Vanilla Ride Read Free Page A

kind of cook could fry a burger and couldn’t dip some French fries in a deep fryer without screwing them up?
    At that moment it seemed like a question equal to “why are we here?” We came closer to solving the French fry enigma than coming up with any kind of plan to deal with our problem concerning Gadget and her keepers.
    “We’re just going to rough him up, aren’t we?” I said.
    “He hit Gadget.”
    “We don’t really know Gadget.”
    “She’s Marvin’s granddaughter, isn’t she?”
    “She is.”
    “All I need to know, Hap, ole buddy.”
    “So, we punch him in the head a little and we take Gadget with us.”
    “We can punch him lots of places. He’s got friends, we got to punch them too.”
    “Okay, so we punch him and anyone else gets in our way, and we punch them all kinds of places, and then we take Gadget.”
    “Always been the plan, far as I’m concerned.”
    “And if she doesn’t want to go?” I asked.
    “We could take her.”
    “That wouldn’t be smart, and it wouldn’t be any good. You know that. We told Marvin that.”
    “You told him,” Leonard said, sipped his coffee and looked out the window at cars going by on the highway.
    “But you know it’s true,” I said.
    “Yeah, I know it. But I don’t like bastards like this guy and I don’t like what he’s done to the granddaughter…. Ever notice how many cars are red these days? That used to be bad luck, a red car.”
    “No. I haven’t noticed. We don’t know this guy has done anything. She might be making him do it.”
    “Making him do it? Sayin’, ‘How’s about hittin’ me upside the head’? That what she’s doin’?”
    “I don’t mean she deserves it. I mean it may be some kind of sexual ritual. He punches her in the eye, then she sucks his dick. Then she punches him in the eye, and he goes for the taco. Then they start all over again.”
    “That what you think?”
    “No.”
    “Just like to hear yourself talk, don’t you, Hap?”
    “Pretty much,” I said.
    “So we’re back to roughing his ass up and seeing she wants to go with us.”
    “Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” I said. “That is the plan. I mean, why do something smart and safe and well coordinated, when we can just drive up on them and start throwing knuckles.”
    “Sometimes it works.”
    “Sometimes it does. And sometimes we get our asses kicked around.”
    “I know,” Leonard said. “I’ve seen it happen. But that ain’t often, is it?”
    “Once is too goddamn often.”
    “Point taken. Chocolate pie?”

5
    We finished off our lunch with chocolate pie and more coffee, considered having another slice and another cup but talked ourselves out of it, reminded by the fact that we had a job to do, a promise to keep, and we didn’t want to do it toting too much weight in our bellies.
    Outside I took a peek in the garage. The reader was still sitting on the upturned Coke crate, engrossed in his book. I sort of hoped no one would want a tire changed or a manifold replaced. I’d hate to think such intense concentration might be broken. A car backfired out on the highway. The dedicated reader didn’t move. He didn’t bat an eye. I guess he was at the good part, where someone was about to put the arrow in the target.
    Leonard came over and stood by me, said, “Come on, doofus. I been standing out by the truck waiting. Let’s roll.”

    Following Marvin’s directions over to the place, we listened to some more music and sang along some more, this time with Willie Nelson. I thought I did a pretty good “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” Leonard didn’t think so. We sang “In the Jailhouse Now,” which I thought might be a form of prophecy, considering what we were about to do.
    Where we were going was kind of a peckerwood suburb, which was pretty much a clutch of fall-defoliated trees, some evergreen pines, a listing mobile home, and a dog hunched to drop a load in what passedfor a yard. The dog was medium-sized, dirty yellow, and