Tail Spin

happy to report that Agent Crowne is asleep. Ah, do you know where I can find Tip Top Overhaul?”
    She walked straight to the car repair two blocks over on Long Neck Lane, set off by itself, the big lot in the back closed in by a high chain-link fence. Only one person was around, a youngish guy wearing a tatty T-shirt, jeans, and black sneakers, and he was sitting on a folding chair, back chair legs against the wall in the single garage bay, chewing gum and flipping through a tattered old Playboy.
    Playboy. Now that was good, that was really quite hopeful, Rachael thought as she stepped over an ancient radiator and into the dim space. When he looked up, she nearly turned and ran. She recognized him straight off—Roy Bob Lancer. He’d been a senior when she was twelve, captain of the football team. He blinked up at her, and blessed be, there wasn’t a hint of recognition in his eyes. It was obvious he didn’t remember the skinny twelve-year-old with braces.
    Rachael gave him a smile designed to curl his toes and churn up lust in his belly, and prayed to the tight sweater gods. “I wonder if you towed my car in, Mr....”
    He lunged to his feet. “Lancer, ma’am, it’s Roy Bob Lancer. Ah, you’re the Charger?”
    “Yes, but I don’t see it.” She gave him another blinding smile.
    “It’s out back, ma’am, all safe and sound.”
    “Do call me Rachael. And I’ll call you Roy Bob.” Another toothy smile. “If I knew anything about fuel pumps, and indeed I don’t, I’m going to need you to fix it or replace it for me,” and she kept that delicious smile on her face, her shoulders back, breasts forward. “You’re the expert, everyone says so. And you’re honest, that’s what the sheriff says, and the dispatcher. So, what do you think?”
    “Well, ma’am, I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. I’m all backed up, you know?” Roy Bob quickly dropped the Playboy and toed it beneath an open toolbox. He looked back at the most beautiful girl he’d seen up close since Ellie had waltzed out on him nearly four months ago, off to the big city of Waynesboro where her cousins lived, she’d said, with a little wave. Rachael was giving him a helpless look that made him want to lay the world at her feet, but what could he do? Agent Savich was an FBI special agent, and it was Roy Bob’s duty not—
    “You know what, Roy Bob? In addition to paying for your services, I’d sure like to add my own personal thank you with a cup of coffee over at Monk’s Cafe, or maybe even a drink somewhere—you know, a cozy little out-of-the-way place?”
    He glowed, but then, he was shaking his head. “Oh yeah, well, no, shit—forgive my French— I’d sure like that, ma’am, you know, a beer, but I’m so dratted busy right now.” He waved his hand around.
    Yeah, right. Savich had indeed gotten to him. It was time to find another mechanic. No, she would give it one more try.
    “Listen, Roy Bob, I’ve got a super important deal I can’t miss up in Cleveland. I’ve got to leave as soon as possible. Maybe you and I could work something out, maybe—”
    A loud bang sliced through the air near her shoulder, ricocheted off a tire rim, and thudded into an oil can, spewing 10/40 in a fountain. Another bang, this one sharp and loud, gouged into the wall a foot over their heads.

TEN
    “Hey—what was that?”
    Rachael grabbed Roy Bob’s arm and pulled him down behind a stack of old tires. “It was a bullet. Stay down, someone’s shooting at us.”
    “Nah, that can’t be, I mean, who—”
    Another two shots slammed into the wall behind their heads.
    “Holy shit—pardon my Irish—you’re right, but why? Who would do that?”
    “I don’t know.” But of course she did. They’d discovered she wasn’t dead. But how? “Roy Bob, you got a phone in your office?”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “Don’t move.”
    She managed to look around the side of the tires through the glass into his small office, saw the black phone on his banged-up desk, the door not more than six feet away. Still, she pulled out her cell first, dialed 911.
    No signal.
    “Listen, Rachael—”
    A bullet sank into an old car seat hooked to the wall beside his head. He ducked back down fast. “Oh man, what’s this all about? You FBI, too, Rachael, and someone’s after you?”
    “Roy Bob, I’ve got to get to your phone.”
    “No, look, I’ll go.” He eased up enough to peer around the tires.
    The next bullet struck a support column two