in Uncategorized, Blog, Lit, Serial Fiction 4:27 pm Sunday, August 12th, 2007

 “Death On The Breeze”
A Danny Stark Mystery
by James Walling 

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3

Angie dropped Danny at the garage and departed to break the news to her father before the first reports of Herb’s death hit the radio. Danny had business to attend to. He had a Mercedes SUV scheduled to come in just before dawn.

It’s hard to get rich as an auto mechanic anywhere, and in a small town like Chelatchie Prairie, it’s basically impossible. But Danny had discovered certain advantages to being blind. Over time, scores of car thieves from the nearby metropolitan areas of Seattle, Tacoma, and Portland, Oregon, had pegged Danny’s Garage as an opportune location for chopping stolen vehicles, and Danny had made the most of it.

Danny could trace a VIN number as easily as the next guy, but, for obvious reasons, he couldn’t very well identify any of his customers in a court of law. At least most of the crooks that sought him out figured he couldn’t. His specialty, ironic though it must have seemed to many, was cosmetic surgery. He could alter the appearance of a stolen auto so effectively as to render the usual practice of chopping it into unidentifiable parts unnecessary, thereby increasing its street value considerably and streamlining the process. Needless to say, it could be a lucrative trade.

The more upright citizens of Chelatchie Prairie would doubtless have taken umbrage if a steady stream of riff-raff had begun filing in and out of their sparsely populated business district—if you could call it that. Danny had long since learned to take certain precautions in order to avoid unwanted attention and police persecution. No daytime visits. No unannounced visits. And most important of all, plausible deniability. If a car thief so much as implied that a vehicle was hot, Danny sent them packing with loud protestations of innocence. Etiquette was strictly enforced. Danny didn’t ask, and the customer didn’t tell.

Even so, it was common knowledge among many people in town that Danny had some sort of nebulous connection to the criminal underworld. This didn’t stop anybody from liking Danny or taking their above-board business to him. Far from it, in fact. Danny was a good mechanic and popular guy and he had lived in the area most of his life.

Danny’s Garage dealt almost exclusively with independent operators who stuck to high-end vehicles. There was more money in expensive cars, of course, and although he had never said as much to anyone, he was loathe to risk snatching the sole transport of a working mother or blue collar slob. He traded heavily in spoilers for luxury sport coupes, and custom grilles for Cadillacs and Lincolns. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he and his regulars were class heroes of a sort, making a fast buck at the expense of the insurance companies and fat cats.

Danny didn’t feel much like working. Before heading back to his apartment, he stopped in his sparsely appointed office and dialed a cell number from memory to cancel the incoming job.

The unmistakable voice of a smart-assed teenager answered the call. “Blind Mechanics of America,” the voice announced, “Stevie Wonder speaking.” The voice belonged to Loudon Bean, an art-school dropout living in Seattle who supported his bohemian lifestyle by acting as Danny’s informal answering service and go-between for his dealings with the nefarious.

Danny didn’t laugh at the joke. It was one of Bean’s standard greetings. “The shop is closed for business,” he said. “Pass it along.” He heard the young man groan in frustration. “And kid,” he added unsympathetically, “I need a favor.”

“Yeah,” Bean replied in a mirthless voice, “you need me to track down some meathead and turn him into one very unhappy customer by canceling on him.”

“Fuck the meathead,” Danny snapped. “Herb Schaller is dead.”

The line went silent.

Finally, the kid stammered, “You want me on the next Greyhound?”

Danny smiled wistfully. The kid may be a lowlife, he thought, but he’s a dedicated lowlife. “Not yet,” he answered, “I want you to stay in the city for the time being.”

“And the favor?” Bean asked.

“Find Don Bauman.”

Bauman was a former fire inspector and investigator from Tacoma who had quit his local department in favor of private practice. Now he worked insurance claims at twice the pay. Danny had found that he needed friends on both sides of the law and Bauman had been a useful associate over the years.

“I’m gonna need him to probe the fire department and the sheriff’s office for information about Herb’s death,” Danny continued. “He’ll get a lot farther with them than I would.”

“Done,” Bean said instantly. “And, Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Danny said, almost inaudibly. “But I’m damn sure gonna find out.”

[Editor’s Note: Tune in next Sunday for Chapter 4!]