The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 1: American Nightmares (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #1) by Michael Panush Page B

a fine pinstriped suit and was wiping his sunglasses with a silken handkerchief. “Pardon me,” he said, sounding bored. “But are we going to start this race any time soon?”
    “Who’s asking?” Vette wondered.
    “Hadley Stullworth III. I’ve spent a small fortune preparing this automobile, madam. I want to get some use out of it.”
    “Well, listen up Hadley — we don’t start this race until the black caddy arrives.” Vette covered her eyes from the moonlight and looked in the distance. “Speak of the devil,” she said, grinning savagely. “Here he comes now.”
    The Black Cadillac with red flames around the wheels rolled right over and came to a sudden, silent stop. The windows were tinted, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to see inside. I hopped in the Packard and Weatherby joined me in the passenger seat. He was tapping his fingers on his thin knees, staring intently out the window. I didn’t want to let him down.
    The Black Cadillac’s engine revved up, a roaring snarl like the crackle of flames. The other cars followed, preparing their own engines. The leader of the Morningstar Car Club, a greaser with a carefully prepared pompadour and black leather jacket, walked to the center of the road and pointed a pistol to the sky. I felt my heart tense up as his finger wrapped around the trigger. An hour later, it seemed, he fired the gun and the race was on.
    I took my foot off the brake and let the Packard rocket forward, sliding past Hadley Stullworth’s car and screaming to the lead. The black Cadillac was coming up fast behind me, and Vette’s coupe was on the side. The Crabbpatches, and Buck Beltz fought for space behind — while the audience howled.
    Vette hogged the road, and I decided to do something about it. “Hang on,” I told Weatherby, and started spinning the wheel. My Packard smashed into the side of her car, and metal screamed on metal. She glowered at me as she tried to pull ahead. I grinned at her. My car could take the hits and hers couldn’t.
    We rode along the side of the cliffs, fighting for a place as the seconds ticked by. I nodded to Weatherby and he brought up the map. “The entrance to the shortcut Mr. Dutch specified should be on the right,” he explained. “But we may not even need it. We appear to have the lead!”
    But then the black Cadillac came screaming up from behind and blew past us. It tore off the side view mirror on Weatherby’s side as it took the lead, and I gripped the wheel with white knuckles trying to steady the Packard. The scent of burning rubber filled the air, joined by the roar of pounding engines and the scream of vehicles being pushed to their limits.
    The black Cadillac pulled ahead of me and of Vette. She shook her fist at the Cadillac, but that was about all she could do. The devil drove like he owned the road – and he did. He hugged the curves, slid without traction across rough patches and sped over bumps like they were smooth as glass. I kept the gas pedal down, but my lead was gone and it wasn’t coming back.
    “See you at the finish line, big man!” Vette shouted over her engines’ roar as she zoomed past me. “If you can make it, that is!”
    I swore and looked back at the map. “All right, Dutch,” I muttered. “Let’s see if you can stop me from going bust-o.” There was a gap in the rocky cliffs up ahead, a dirt road leading inland and framed by trees. I worked the wheel like a madman, sending the Packard roaring down the dirt road. It nearly crashed into the rocky walls, but I kept it steady and dead center of the narrow road.
    The wheels worked like a charm. Dirt flew behind us like smoke from a torch, but we rumbled forward with only a small difference in speed. I leaned back in the seat and exhaled. “All right,” I said. “Looks like things are going okay.”
    “We’re nowhere near first place, you imbecile!” Weatherby cried. “My sister is still in the hands of a deranged maniac and we’re going to lose our