Detour to Apocalypse: A Rot Rods Serial, Part Two Read Free

the kind of place that serves watered down drinks? Some goddamn dump? A back alley Brooklyn speakeasy? Is that what you think it is?”
    Ginger sobbed and Frankie Fink slammed her hand on the table. Betty covered her mouth with her hand and Felix’s face went pale.
    “Mr. Finkelstein, I’m s-s-s―”
    “You dumb dame, of course, you’re sorry! Now answer my damn question!”
    “No, Mr. Finkelstein!” Ginger cried.
    “That’s right.” He let go of her arm. “You’re fired. Get your stuff together and leave. You’re finished here. Go back to Iowa or wherever you came from.” He pounded the table. “Now!” Ginger raced out of the room, sobbing. Frankie Fink’s eyes swiveled back to the Captain. The smile returned to his face. His laugh lines deepened. “I apologize. I require perfection in my casino. Absolute perfection. Right down to the drinks.” He settled down in his desk. “But we’re finished on that subject. You want to know about Townsend Mars?”
    “Mr. Finkelstein,” Felix said. “You didn’t need to insult that p-poor woman or―”
    “Felix.” The Captain put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, Townsend Mars. Is he here?”
    Frankie Fink stared at the Captain. For a second, his smile vanished and his lined and weary face emerged. Then the smile returned. “I do know Townsend. We’re old friends from my Hollywood days. He’s a weird fellow, I know―but he pays his debts. Of course, he’s not in town right now. I don’t know where he is.” He spoke too quickly, an obvious denial.
    Roscoe stepped closer. “You sure about that? You know, if we don’t get what we want, it may bring some trouble down on your casino. Mars is involved with weird stuff, as I’m sure you know. It could end up coming back to bother you.”
    “You think I can’t handle myself?”
    “Not against this,” Roscoe replied.
    Betty stepped in. “We’re also looking for Dr. Clyde Bolton. Mars kidnapped him and fled. We think both of them might be in town.”
    “I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Frankie Fink replied. “But I don’t know any Dr. Bolton.” He patted the desk. “Now, why don’t you head back downstairs and enjoy a turn at the slot machines and the tables. Please enjoy your stay, and if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
    Roscoe’s fingers tensed. “You’re making a mistake, Frankie Fink.”
    “What’d you call me?” Frankie Fink squinted at Roscoe. “You know what that word means, ‘fink’? It means a rat. I’ve never been a rat. It means someone who’s a back-stabber, and I’ve always done right by my pals.” He slammed his fist down on the table. “You want to come here and insult me? Threaten me in my own joint? I’ll smash your goddamn head open with a claw hammer. I’ll break your goddamn bones, you greaser piece of garbage.”
    Felix raised his hands. “Please, Mr. Finkelstein, we did not mean―”
    “You shut up, you little kraut.” Frankie Fink glared at Felix and the boy stepped back. “I’ll work you over with a baseball bat. Teach you some goddamn respect for your elders.” His face changed, the smile forgotten now. He waved his hand at the Captain. “Get out of my joint. You’re done here. You’re through. You ever come back again, I’ll take you out to the desert and leave you there. I’ll throw the sand on top of you myself, you understand?” He pointed to Craddock. “Buzz, throw them out!”
    Buzz Craddock stepped in front of the desk. He folded his arms. Brass knuckles glittered on each hand. “You heard the man. You gonna go quietly, or we gonna have to mess this office up?”
    The Captain seemed to consider the situation. Roscoe balled his hands into fists and waited, but the Captain shook his head. “We’re leaving. Let’s go.” He walked to the door, Betty and Felix following him closely. Roscoe stayed behind for a second, watching the fuming Frankie Fink, then left the room as well. They headed straight for the