Page 25 of Nightcrawler
I remembered that he’d had one of my older reviews open on his tablet the other night, but I didn’t want to admit to snooping. The time would come to tell him I was the reviewer called Nightcrawler, but I judged the time wasn’t right. “Nothing important. I was just thinking about an old book I’d been reading. It was terrible.”
“You like reading?”
I loved it. “Yeah, when I get a chance. It’s what I do after work to unwind.” It sounded like a lame excuse but then who needed an excuse for reading?
He nodded. “I like it too.”
When I looked over at him, he was grinning from ear to ear, an expression so rare on the man, it took my breath away. “You’re smiling. Something I didn’t think you did very often when we first met.”
He nodded, looking at his lap. “Yeah. I’m not usually a very happy guy and trust me, I’ve never been mistaken as someone with a sunny personality.”
“But you were grinning just then,” I said, wanting to get to know as much as I could about this man.
He grinned again, as if unable to stop himself. “I read when I have time but a while back, I stumbled on this review site which is really great. I follow a couple of the reviewers on there but there’s this one guy who writes these reviews that always make me smile. And, though, I’ve never picked up any of the books he’s reviewed, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to. I’d sure like to know where some of those books come from. There’s some real crap out there.”
I gave myself a mental pat on the back, smiling inwardly as I simply nodded back at him. “He’s honest,huh?”
“Brutally, but from what I can tell, some of these books are pretty out there.”
We both got quiet as I took the freeway off-ramp not far from Passantino’s house and then turned onto Hesby. “Where are you parked?”
“Around the corner,” Miguel said, pointing. “Go to the end of the block and turn left. I’m parked fifty feet down on the right side.”
I did as he asked. “You said it was parked over here, right?”
Miguel was silent, looking up the block where I would have expected his car to be parked but sure enough, there was nothing. I watched him twist to look back over his shoulder and then groan as he spotted something. “There’s a sign posted over there. I have a bad feeling about this.”
I felt my heart in my throat. I knew what he was talking about. I did as he asked and backed up, stopping so we could both read the street sign.No parking 8AM to 12PM Tuesday. Street Sweeping.
“I don’t believe it. They towed my truck,” he exclaimed.
“Don’t they usually just give you a big, fat ticket? Do they actually tow your vehicle for that offense?”
“How the fuck should I know!” he snapped, raising his voice.
I flinched and then waited as I felt his anger and desperation fill the truck. “I’m sure we can find out about it,” I said quietly. “Maybe one of the neighbors knows. In this neighborhood, they probably all have their noses in everyone’s business,” I offered. “At least we can find out where they towed it by making some calls, Miguel.” I reached over to touch his forearm to offer comfort, but he pulled away like he’d been burned. The jolt of pain I felt in my heart was worse than a physical blow, worse than the time he’d tackled me out there in front of the Capitol Records building and that was saying something. It’d felt like being hit by a tank and then backed over a few times.
“I’m not asking a neighbor.” The growl in his voice would have been sexy in any other context. I spotted a man using a leaf blower in front of one of the gated residences about a block down and pulled away from the curb.
“Where’re you going?” he challenged. “I’m seriously not asking a neighbor about it.”
“I’m going to ask that man.” I pointed to the Hispanic gardener who was standing on the sidewalk, blowing leaves away from the curb. He was sweating, wearing a straw hat, and running a big, gas-powered blower. He moved to the drive as soon as he saw my truck. I pulled up alongside the curb androlled down my window, making a gesture with one finger to turn off the blower and come over. He did as I asked.
“Hola.Can you tell me if you saw a truck being towed this morning?”
The man shook his head. “Lo siento, senor. No hablo Ingles.”
Miguel leaned across the seat and asked him again in rapid fire Spanish. The man instantly nodded, rattling off an answer. Miguel asked one more question, but the man shook his head. Miguel raised his hand.“Gracias, senor.”
“De nada.”The gardener smiled and nodded, restarting the blower as I powered up the window.
I turned to look at him. He was vibrating with anger. “They towed it. He doesn’t know who the towing company for the area is, but I guess we can stop into one of the local shops and ask. I really don’t want to hang around here in case news of our exploits at the Passantino’s mansion the other night is making the rounds.”
That was probably a good idea. “Sometimes they have signs posted in nearby parking lots,” I offered, feeling terrible.
He nodded grimly. “We can try.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “I s’pose that’s best.” He looked out the window for a few seconds before looking back at me. “I’m…ah…really sorry I snapped at you back there. I just don’t have extra money to throw at a towing company. They could have just given me a ticket but no, these rich bastards don’t care that they’re hurting the little guy.”
I wouldn’t dream of referring to Miguel Huerta as little, but I wasn’t stupid either.