He was running fast; running behind. He glanced at his watch. 1:30 PM. No wonder he was hungry. He’d stop at the country store up the road and get a carton of milk and a box of powdered sugar donuts. He needed to use the phone anyway.
The sun was in his eyes and he reached up and put the visor down. Absent-mindedly, he slapped his left breast pocket, took out the pack of cigarettes, shook one into his mouth and held it between his front teeth. He barely slowed down as he drove off the main road, spraying the gravel in front of Cartrette's store. He parked, grabbed his clipboard, and unfolded himself from the low slung car, throwing the cigarette as he did so. The older man threw up his hand as the younger one sauntered in.
“Well, hey. You back here agin this week?”
“Yeah, gotta look at a wreck off 521.” He looked at the name on his clipboard. “Can I use your phone? You know Wendell Coffey?”
“Course I do," he pointed in the direction of the highway.
"Next right, then the second left. Dirt road. Pretty bad ruts after this rain. You gonna have to drive real careful!”
The young man reached for the phone, dialed the number, and spoke briefly.
The old man looked out the door at the white car parked on the gravel. “Son, you like them things, don’t you?”
"Next right, then the second left. Dirt road. Pretty bad ruts after this rain. You gonna have to drive real careful!”
The young man reached for the phone, dialed the number, and spoke briefly.
The old man looked out the door at the white car parked on the gravel. “Son, you like them things, don’t you?”
The younger man sat the milk and donuts on the counter, dug his wallet out of the back pocket of his old Levis, and laid a $5.00 bill on the counter. He smiled real big. “Yeah. Nothing better than fixing one up. Don’t want to put too much in ‘em though." He laughed, "Can’t make any money if I do.”
The old man kept staring out the door at the white car. “Ya know, J. D. Winkler's got one ‘a them things. Had it a long time out under his barn shed. Well, it belonged to his boy. He got drafted. Viet Nam. He got killed..." His voice trailed off, remembering.
"One day Wendell just up and drove that car under the tobacco barn shed, locked it up, threw some old tobacco sheets over it, and it’s been there ever’ since.”
"One day Wendell just up and drove that car under the tobacco barn shed, locked it up, threw some old tobacco sheets over it, and it’s been there ever’ since.”
“That's just too bad. What'd it look like?”
“Can't remember too good. Only saw it a time or two. Had one 'a them funny looking back winders.”
The younger man's eyes squinted, his excitement rising.
“Where is it?”
“Right down the road where you going. Couple a houses down. Y’ought to stop in there and ask him about it. Tell 'im to let you see it. Tell 'im I told you about it. Don't think he'd mind.”
“Mr. Ben, you just made my day! You keep that change.”
He picked up his milk and donuts and hurried to his car. He got in, worn corduroy Levis sliding easily on the red leather seat. He opened the carton of milk and set it between his legs. He opened the box of donuts and popped one into his mouth, a trace of white sugar falling onto the front of his shirt. He looked over at his clip board, started his car and drove onto the highway.
To be continued...
To be continued...
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