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It’s on a separate campus a couple miles from Huevo corporate headquarters. If the sixty-nine had some incredible technology installed on it, they might want it taken back to R and D. Oscar Huevo is chairman of the board of Huevo Industries and the driving force behind Huevo Motor Sports. His little brother Ray runs R and D.”
    “And Ray was at the race today,” Gobbles said. “Barney and me saw him talking to Horse and Baldy.”
    I have to admit I could feel my curiosity ratchet up. Gobbles was suggesting there was a billion dollars’ worth of illegal technology on a race car that was at my disposal. As a member of the racing community, I was incensed that the technology might have been used to cause a crash. And as a car junkie and engineer, I was dying to get my hands on it.
    Hooker glanced over at me. “You’re looking like Beans when he sees a thirty-two-ounce steak left unattended on a kitchen counter.”
    “At least I’m not panting and drooling.”
    “Not yet,” Hooker said, “but I know you’re capable.”
    “We’re sort of safe here in the warehouse,” I said to Hooker. “Maybe we should roll the sixty-nine out and take a peek.”
    Hooker smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
    I entered the trailer through the rear-pocket doors. Hooker, Gobbles, and I pulled the two large toolboxes out of the aisle, onto the ramp, and rolled them out to the warehouse floor.
    We all got on the ramp, I powered us up to the second deck, we rolled the primary car out, set chocks to keep it stable, and I powered the ramp back down. We rolled the car off the ramp and onto the floor, and I got ready to go to work, helping myself to some disposable gloves, opening the toolboxes, releasing the hood latches.
    We’d let Beans out to stretch his legs, and he was running around, acting goofy, looking to play. Hooker took a hand towel from the tool chest, tossed it to Beans, and Beans caught it and tore it to shreds.
    “He’s just a big puppy,” Hooker said.
    “Keep your eye on him so he doesn’t eat a wrench or a lug nut. I’m going to borrow a jumpsuit from the Huevo hauler.”
    The first locker I tried was empty. I opened the door to the second locker and a shrink-wrapped body fell out. It was folded up, knees to chest. It was male. It was buck naked. It was completely encased in layers and layers of plastic wrap. With the exception of the gruesomely distorted face and open, unseeing eyes, the shrink-wrapped corpse looked a lot like 180 pounds of expired raw chicken parts packaged for supermarket bulk sales.
    I jumped back and slammed into the locker on the opposite side of the narrow aisle. A wave of nausea slid through my stomach, and the room dimmed for a moment. In my mind I was screaming, but I think the reality was that my mouth was open and no sound was emerging.
    Hooker looked in at me. “See a spider?” His eyes focused on the plastic-wrapped chunk of body parts on the floor. “What the hell is that?”
    I was breathless and too horrified to move. “I think it’s a d-d-dead guy. I opened the cabinet, and he fell out.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “You need to come take a look, because I seriously think it’s a dead guy, and I’d like to get out of here, but my feet won’t go anywhere.”
    Hooker moved next to me, and we both stared down at the body. The eyes were open in a look of unblinking surprise, and there was a big bullet hole in the middle of the forehead. He was maybe in his fifties with a stocky build, and dark brown hair cut short. He was naked and bloody and grotesque. In fact, he was grotesque beyond seeming human, so that after the first shock wore off, it was like looking at a movie prop.
    “Shit,” Hooker said. “This really is a dead guy. I hate dead guys. Especially when they’ve got a bullet hole in their forehead, and they’re in a hauler I just stole.”
    I glanced at Hooker and saw that he’d broken out in a sweat. “You aren’t going to get sick, or faint, or