The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) by Phillip Quinn Morris Read Free Book Online Page B

it.
                  After cogitating on and off about it since Jenny left, Rusty came up to that conclusion about dark.
                  He was going to do it. Hunt Compton down and look him in the eye and says something like, “My name is Rusty Clay. I’m Jenny’s ex-husband three times over.” See what the man had to say about that.
                  Rusty walked right past his trusty step-side green Chevy pickup. Straight six with a three on the column. Three on a tree. It stayed parked outside, but he didn’t want to drive it tonight.
                  He walked out back to his shed of a garage.
                  He got into his1978 maroon El Camino. Rebuilt V8 Chevy engine with a turbo charger. Could do a hundred and eighty if the body stayed together. Low riding, half car, half pickup. Gloria called it a Redneck Corvette.
                  Rusty needed something else. The El Camino rode a little low for all the gravel river roads Rusty traveled down. Ray had a short block Chevy engine he wanted to get rid of. Maybe Rusty could find him some fancier car to drop the Chevy block into. Something sleek and sexy that had his name on it.
                  Rusty drove down to The Point, in case Dr. Compton and Jenny were shacked up there tonight. He cruised through the parking lot twice.
                  No Jenny car. No car with a medical logo on any tag. No lights on in her condo unit.
                  Rusty hit the highway to Huntsville, headed to an address he got off the internet. He drove through Huntsville and up the winding road of the exclusive section of Montesano Mountain.
                  The gates to Dr. Compton’s place were open. He drove onto the circular drive of the sprawling two story house, built out of what looked—best he could see in the security lights—old used bricks. The man had good taste. Rusty gave him that.
                  No parked cars outside. You could bet Dr. Compton, Mr. Busy Heart Surgeon, would be a man to park right near the front entrance.
                  The son of a bitch was probably at the hospital. Rusty lost his chance of finding him with Jenny. He lost his chance of finding him at his exclusive mansion where he was king. At the hospital Compton was a god. There Compton had no need for social façade. Maybe Rusty could catch him between cutting people’s hearts out.
                  The hospital was three miles away, and a quick, easy drive.
                  Rusty knew the section of the parking garage Compton parked. Last time Crystal came to Alabama, Rusty dropped her off there. Crystal, Jenny and Dr. Compton were all going to meet there and go out for dinner.
                  Rusty cruised up the ramps, and then on the fourth level, near the corridor leading to the hospital building itself, he came to a row of doctors’ parking.
                  He slowed. Most the cars were Mercedes and Jaguars. All of them were shiny in the strange yellowish light. One was an older model little two-seater. That was it. Rusty was pretty sure. 450SL Mercedes.
                  Rusty eased on down a few spaces and pulled into a Dr. Edwards parking space. Nobody came or went much. Rusty got out and went over to the front of the little Mercedes. Yeah, there was the sign. Dr. Robert Compton.
                  The lines on that car were sleek and sexy. That’s what Rusty needed. He looked at the car. It was a convertible, but a pop-on top--like the old Corvettes used to have--was on right now.
                  Rusty walked around the car, admiring it. He imagined him with Gloria in that thing cruising through Alabama, headed to the Gulf Coast.
                  Then it came to him in an epiphany, as Gloria called it. One of these Mercedes jobs was probably a bit above his bank