The candy-apple-red El Dorado rolled to a stop beside him. The tinted passenger window was lowered electronically. “Hey, boy.”
Graham gulped down a wad of nervous spit. “Hi.”
“Unless I’m mistaken, you shot me the bird.”
Graham’s knees turned to jelly. He had to pee real bad. “Yes, sir.”
“How come?”
“I, uh, I nearly choked on the dust you raised.” Then, not wanting to be a total wimp, he added, “I think you were speeding.”
The driver laughed. “Hell, boy, I’m always speeding. I’ve got places to go and people to see.” He nodded toward the bike. “Looks to me like you’re in trouble.”
“My tire went flat.”
“Where were you headed?”
“Out where they’re building the TexTile plant.”
“Hmm.” The driver tipped down his sunglasses and peered at Graham over the frames. “That’s in the opposite direction from where I’m going, but I reckon I could give you a lift out there.”
“Oh, no thank
s. I’ll—”
“Your bike’ll fit in the trunk.”
“Thanks anyway, sir, but I don’t think I’d better.”
“You’re Jade’s boy, aren’t you?”
Graham was momentarily taken aback. “Yes, sir. How’d you know?”
“What’s your name again?”
“Graham.”
“That’s right, Graham. Well, Graham, me and your mama have known each other since grade school. Maybe she’s mentioned me—Neal Patchett?”
The name was vaguely familiar. Graham was sure his mother had talked about some people named Patchett. “Does she know your father, too?”
“That’s right,” Neal replied with a wide grin. “His name’s Ivan. Did you know that a freight train chopped off his legs clean as a whistle?”
As with most boys his age, Graham was fascinated by gore. “Jeez. No kiddin’?”
“That’s a fact. Right here above his knees. It was a real mess.” He depressed a button in the glove compartment and the lid of the trunk popped open. “Put your bike in there and climb in. I’ll be more’n pleased to give you a lift.”
Graham had been forbidden to accept rides from strangers, but he knew who this man was, and his mother knew him, too. If he didn’t ride with him, he’d be stuck out on the road and still uncertain about what he should do. All things considered, it was his best option.
He rolled his bicycle to the rear of the car and lifted it into the trunk. He had to rearrange the fishing gear and two shotguns stowed there, but was finally able to fit his bike inside and close the lid.
The luxurious leather interior of the car made him self-conscious of his dusty sneakers. His sweaty, bare legs stuck to the seat. But after being out in the hot sun, it felt good.
“All set?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cut out that ‘sir’ shit, okay? Just call me Neal.”