Patricia Cornwell - Southern Cross

Bubba winked at the kid as if to imply that Muskrat was exaggerating. Muskrat walked over to a workbench, where the heater box was warming up several tubes of SikaTack Ultrafast polyurethane. He picked up a caulking gun and dropped a tube inside it.

'Remember the time you forgot the cotter pin and the tire rod fell off and both wheels went out spread-eagle?' Muskrat kept on.

'He can tell a story,' Bubba said to the kid.

Water trickled down the inside of the glass. Muskrat ran a thick bead of black polyurethane, licking his finger and pressing it flat. He stepped out of the car and ran a thin bead on the outside of the glass.

'We need to wait about fifteen minutes to test it again,' he said. 'Truth is, none of the seals in this thing are tight. Bet you get a lot of wind noise.'

Bubba wasn't going to admit it. Muskrat walked over to the solvent bin and dipped his hands in the murky fluid.

'What'cha need?' Muskrat finally said to the kid.

'My left rear power window won't work.' The young man was courteous, but his eyes were hard.

'The motor's probably gone bad,' volunteered Bubba the ace mechanic. 'But you're gonna have to wait. I was here first.'

'We got a few minutes,' Muskrat told Bubba. 'Let me go on and take care of him.'

Muskrat dried his hands and walked outside to the Escort. He opened the back door and popped the panel off as the young man scanned his surroundings.

'Bubba, how 'bout bringing me the wire strippers,' Muskrat said. 'You're lucky,' he told his young customer. 'It ain't the switch or the motor. You got a broke wire between the door and the jamb. All I gotta do is splice it. What's your name, by the way?'

'Smoke.'

'Now that's a new one,' Muskrat commented.

'What everybody calls me.' Smoke shrugged. 'Hope you get your problem taken care of,' he then said to Bubba. 'I'm new around here. People seem really nice.'

'It's the South,' Bubba bragged.

'I guess you're from here.'

'Couldn't be from anyplace else. In fact, I'm even more southern than I used to be.'

'How so?' Smoke asked with a smile that might have been interpreted as a faint sneer had Bubba paid attention.

'Born on Northside and moved to Southside.'

'Oh yeah? Where 'bouts?'

'Forest Hills. Over on Clarence,' said Bubba, who was flattered by the boy's interest and his respectful way of addressing him. 'Can't miss my house. The one with the coon dog in the pen. Half Shell. She barks nonstop and wouldn't hurt a flea.'

'Not much of a watchdog if she barks all the time,' Smoke said.

'You got that right.'

'You hunt with her?'

'Big into that,' Bubba said.

'Seems all us southern guys are big on guns.'

'You bet.'

Muskrat twisted the wires he'd stripped and was done.

'When I was your age,' Bubba said to Smoke, 'I started fixing things like this myself.'

'I'm not very mechanically inclined,' Smoke said.

'You can work on it, son.' Bubba beamed. 'Go out and get the proper tools, some books, and it's trial and error. Same with things around the house. You build your own deck and fix your own roof - hell, just the other day I bought a new garage door at Sears. Installed it myself 'No kidding,' Smoke said. 'Remote control and all?'

'You bet. Gives satisfaction money can't buy,' Bubba said.

'You must have quite a shop,' Smoke said.

'Had to add an addition to the garage. Everything from grove joint pliers to a DeVilbiss air compressor rated at 7.6 CFM at 40 PSI and 5.6 CFM at 90 to diagnostic tools like a Sunpro Sensor Probe so you can test manifold absolute pressure, mass air flow and vane air flow sensors.'

'Don't need shit like that, and neither do you, Bubba,' Muskrat let him know. 'At least I know how to use what I got.'

Muskrat replaced the door panel and got up. He climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine and tested the window. It hummed up.

'Smooth as silk,' he announced proudly, wiping his hands on his pants.

'Gee, thanks,' Smoke said. 'How much do I owe you?'

'The first time's on the house,' Muskrat said.

'Gee. Thanks a lot,' Smoke said.

'Hey, the Gun and Knife Show's coming in two weeks,'

Bubba suddenly remembered. 'Looking for a couple after-market clips, twenty rounds, for my new 92FS M9 Special Edition, finest military handgun in the world. Now that I gotta show you, Muskrat. Comes with pistol belt and holster, magazine pouch. Same thing used in Just Cause, Desert Storm, Desert Shield, Restore Hope, Joint Guard.'

'Do tell,' said Muskrat.

'I'm debating if I should've got the presentation case. Walnut, etched glass cover. And the walnut grips,' Bubba agonized.

'Wouldn't be as practical if you ever plan to shoot it.'

'I sure as hell do. Winchester 115-gram Silvertip high-power." 'How come you ain't in school?' Muskrat asked Smoke.

'Free period. In fact, I gotta get back.'

Muskrat waited until Smoke was in his car, driving off.

'You notice that boy's eyes?' Muskrat said. 'Looked like he'd been drinking.'

'As if you and I didn't at that age,' Bubba said. 'So what d'ya think? This urethane hard enough yet?'

'Should be. But don't get your hopes up.'

They used the air hose and spray bottle again. The leak was still there. Muskrat took his time studying the problem until he'd figured it out.

'You got a hairline crack in the roof line,' he said.

Weed refused to read his story, causing Mrs. Grannis to doubt that he had written one. This disappointed her greatly, and the other students in the class did not know what to think. Weed had always been so eager, the little boy-wonder in art class. Now, suddenly, he was uncommunicative and uncooperative, and the more Mrs. Grannis pressed him, the more obstinate he got. Finally, he was rude.

'Why I did the fish is my business,' he said, reaching under his desk for his knapsack.

'You had an assignment, just like everyone else,' Mrs. Grannis said firmly.

'No one else did a fish.' Weed looked up at the clock.

That's all the more reason we want to hear about yours,' Mrs. Grannis answered.

'Come on, Weed.'

'Read it to us.'

'Hey, it's not fair. You heard ours.'

It was 1:48. Fifth period ended in three minutes. Mrs. Grannis felt terrible. Weed was impossible, sitting rigidly in his chair, head bent, as if he were about to be beaten.

His classmates shifted uncomfortably, waiting for the bell.

'Well,' Mrs. Grannis broke the silence. 'Tomorrow we start watercolors, and don't forget, we have a special program next period.'

Henry Hamilton was the star pitcher of the baseball team, and he hated any activity that kept him sitting past two in the afternoon. He made a face, slumped in his seat and sighed loudly. Eva Grecci did the same because she had an aching crush on Hamilton. Randy Weispfenning wasn't happy, either.

'We have two very important police officers who have been sent to Richmond by the National Institute of Justice,' Mrs. Grannis said. 'They have generously agreed to come today and talk with us.'

'About what?'

'Crime, I suppose,' Mrs. Grannis said.

'I'm sick of hearing about it.'

'Me, too. My mom won't even read the paper anymore.'

'My dad thinks I should start wearing a bulletproof vest to class.' Hamilton laughed, ducking when Weispfenning tried to cuff him.

That's not funny,' Mrs. Grannis said.

The bell rang. Everyone jumped up as if there was a fire.

'Off to see the wizzz-aarrrddd…" Hamilton sang and started skipping down an imagined Yellow Brick Road.

Eva Grecci laughed too hard.

'Weed,' Mrs. Grannis said. 'I need to see you for a minute.'

He sullenly shuffled up to her desk. The room emptied, leaving the two of them alone.

This is the first time you've not turned in an assignment,' she said softly.