The Viper

“So, instead of taking my heartfelt advice that this might be the ideal time for you to walk away from this goddamn mess, you’ve decided to double down?”

“I just want to turn over a few more rocks. See what’s there.”

“And the worst that could happen is one of the annoyed scumbags shoots us. Sounds fucking irresistible. Mind if I bring my Glock?”

“I was going to suggest it.”

43

GURNEY AND HARDWICK MET IN THE PARKING LOT OF A Home Depot adjacent to the interstate and proceeded from there in Gurney’s rental car to Top Star Auto Salvage on the scruffy outskirts of Garville.

The sprawling automotive junkyard was surrounded by a razor wire–topped fence. An industrial gate stood open to the street. Wind gusts raised eddies of dust from the bare ground between the gate and a large travel trailer—the only office-like structure in a landscape of derelict vehicles.

Hardwick got out of the car first, stretched his thickly muscled neck from side to side, and spat on the street. Despite the icy gusts, which he seemed not to notice, he wore only a light windbreaker over his shoulder-holstered Glock.

A demented-looking pit bull made a straining, snarling appearance at the end of a rusty chain attached to the corner of the trailer. Staying outside the radius of the chain’s arc, they approached the trailer. The door opened abruptly, and a large, heavy-jawed woman in a pink track suit filled the doorframe. She eyed them with bored hostility.

Gurney spoke first.

“Charlene Vesco?”

“What do you want?” She had the hoarseness of a lifelong smoker and the yellow skin that went with it.

He answered loudly enough to be heard over the barking of the pit bull. “We’re following up on a statement you made to Detective Magnussen regarding the theft of your tow truck.”

“When do we get it back?”

“That’s up to Magnussen. Right now we need to ask you about your security system.”

“It’s all in my statement.”

“We double-check everything. Tell me what you told him.”

She looked like she was about to refuse, then thought better of it. “There was a short-circuit in the system is what my electrician said, so the cameras didn’t pick up anything. That’s it.”

“How about the key for the truck? Where was that?”

“Right here in the office, where it always is. When I came in that day, the truck was gone, but the key was still here. There’s other ways to start a vehicle. Look, the point is, we need the truck back. My lawyer says you got no right to keep it.”

“Did you know Sonny Lerman?”

“The guy that got shot?”

“Right.”

She shook her head.

“How about his name? Did you ever hear it anywhere other than on the news?”

“No.”

“How about Lenny Lerman?”

“Who?”

“Lenny Lerman. Father of Sonny Lerman. Also murdered. One year ago.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Never?”

“Look, if you don’t mind, I got things to do.”

“Where was the truck parked when it was taken?”

She pointed. “Right there on the street, in front of the gate.”

“You don’t keep it in here at night?”

“Not always.”

Gurney turned to Hardwick. “Any questions for Ms. Vesco?”

Jack pointed at the pit bull. “Where was that fucking dog the night the truck was taken?”

Something shifted in her eyes. “In the doghouse.”

“Where’s that?”

She pointed to the end of the trailer where the chain was attached. “Around that side.”

“And he didn’t go batshit crazy when some stranger was stealing your truck?”

“I don’t know what he did. I’m not here at night.”

“Too bad. You might have been able to save your truck.”

She didn’t reply.

Gurney smiled. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Vesco.”

He led the way back to the car as the door of the trailer closed firmly behind them.

Hardwick sucked at his teeth. “She’s a lying sack of shit.”

“No surprise. How about we pay a visit to Lanka’s Specialty Foods?”

THE BUSINESS DISTRICT of Garville had a morose look about it, due in part to the soot-darkened brick facades of the buildings. Lanka’s Specialty Foods was located on a side street off the main avenue. Gurney pulled into the “Customers Only” parking lot next to the single-story building.

“If Lanka’s here,” said Gurney, “I’ll use a following-up-on-the-Slade-trial approach and see where it takes us. You should come in a few minutes after me and keep an eye on what’s happening between me and Lanka, assuming he’s here.”

“You mean I should save your sorry ass if the situation goes south?”

Gurney got out of the car and walked around to the front of the building. The first thing he noted was the sign on the door indicating the limited hours the store was open—from noon to four, weekdays only. When he pushed the door open, a bell rang in the rear of the store.

The ornamental tin ceiling, incandescent lighting fixtures, and wooden shelving belonged to a past era. There didn’t seem to be any customers in the place, no clerk at the checkout counter, no visible employees anywhere.

The shelves were filled with canned specialty items, mostly imported. No prices were shown. There was a fine coating of dust over everything. The walls above the shelves were covered with large sepia prints depicting the store’s history.