“He made a long, slow circle around Tucker’s mangled Porsche, his J. C. Penney work boots crunching on shards of glass. His pale blue eyes were sober in his round, powerfully freckled face. Thoughtfully, he pulled at his full bottom lip. Caroline thought he looked like Howdy Doody on tranquilizers. “Seems like you got yourself some trouble here,” he said at length. “Little bit,” Tucker agreed. “Got a smoke, Junior?” “Guess so.” Junior pulled a pack of Winstons from the breast pocket of his greas...e-stained work shirt. He shook the pack, shooting a cigarette out to the filter, carefully replacing the pack after Tucker had taken it. Then he crouched down to contemplate the mashed fender. There was another long moment of silence. “Sure used to be a pretty car.” Tucker knew Junior wasn’t rubbing his nose in it. It was simply his nature to state the obvious. Leaning over, Tucker opened the glove compartment and found a pack of matches. “I s’pose they can fix her up, down in Jackson.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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