush to get back to North Carolina,” Hooker said, grinning down at me. “Maybe we should stay another night.”

“Maybe you should take out more health insurance,” I said to Hooker.