A Bad Day for Sorry: A Crime Novel by Sophie Littlefield Page B

some juvie time for it. But I guess the bug bit him good. He’s always been wanting a better ride than he’s got, even though he’s not willing to work regular to get it. Long about last January he comes to me and says some pal of his says they can make good money stealing cars from up in Independence and Kansas City and taking ’em to salvage yards to sell for parts. So I guess Roy Dean and him do this for a while and then Roy Dean comes to me and says, why don’t he and I team up? Takes two, see, because you drive up there togetherand then one guy watches out while the other one gets the thing started, then you got to drive your own car back along with the one you stole.”
    “I thought you boys don’t get along,” Stella said. “Why would he want you to go in on this thing with him?”
    “No’m, we don’t generally, but the way I figure it is, Roy Dean knew he could trust me. I’d never rat him out or anything. That ain’t the way we’re raised. Plus, I think his friend was wanting to always take the bigger half of the haul, it being his contacts and all.”
    “What do you mean, contacts?”
    “Well, there’s four, five salvage shops in the county. More if you’re willing to drive a ways. But not all of ’em will take a car without title, you know? And those that will, you gotta kind of build up a relationship with them, just like any other business. And if you really want to make some good money, you got to know what they’re looking for. See, there’s makes and models they need parts for more’n others.”
    “Sounds like you know quite a bit about this, Arthur Junior, for a guy who didn’t want to get tangled up in it.”
    Arthur Junior hung his head, looking sheepish. “Well, thing is . . . Roy Dean, he just wouldn’t let it drop. And you should’ve seen Mom. Roy Dean, dumbass that he is, tells her we’re going to start a fucking body shop together, fix up cars and resell ’em. Excuse my language. Sorry. And Mom was so happy, you should’ve seen her. . . . All she ever wanted was for Roy Dean to stay out of trouble, and here he’s got her thinking he’s gonna go straight and that I’ll be there making sure he keeps his nose clean.”
    Stella remembered the weary look in Arthur Senior’s eyeswhen he talked about his boys. “What did your dad think of all this?”
    Arthur Junior stirred his coffee with a spoon, eyes downcast. “Dad . . . well, I think he quit believing anything Roy Dean said back when we were kids, but you know, he just wants Mom to be happy.”
    “That’s a female affliction for you,” Stella said with feeling. “Trying to believe one thing when all the evidence points in the other direction. If women weren’t so darn bent on fooling themselves . . . well, I guess that’s another subject. Go ahead, tell me the rest. Did you join up with Roy Dean or didn’t you?”
    “I . . . well, I hate to admit it to you, Mrs. Hardesty, but I rode up to Independence with Roy Dean a couple times. I don’t know what I was thinking, maybe that I could talk him out of it or something, but—I mean it was just so damn simple. People leave their cars right out in the open without even locking the doors, and do you know how easy it is to hot-wire them? Especially pre-ninety-five, ninety-six, all you have to do is go under the steering column and get at the wires and touch them together. It’s not hardly rocket science, and Roy Dean always was good with that stuff, and the thing is these aren’t new cars. These are like old Camrys and whatever. It’s almost like a victimless crime, because with a car that age, people are done paying it off and the insurance company writes a check and, you know, they just go and get another car.”
    Stella didn’t have much to say to that, especially because breakfast arrived. “Grand Slam,” the waitress said cheerfully, sliding it under Stella’s nose, “and . . . Grand Slam.”
    Arthur Junior stared at his plate with little