Past Due

Chapter 47

I DIDN’T KNOW I was in a race. If I had known I was in a race I wouldn’t have gone back to the office after my meeting with the justice. I wouldn’t have briefed Beth on what had happened to Rashard. I wouldn’t have called Rashard’s mother to tell her it was all being taken care of, that I had already taken her son’s problem to the highest levels. If I had known time was of the essence I wouldn’t have answered my mail and filled in my time sheets before showing up to ask my question. And that’s all I had, one question, a single question, whose answer I already knew.

The sign of the Chop Shop consisted primarily of a huge Harley-Davidson logo, with the store’s name in small block letters beneath the great orange shield. It was a storefront on a narrow road in a grimy commercial part of the city just a few blocks south of South Street. By the time I got there it was dark already and the stores on either side of it were closed for the night and the street was empty. I thought I might be too late, that Lonnie might be gone for the night, but through the bars protecting the plate-glass window I could see a dim light.

I pushed open the door. A cowbell jangled.

The narrow front of the store was a jumble of parts and accessories, exhaust pipes, saddlebags, gas tanks, tires, a row of handlebars fastened to the wall. The counter was piled with old engine fittings, loose papers, greasy rags, but it wasn’t the mess that struck me first when I entered, it was the reek, a strong and vile combination of ammonia and gasoline and the sharp acridity of methyl alcohol. It forced me to put a hand over my nose.

“Lonnie?” I called out. “Yo, Lonnie. You there?”

No answer.

I made my way around the counter, through a dark doorway into a large space, lit thinly by a soft glow emanating from the rear. The reek became stronger, like a noisome wall, and I gagged as I moved forward. In the shadows I could see parts of a grease-stained cement floor, cinder-block walls, workbenches, hulking motorcycles in various states of being ripped apart.

“Lonnie?”

No answer.

Beyond was a wide, closed door, which I assumed led to the alleyway in the back, through which the bikes were brought. He might be in the alley, I figured. I carefully made my way around the workshop and headed for the door. The foul stench grew stronger, thick and vile, overpowering, it burned my nose and throat, my eyes. I coughed and thought I heard another.

“Lonnie?”

I hurried my pace, tripped over something metal, headed for the alley and fresh air, and then, just as I reached for the door, I tripped over something else.

I stopped, turned to see what it was.

“My God.”

A body, faceup, lying half in-half out of a small office beside the doorway to the alley, a body lit softly by a flicker of blue fire. I reached into the office, felt around for a switch.

“Oh my God.”

It was Lonnie, of course it was Lonnie.

He was lying on the floor, between two workbenches. The benches were filled with beakers and burners and vials set up in the whole mad scientist configuration, flames shooting out here and there, and the smell in that room was murderous. Even as I fought to hold my breath, my skin itched and my eyes burned and the chemical reek was like a living thing fighting to keep me away.

I leaned over him. He was warm, still. His face was in a snarl, his hands were clenched, a wrench in one of them, and there was a small hole in his forehead. From the thick pool beneath his head I didn’t need to imagine what the back looked like. I turned to the side and threw up.

And over the brutal sound of my retching I heard something in the shop, a piece of metal spinning across the floor.

I leaped up, turned back to the shop, saw a shadow flit out of the doorway. I ran toward it. I ran toward it and something jabbed into my thigh and I flipped over. I fell hard onto my shoulder just as something heavy and metallic crashed beside me and a burning ran up my leg.

I tried to push myself up but I couldn’t, my leg was trapped by a fallen bike. I grabbed the edge of the seat, heaved, yanked my leg free, and started again toward the shadow, banging my hurt shoulder into the door. The pain spun me around and knocked me to my knees.

I grabbed hold of the doorjamb, pulled myself up, headed again through the dark passageway toward the front.

All I wanted was a glimpse, I didn’t want to stop him, I was willing to let him go, that fit my style, no heroics, let him go, absolutely, but I wanted a glimpse, I needed a glimpse.

I lunged for the door and pushed it open and as soon as I did the store behind me exploded.