Read Online Honky Tonk Samurai (Hap and Leonard) by Joe R. Lansdale - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joe R. Lansdale
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said.
“That’ll be the day,” I said. “And his story was a lot worse than that, but I’ll spare you the details.”
I got up and plucked us bottled waters from the little fridge. We all sat down and sipped water while me and Leonard told Brett more about what we may have found out. It all seemed less likely by that point. Frank hadn’t really said anything incriminating, not actually. I began to think I had imagined a connection between cars and prostitution and Sandy’s disappearance. I might as well have thrown in a Bigfoot sighting.
“It sounds way too precious,” Brett said. “A car lot that sells poontang to rich people. Why bother? Why not just set up a simple escort service?”
“The cars are the lure, and the word gets around through satisfied customers. Expensive cars and expensive women. It could be a gold mine for them.”
Brett shook her head. “I don’t know. It may be monkey business, but it may be a totally different monkey than the one you’re suggesting.”
“Could be,” I said. “But high-end clientele do things in different ways. No dimly lit massage parlors with stained towels or street-corner hookers with more germs than the Centers for Disease Control. That’s too raw for them. This is elevated business for people who are willing to spend serious money. It may be hard to believe, but not only can they attract people from other places for the service, there are lots of people right here in town with money. Some of it is even legal. Lilly Buckner said Sandy came into some good money working for the car company, and then all of a sudden she wasn’t in good money at all, or didn’t seem to be, since she lifted her grandmother’s goods. The good money could have been for the services that came with the car—sex, drugs, a party. I don’t know. Maybe something happened, and she found out something else about the business she didn’t like. Could be she was actually researching what was going on there to do an exposé—going undercover, trying to use that journalism degree.”
“But she got caught?” Brett said.
“And she needed money to run,” Leonard said.
“What I’m thinking,” I said.
“I’m still skeptical,” Brett said. “I mean, a car you can use every day, but this call-girl thing, paying that much money for a car and a one-time hump. No ass is worth that much.”
“Except for yours, of course,” I said.
“Oh, you are in for so much loving, Hap Collins,” she said.
“What I’m saying is it could be like an exclusive membership. Now that you’re in the club, the ass is there when you want it. You still pay, but not as much as the first time, because you were buying a car with it.”
“Yeah, all right,” Brett said. “I hear you. Still skeptical.”
“I just want a cookie,” Leonard said. “I know they’re in that drawer and you have the key.”
“What do you think about all this, Leonard?” Brett asked.
“I want the key to that drawer,” he said.
“About the car lot and the prostitution business,” she said.
“Oh. I think it’s what Hap says, and I’d still like a cookie.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” I said.
“Don’t be mean, Hap,” Brett said.
“He needs to learn delayed gratification,” I said.
Brett opened the drawer with her key and gave Leonard a cookie. He ate it slowly and happily. But he watched carefully as she relocked the drawer and put the key away.
“Dang it,” I said. “You broke down, baby.”
“Okay, laying the Sandy Buckner problem aside,” Brett said, “there has been some good news. The lady who had you snooping on her husband came by and paid her last check and said she was happy with the results, though curiously she’s divorcing her husband anyway.”
“What?” I said.
“Said she didn’t like him keeping secrets from her. But you know what I think? I think the marriage just played out, and she was looking for a way to end it.”
“You figured all that because she gave you a check?”
“That’ll be the day,” I said. “And his story was a lot worse than that, but I’ll spare you the details.”
I got up and plucked us bottled waters from the little fridge. We all sat down and sipped water while me and Leonard told Brett more about what we may have found out. It all seemed less likely by that point. Frank hadn’t really said anything incriminating, not actually. I began to think I had imagined a connection between cars and prostitution and Sandy’s disappearance. I might as well have thrown in a Bigfoot sighting.
“It sounds way too precious,” Brett said. “A car lot that sells poontang to rich people. Why bother? Why not just set up a simple escort service?”
“The cars are the lure, and the word gets around through satisfied customers. Expensive cars and expensive women. It could be a gold mine for them.”
Brett shook her head. “I don’t know. It may be monkey business, but it may be a totally different monkey than the one you’re suggesting.”
“Could be,” I said. “But high-end clientele do things in different ways. No dimly lit massage parlors with stained towels or street-corner hookers with more germs than the Centers for Disease Control. That’s too raw for them. This is elevated business for people who are willing to spend serious money. It may be hard to believe, but not only can they attract people from other places for the service, there are lots of people right here in town with money. Some of it is even legal. Lilly Buckner said Sandy came into some good money working for the car company, and then all of a sudden she wasn’t in good money at all, or didn’t seem to be, since she lifted her grandmother’s goods. The good money could have been for the services that came with the car—sex, drugs, a party. I don’t know. Maybe something happened, and she found out something else about the business she didn’t like. Could be she was actually researching what was going on there to do an exposé—going undercover, trying to use that journalism degree.”
“But she got caught?” Brett said.
“And she needed money to run,” Leonard said.
“What I’m thinking,” I said.
“I’m still skeptical,” Brett said. “I mean, a car you can use every day, but this call-girl thing, paying that much money for a car and a one-time hump. No ass is worth that much.”
“Except for yours, of course,” I said.
“Oh, you are in for so much loving, Hap Collins,” she said.
“What I’m saying is it could be like an exclusive membership. Now that you’re in the club, the ass is there when you want it. You still pay, but not as much as the first time, because you were buying a car with it.”
“Yeah, all right,” Brett said. “I hear you. Still skeptical.”
“I just want a cookie,” Leonard said. “I know they’re in that drawer and you have the key.”
“What do you think about all this, Leonard?” Brett asked.
“I want the key to that drawer,” he said.
“About the car lot and the prostitution business,” she said.
“Oh. I think it’s what Hap says, and I’d still like a cookie.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” I said.
“Don’t be mean, Hap,” Brett said.
“He needs to learn delayed gratification,” I said.
Brett opened the drawer with her key and gave Leonard a cookie. He ate it slowly and happily. But he watched carefully as she relocked the drawer and put the key away.
“Dang it,” I said. “You broke down, baby.”
“Okay, laying the Sandy Buckner problem aside,” Brett said, “there has been some good news. The lady who had you snooping on her husband came by and paid her last check and said she was happy with the results, though curiously she’s divorcing her husband anyway.”
“What?” I said.
“Said she didn’t like him keeping secrets from her. But you know what I think? I think the marriage just played out, and she was looking for a way to end it.”
“You figured all that because she gave you a check?”
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