The Trojan Colt
“Not that I expected to find anything useful.
It was a 1998 Prowler, pretty beat up. The left front bumper had been caved in by another car, not enough to affect the wheel, but fixing it would have cost more than the car was worth on the market. Air-conditioning wasn’t working. Tony (or a previous owner) had torn the seat belts out and knew enough about cars so that there were no annoying flashing lights or beeping sounds because the belts weren’t fastened. There was a CD player and a ton of the junk that passes for music these days. And the car had logged 262,407 miles and was still running.
The top was down, which is the only way it would have been reported in less than a week or two. I checked the mechanism, and it was working. I remembered back to the night he vanished. It was clearly going to rain, probably had already sprinkled some, which meant Tony didn’t figure to be wherever he was for long or he’d have put the top up.
My next stop was Mill Creek, where I had Stan...dish get one of Bigelow’s house flunkies to print out the addresses of everyone who’d worked for him for the past half year.MoreLess
It was a 1998 Prowler, pretty beat up. The left front bumper had been caved in by another car, not enough to affect the wheel, but fixing it would have cost more than the car was worth on the market. Air-conditioning wasn’t working. Tony (or a previous owner) had torn the seat belts out and knew enough about cars so that there were no annoying flashing lights or beeping sounds because the belts weren’t fastened. There was a CD player and a ton of the junk that passes for music these days. And the car had logged 262,407 miles and was still running.
The top was down, which is the only way it would have been reported in less than a week or two. I checked the mechanism, and it was working. I remembered back to the night he vanished. It was clearly going to rain, probably had already sprinkled some, which meant Tony didn’t figure to be wherever he was for long or he’d have put the top up.
My next stop was Mill Creek, where I had Stan...dish get one of Bigelow’s house flunkies to print out the addresses of everyone who’d worked for him for the past half year.MoreLess
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