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not sure she believes the switching part, but
she knows the people that killed Travis are really after me.” She looked at me
worriedly. “She was just tryin’ to help by telling you. You seem trustworthy. 
I tried to file a police report.  The officer they sent made me feel stupid. 
He said if both trucks keep showing up at my house, how could they be stolen?
Also, I don’t know who Travis may have told. We didn’t talk much after the crash
and it was only a week later he was killed.”
    This was all starting to sound
like a bad Spielberg movie.
    “I have to be straight with you,
Tammy. This is all pretty hard to believe.” She looked down as I spoke,
suddenly interested in her cigarette.
    Her eyes flashed back up, “Come
over and watch the trucks switch, then you’ll see what I mean.”  She seemed
hopeful again.
    I missed the rest of the sentence
after the words ‘come over.’ Then I came to my senses and started talking
business.
    “If what you say is true I’ll take
the case on a contingency, thirty percent of whatever you sell the trucks for. 
If I don’t find it, I’ll bill you only for my expenses.  Do you want to put me
on the case?” I said casually, but I was actually very interested.
    “Great, but thirty percent is too
much, even if it is a dangerous job. This could make me millions. I’ll pay you
… $100,000.”
    “It’s all fiat money.”
    “A hundred G’s could buy you
something better than a Fiat, at least a new Camaro or Escalade.”
    What a kidder.
    Tomorrow night, I was to pick her
up at midnight after work tomorrow and go over to her Grandma’s place the watch
the truck do its thing.  Kim was taking her home so I said good night with a
drunken wink and left.  I crunched over the gravel to the LeBaron, feeling cool
but wobbling like a March leprechaun.

 
     
    Chapter
7
     
    It was one of the most beautiful
guns I had ever seen.  It was about two feet from my nose and quivering
slightly.   The edgy crack-head punk who was holding it did not inspire
confidence and I was starting to get more than a little nervous, sweating out
the smell of beer and garlic from last night’s extended happy hour at Orby’s.
    Yes, I remember getting home the
night before.  Even now with a gun pointed at me, thoughts of my new friend and
client Tammy filled my head.
    I had locked the door to my small
house behind me, brushed my teeth hard and gone to bed.  Even with all these
precautions, somehow a rhinoceros must have gotten into my bedroom and pissed
in my mouth.  There is no other way to explain the foul taste and smell
emerging.  After I shaved my tongue, showered and dressed in Dockers and a golf
shirt, the Mr. Coffee starting doing his good work. Better.
    A small desk on the other side of
my kitchen counter represented my home office.  On the weekends I forwarded the
office phone and fax to the house just in case.  I checked my fax machine and
found that there was a LISA work order there.  I also had a voice mail from my
contact at             LISA, Lender Investigation Services Associated.  Joel
Axeman was his name.  He said, could I please do one more call for them this
weekend.
    It seems, Andrew Osgood, one of
our local bankruptcy attorneys, had some delinquency of his own on a Jaguar XK
convertible.  Due to his slow pay history, the bank holding his auto loan wanted
someone to assure the body damage repairs had been made to the Jag before they
released the $15,000 in insurance money to Mr. Osgood.
    The car was parked where they said
it would be, in the garage behind the attorney’s office in the Farragut Building downtown. It would be there until at least noon today, while Mr. Osgood
finished this week’s work, or finished boffing his secretary or what ever he
does Saturday mornings.  I grabbed my briefcase with the digital camera in it
and put the top down on the Chrysler and headed down town.
    This is how I ended up in the
State Street garage next to a