Steven Havill - Double Prey

“You drove home?”

“Guess I did.”

“And Gus?”

“And Gus what?”

“Did you happen to notice which way he went? Toward Regál, or back north to Moore?”

“Neither one, I don’t guess. He went up through the canyon.”

“The back trail?”

“That’s what him and me were talkin’ about. There’s a section in there that just tears my truck all to hell. I’ve been tryin’ to get him to grade that-there ain’t no one else with a machine, except for the county, and they won’t do it. Got about a hundred yards that’s more like a quarry than a two-track.”

“Ah,” Estelle nodded.

“If he’d turned east at Bender’s, he’d likely have seen the kid on the four-wheeler, but I guess he woulda turned west on the canyon road. Just too bad, the whole thing.”

“Sir, do you know what kind of vehicle Eddie Johns drove?”

“Well…” Torrance looked up at the blank sky, eyes narrowed to slits. “Been a while. Big old pickup, as I recall.”

“An older model?”

“Well, no, I don’t guess so. He’s in real estate now, you know. Got to look good.”

“Real estate, then , ” Gastner corrected.

“Yup. Guess so. Pretty damn strange.”

“Sir, if you were to see Eddie Johns’ truck, would you be able to recognize it?”

Herb Torrance looked at Estelle skeptically. “Last time I saw him was what, four or five years ago? Something like that? Always wondered what happened to him, but didn’t care enough to ask. Last time I saw him, he was drivin’ a fancy rig. Seems to be it was dark blue or black, maybe. Think it was a Ford. That’s about as close as I can come.”

Estelle beckoned, and he followed her to the Quonset. She held the door for the rancher and for Gastner, and shut it securely behind them.

Standing with his hands on his hips, Torrance regarded the mess on the floor. He shifted a step or two to the side, looked some more, and then said, “Shows some use, don’t it.” He looked up at the others in the room, as if seeing them for the first time. “Bobby, you fellas workin’ to restore this? Your budget that tight, is it?”

“Just needs a little touch-up,” Torrez replied.

He pivoted at the waist and regarded Estelle. “You’re askin’ about Eddie Johns? Does this have something to do with that?”

“Yes, sir. It does.”

“This what’s left of his truck? Is that what you’re gettin’ at?”

“Can you tell us anything about it, sir?”

Torrance’s eyes narrowed a little, and he walked the length of the carcass, the expression on his face that of a rancher judging livestock. Estelle let him look without interrupting his train of thought.

“Couldn’t really say,” he said finally. “I guess this was black once upon a time, and I’d guess it was a Ford crew cab.” He held up both hands in surrender. “That’s my best shot, but then I guess you folks already know all that.”

“Sir, can you tell us why Gus Prescott would have this wrecked vehicle at his ranch?”

Herb Torrance looked genuinely surprised. “Now wait,” he said. “He did have a truck that belonged to Johns. Big old three-quarter ton. Gus told me about that. The story goes that Johns had it parked over at Giarelli Sand and Gravel in Deming when a kid driving an ore truck screwed up royally and drove right over it. Gus said he bought the wreck for salvage…wanted the engine, I guess. Well, now. This is the one?”

“It might be, sir. Did the truck catch fire in the accident?”

Herb chuckled. “Don’t think so.” He chuckled again. “Ah…” He shook his head in amusement. “I tell you, if Gus Prescott didn’t have bad luck, he wouldn’t have no luck at all.” He shook his head again. “Let me tell you about that. I was drivin’ to town one day and saw this plume of black smoke shootin’ up. Right over at Gus’ place. So I drove in, and by the time I get there, he’s standin’ there lookin’ at a smokin’ wreck. See, he was tryin’ to cut something off the truck-one of the bumper supports, I think. Anyway, before he knows it, the damn thing catches fire. He had this garden hose stretched all the way over from the house. That and a little fire extinguisher. He coulda set the whole ranch on fire. Damn good thing it wasn’t windy.”

“And that’s when he told you the truck originally belonged to Johns?”

“Yep.”

“When was this, Mr. Torrance?”

“Oh, hell, it’s been a couple years. Three or four, maybe. He just pushed the wreck over there in line with all the other junk he’s got. I guess,” and Torrance paused to scratch his scalp. “I guess he got out the engine and tranny. I know that he wanted to put the diesel in his own truck. Wouldn’t be surprised. He’s actually a fair hand as a mechanic.”

Estelle looked across at where Bill Gastner rested against a work bench. His arms were crossed over his belly, and he lifted both shoulders in a helpless shrug, a tinge of relief on his broad face.

“What’d he pay Eddie for this piece of junk?” Gastner asked. “Did he say?”

“He didn’t. Wouldn’t have been much, ‘cause Gus ain’t got much. Maybe they made a deal for some work. Don’t know. Gus didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

“I never got the impression that Gus cared much for Eddie Johns,” Gastner continued.

A hint of wariness crossed Herb Torrance’s face. “You’d have to talk to him about that. Johns was all right, long as you didn’t have to be in the same county with him.” His smile was thin. “I’d be curious to know how he come to end up stuffed in that little cave.”

“Us too,” Gastner replied.

After Herb Torrance had left, it was Bill Gastner who first voiced the confliction of relief and disappointment. “Well, I thought I had something. So where are we now?”

“One version,” the sheriff said cryptically. He had his cell phone in hand, and walked off toward a dark corner of the Quonset. He spoke so quietly that Estelle couldn’t hear him, and she turned to Gastner.

“We need to contact Giarelli’s, Padrino , ” she said. “It’s not that I think Herb would lie to us, but it’s a loose end.”

“I can’t imagine Gus making up something like that,” Gastner said. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

“How long have you known him, sir?”

“Gus? Good God, sweetheart, just about forever. Well, twenty years, anyway. Before he bought that place, he worked for Burton Livestock, over in Deming. That outfit that supplies rodeo livestock? He managed to drive one of their livestock rigs into a bar ditch. Killed some stock, wrecked an expensive truck.”

“Alcohol a factor?”

“Sure. He’s never been able to beat it. Learned to harness it a little, maybe.” He sighed. “Old Gus has his share of demons, that’s for sure. I guess he’s no different from the rest of us in that respect. Nice kids, though. I just love ’em.”

“I’m surprised, though,” Estelle mused.

“At?”

“Well, it surprises me, after what we’ve heard, to find out that Gus would associate with Eddie Johns enough that he’d buy his wrecked truck.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Where there’s a possibility of making a buck, where wheeling and dealing is concerned, personalities go by the wayside. Johns could be a charmer when he wanted to be. Gus saw a possibility for a good deal, and snapped it up. You know what one of those big diesel engines costs new in a box?”

“A lot.”

“A lot is exactly right. And the engine with a matching transmission? A whopper. Gus has himself an older Ford, and here’s an opportunity to kick it up a notch.”

“Why would Eddie Johns sell something he knew to be valuable for salvage for nickel-dime?”