Between Wrecks Read Online Free PDF Page A

home more to take the distributor cap off Brenda’s car so she couldn’t go down to Lowe’s or wherever.”
    â€œI should’ve. I could hide the mail when those magazines show up and I could monkey with the TV and say the cable’s out.”
    â€œWhere you work?” Windshield said. He sat back down. “Where you work, Frankie?”
    Mal said, “Home Depot. I’m in charge of the garden center at Home Depot.”
    When the door to Gus opened, Mal Mardis looked down at his two rolls of film. He should’ve at least taken them by One-Hour Photo and left them and then come up with some kind of excuse. He could’ve said that the digital camera boom finally caused the death of traditional development. Or Mal could’ve at least placed the rolls in his pocket so that when Brenda stormed into Gus he could say he’d been by the film place, that they were backed up, that they apologized for having to become Six-Hour Photo.
    Mal tensed, waiting to hear his wife’s voice. Instead, a man who sounded already drunk called out, “You mind if I bring me a video recording device in here on a tripod?”
    Gus looked up. Windshield smiled, and Mal turned around to find a stranger. Was this some kind of joke? he wondered. Is somebody playing a trick on me? Gus said, “What?”
    The man walked in. He wore cowboy boots. “Pat Taft,” he said, as if everyone should recognize him. He stuck out his hand to shake with Gus. “Prison Tat Pat, they call me. I need to film myself everywhere I go. It’s a long story that involves an ex-wife.”
    Mal said, “Okay. Funny. I don’t get it yet, but I know that Brenda’s behind this somehow.”
    Gus said, “Long’s it don’t end up on Cops or America’s Most Wanted , you do what you want.”
    â€œIt’ll end up on one of the goddamn home decorating shows, believe me,” Mal said. “Ha ha ha. I get it. Brenda’s gone too far this time.”
    Prison Tat Pat seemed to have a thyroid problem, which made the regulars think that he kept a look of surprise on his face. He said, “I’ve been doing it between here and Nashville. Everywhere I go. I just set up the camera and prove that I act and react normal with people. My ex-wife says she left me ’cause I couldn’t act and react properly in public. I’m going to send her the video, when the time’s right.” He screwed the camcorder onto a miniature tripod and placed it on the far end of the bar, opposite of Wind-shield. He got behind it and looked through the eyepiece, focused.
    Windshield said, “This ain’t ever happened here. You gone be famous, Gus.”
    Gus said, “Tell me again what this is all about? There’s a six drink minimum for capturing our essence.”
    Mal looked at Gus and squinted. “ ‘Capturing our essence’? What’d you do, go to perfume college?”
    Pat Taft said, “Okay. Here we go. Mind if I sit down?” He sat two stools away from Mal and stuck the knuckles on his right hand out. “This is why they call me Prison Tat Pat.”
    Where most people have L-O-V-E or H-A-T-E tattooed in India Ink or cigarette ashes across their knuckles, Pat Taft had a crude G-O-L-D. Windshield got up from his seat to examine it. He said, “Cold.”
    â€œ Gold,” Pat Taft said. “It says ‘ Gold.’”
    â€œThat’s a good idea,” Windshield said. “You could put ‘Hot’ on the other hand, and then you’d always remember which handle on the sink meant what. Like if you got All-timer’s you could remember what was hot and what was cold.” He lost interest and returned to his seat.
    Mal Mardis placed the film in his right side pants pocket. He said, “It kind of does look like C-O-L-D.”
    â€œWell it’s not. Anyway, I’m from Nashville. Just quit my job working as a