Motor Mouth

small grimace when he looked at the readout. It was Skippy. Hooker still had speakerphone mode up.
    “Where are you?” Skippy yelled. “Do you know what day this is?”
    “Monday?” Hooker answered.
    “That’s right. And you need to be driving your car around Manhattan on Wednesday. And by the way, I’m not saying you were responsible, but the body in the motor coach was a nice touch. I understand Dickie messed his pants when he saw it. When they arrest you and you get your one phone call, make sure it’s to me.” And Skippy hung up.
    Florence is a nice little town with a nice little airport that has a few commercial hops in the morning. The National Guard uses the airport, and it serves as home base for a few private planes. And once a year, when the races are at Darlington, the airport bustles.
    It was close to eleven when Hooker swung into the lot and parked. We unloaded Beans, grabbed our bags of clothes, and walked from the car directly to Nutsy’s Citation. It was the only plane on the runway. It was the same model Hooker owned. I’d called ahead, and they were ready to roll the second we were onboard.
    A private plane seems like an outrageous luxury, but the schedule for the top Cup drivers is so insane it’s virtually impossible to manage any other way. There are corporate meet-and-greet sessions, commercial tapings, charity functions, and, of course, the races. Forty races a year at twenty-two different tracks spread across the country. Plus all of those drivers have wives and girlfriends and kids and dogs and proud, insane parents who need visitation time.
    Just like Hooker’s plane, Nutsy’s plane carried seven passengers and two pilots. Hooker and I took seats opposite each other. Beans tried to fit in a seat, but couldn’t get comfortable and finally settled himself in the aisle.
    A Citation goes up fast. One minute you’re on the runway, and then
ZOOOM
you’re above the clouds and leveling off. The Citation seat was infinitely more comfortable than Ralph’s pool table. I instantly fell asleep and didn’t wake until we were descending for the approach into Miami. I heard the wheels go down, and I looked out at the red tile roofs and shimmering waterways of south Florida. Odd how the mind works. I was wanted by the police and two hit men and all I could think about was the New York banquet looming in front of me. I needed a manicure. I needed a haircut. I needed a gown. If I couldn’t get back to my apartment, I didn’t even have the right makeup.
    We disembarked, and we were a ragtag little family standing in the Signature Aviation lobby, our dog on a leash, and all our worldly possessions in grocery bags plus my one travel bag. Hooker had a decent beard going, and I felt like a street urchin beside him.
    I looked across the room to the car-rental counter. “What are the chances they’ll rent us a car?” I asked Hooker.
    “Chances are good,” Hooker said. “Nutsy left his credit card in the plane. I just have to bullshit my way around giving them my license.”
    Ten minutes later we were on the road in an SUV.
    “Are we going to see Ray now?” I asked Hooker.
    “No. We’re going to Little Havana so we can hide the chip from the gearshift knob in Felicia’s house. It seems to be the only chip Ray cares about. Then we’re going to see Ray.”
    No one was home when we got to Felicia’s house, but the key was in the flowerpot next to the back door, just like always. We let ourselves in and Beans rushed ahead, jumping around, all excited, skidding on the kitchen linoleum. Probably remembering Felicia’s pancakes and pork barbecue. We trooped upstairs to the little bedroom, and Hooker taped the chip to the back of the picture of Jesus.
    “Doesn’t get any safer than that,” Hooker said.
    After sleeping in the car and on top of a pool table, I was thinking the little bedroom looked like paradise. The comfy bed with the clean sheets, the immaculate bathroom just down the hall…
    “Maybe we should test the bed out,” Hooker said. “See if it’s still too small.”
    “Good grief.”
    “Well, you had
that look
.”
    “I was thinking about the bathroom.”
    “Works for me,” Hooker said. “Warm water, slippery soap…”
    “Good grief.”
    “You keep saying that. That sounds so hopeless. I’m dying here. I need something to hang on to. Throw me a crumb, for pity’s sake.”
    I did a big fake sigh. “Maybe we can get together sometime later.”
    Hooker looked