Motor Mouth

got home from the cruise, and I heard your name on television,” she said. “They said you were wanted for murdering two men.”
    “No. I’m only wanted for questioning. And it’s all a mistake. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
    “Don’t let them take you to jail. I saw a show on it once. They watch you on television when you go to the bathroom.”
    More information than I needed right now.
    “My mother,” I said to Hooker when I disconnected. “She suggested I don’t go to jail. She thought I wouldn’t like it.”
    “If you don’t want to go to jail, we need to check out of this motel,” Hooker said. “It’s too easy to spot my SUV sitting out there in the lot. There’s an empty factory that’s up for sale on the road to Kannapolis. It’s been vacant for over a year. I took a tour of it a couple months ago, thinking I might want to buy it for a shop. Maybe build my own cars someday. It wasn’t right for a shop, but it might be okay to use as a hiding place while we think this through. There’s no alarm on it, so it’ll be easy entry. And it’s on a secluded stretch of road.”
    I added breaking and entering to my mental crime tally.
     
    The building had originally been a tool-and-die factory. When the factory went belly-up, the place had been gutted and used to store motor oil and assorted car-care products. Those products had since moved on, and we now sat in a dark, damp, cavernous cinder-block bunker of a building. It hadn’t been locked, and one of the garage-bay doors had been left open, so we were only guilty of entering. Hooker drove the SUV into the interior and parked close to the wall where we were in shadow and not visible from the outside.
    “For a short time it felt like things might get normal,” I said to Hooker. “But now they’re worse than ever.”
    “One step forward, two steps backward. Let’s test-drive a couple things. We know Ray was using illegal technology to cheat. We’re not sure why because Ray never seemed to be interested in racing. We also know Ray employs two goons who kill people. And we’re not absolutely sure, but it feels like Ray knew his brother was in the locker. In fact, chances are probably good that Ray killed Oscar.”
    “There’s something very high stakes here. Something we don’t understand,” I said to Hooker. “There has to be more going on than cheating at a race.”
    “I agree. I think we need to find out why Ray killed his brother.”
    “You were thinking Madam Zarra and her crystal ball would tell us?”
    “I was thinking Ray would tell us. All we have to do is kidnap Ray and beat the crap out of him until he talks to us.”
    I felt my mouth drop open, and I guess I must have looked as horrified as I felt.
    “What?” Hooker said.
    “Do you have an alternative plan?”
    “Not at the moment.”
    “What makes you think he’ll talk if we beat him?”
    “I’ve been beat on a lot, and I
always
talk.”
    “Let’s go on the assumption that the chip has something to do with the murders. Ray really wants that chip back.”
    “If we gave the chip to NASCAR, he could lose the championship,” Hooker said.
    “Yeah, but he’s never cared about the car side of the business before. Why does he care so much about the championship now? And his dead brother would take the hit. Ray would say he knew nothing about it. Ray would come out clean. And anyway, NASCAR would impose a fine and some sanctions, but they wouldn’t take the championship away. They’d have to undo too many things that are already in motion. Photo ops and satellite radio tours and television appearances. Not to mention party favors for the banquet next week.”
    “So?”
    “I think there’s something else going on with the chip.”
    “Like it has some secret James Bond code on it that can be used to destroy the world?”
    “Nothing that glamorous. I was thinking more about the things Steven told us…a breakthrough in computer technology. Or a new and better battery.”
    Hooker looked doubtful. “Do you think someone would kill for a better battery?”
    “A better battery could be worth a lot of money.”
    Hooker kissed the nape of my neck.
    “What are you doing?” I asked him.
    “I’m getting friendly.”
    “There’s no getting friendly. We don’t get friendly anymore.”
    Hooker was a good lover for the same reason he was a good race-car driver. He never gave up. It didn’t matter whether he was closing in on the leader, or if he was