Susan would have nothing to do with it. To her, anything that was covered by snow half the year didn't deserve that much attention. But she understood its therapeutic value, and so allowed him his excesses with fertilizer, grass seed, bug killer, and whatever other paraphernalia he deemed crucial to his pet's survival.
He reached over to a workbench near the door and retrieved a can of soda he'd perched there earlier. It was still faintly cool and certainly felt good going down.
"Dad?"
He glanced to his side to see his eleven-year-old daughter looking up at him.
"Hi, sweetie. What's up? You still cleaning your room?"
"I was. I found this." Wendy held up a short brown cylindrical object. Her voice betrayed that she already had a pretty good idea what it was. "It kind of looks like a dog poop."
He took the fat joint from her, actually a cigar emptied out and stuffed with marijuana, called a blunt in the street. "Looks like it's seen better days," he replied, keeping his voice light. "Where'd you find it?"
"On top of that box thing that's over the curtain rod. Above my window, you know?"
He smiled down at her. "Wow. You were cleaning up there?"
"I was going to surprise Mom with my thoroughness."
He laughed and tousled her blond hair. "Thorough hardly touches it, Wendy. I should have you clean this garage."
"Dad."
He dropped the blunt into his T-shirt pocket. "All right. Don't worry about this, okay? It's probably been there for years. I'll get rid of it."
But her face betrayed a continuing concern. "That's not the only one."
His smile faded as her full meaning sank in. "Ah."
"And I've seen him smoke them, too."
He crouched down to get on her level. "So you weren't just dusting."
She looked at the concrete floor. "No. I don't want him to do it anymore. They told us in school what it does."
He gave her a hug. "I don't want him to do it anymore, either, sweetie. But don't worry about giving me this, okay? You're a good daughter, and even better, a really good sister. This proves you love Dave a whole lot."
He straightened up. "You better show me where the others are, though. Where is he, by the way?"
Wendy began walking toward the door connecting the garage to the kitchen. "He went camping, Dad. Don't you remember? He left after Mom went to work this morning. He'll be gone for a few days."
* * *
Sam sat in her car for a while, reconnoitering the layout. It was a good place for this kind of business, really-a body shop and used car parts store with lots of people coming and going, some regulars, others unknown. And the place was a tangle of odd pieces of equipment, offering more hiding spots than a Chinese puzzle box, all just lying about.
She glanced down at the sheet Joe had given her. Ralph Meiner had both an "H" and a star next to his name, which Sam assumed put him higher on the list than most. Joe hadn't mentioned anything about stars, but there were three names so adorned. And as for Meiner's, all she had to do was look above the front door opposite to see it repeated with "Proprietor" written next to it.
She got out of her car and checked for traffic before crossing the street, thinking how pleasant it would be when she could stop wearing Greta's tight clothing and painful shoes.
"Hey," she addressed the first person she came to, a filthy man carrying a hammer and covered with a splattering of paint, grease, and just plain dirt. "You tell me where Ralph is?"
He stared at her as if she'd dropped from a cloud. "Ralph?"
"The boss."
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. "Out back."
He swiveled on his heel as she walked past, his eyes glued to her.
She went through an open gate alongside the garage and traveled the length of the building, ending up in a large enclosed area to the rear, so cluttered with old cars, either in whole or in parts, it made the front of the establishment look pristine. She stood there looking around, waiting for some sound or movement to direct her.
"I help you?"
She stared straight ahead of her and finally discerned a man standing next to a pile of rusty, twisted metal, his bearded face and stained overalls making him blend almost perfectly into his environment.
"You Ralph?"
"Who's asking?"
"Greta Novak. I was a friend of Jimmy Hollowell's."
"That makes one of us."
"You didn't like Jimmy?"
"Did you?"
"Not especially."
Meiner separated himself from his camouflage and walked toward her, wiping his palms across the voluminous belly of his overalls. "I'm Ralph. What're you after?"
"A business proposition."
The closer he got, the worse she thought he looked. His eyes bloodshot and dark-rimmed, his chest under the tangled beard lined and hollowed out, despite the unhealthy bulk of his body Ralph Meiner was apparently a man who took life straight in the teeth.
He smiled thinly as he stopped about four feet from her. "Being a friend of Jimmy's, I can guess what kind of business it is. Why come to me?"
"You're a big operator in this town."
He laughed and looked around. "Damn. I'll have to let my banker know about that. Who would've guessed?"
She gave him a sour expression. "Cute. You want to screw around, I better go someplace else."
"Like where?"
She recalled another name from George Backer's list. "Stu Nichols."
He raised his eyebrows. "You think Stuey's in my league?"
"I think Stuey and me combined could bury you."
He laughed again and shook his head. "That is some way to talk. We don't even know each other, you and me."
"I'm standing here," she countered.
He watched her quietly for a moment before nodding approvingly "So you are. You wanna take a load off?"
He turned and headed back toward where he'd come from, leading her down a narrow canyon formed of opposing piles of scrap metal. At the end of it, there was a small wooden cabin, looking as if it had been flown in from some Louisiana backwater. She half expected an alligator to be tied to a chain on its narrow front porch.
"Real homey," she commented, impressed at what a dump it was.
He looked over his shoulder. "Ain't it? Built it myself. Good place to get away from it all."
She glanced about, thinking it was an even better target for an avalanche.
"Come on in."
She walked up to the threshold and stopped, trying to adjust to the darkness inside.
"Have a seat."
Slowly, she made out a small room with a table, two armchairs, a couple of filing cabinets, and some shelves laden with odds and ends, from magazines and catalogs to unrecognizable engine parts. There were piles of debris in every corner, and a pungent odor of stale human being.
She looked very carefully at the seat of the armchair she'd been offered before sitting down.
"It's okay," he said. "That's the guest chair. It doesn't get used much."
She didn't comment.
"So," he continued, settling down comfortably, "what's on your mind?"
"A merger, a partnership, if you want."
"I don't want. Why should I?"
"More money, more drugs, better security, a guaranteed revenue source, and a chance to expand beyond anything you've dreamed of."
He looked surprised. "Drugs? I thought we were talking the car business here."
She pushed herself back out of the chair and looked down at him, disappointed. "I knew this would be a waste of time. It's been a real treat getting a glimpse of the good life."
He waved at her to sit back down. "Jeez. That's some short fuse you got. Is it going to kill you to take a little time here? We just met and you're talking building a drug empire or something. Give a guy a chance."