Everywhere That Tommy Goes Read Online Free PDF

not kill her, Tommy Boy, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to hit the head. Bouncing around in your trunk all morning has left me quite full.”
    Troyer turns and walks off as casual as can be. I’m totally blown away. I can’t believe he actually hid in my trunk like that. Then, just as he disappears inside, a dude in a tow truck pulls up.
    “Afternoon,” he says as he shimmies out of the cab. Man, this dude is fat, and I don’t mean regular fat like some guys. We’re talking massive fat. He’s got three chins and no neck, and he’s wearing these big gray overalls. His nametag reads CHUNKY . No joke.
    “What seems to be the trouble, pal?” he asks.
    “My car won’t start. Not sure what’s wrong with her.” I do a double take toward the bar, still flipped out about seeing Troyer.
    “Lemme check it out.”
    I refocus as Fatso opens the door, leans in—stretching those overalls to the max—and pulls the hood latch. Then he waddles around to the front of the car and says, “Okay, pal, try and start her up.”
    I get in the car and turn the key. Same thing, she just keeps coughing and sputtering but doesn’t kick in.
    “Okay, hold it up,” the Chunk-monster shouts from under the hood.
    He fiddles around for a few more minutes and says, “Okay, try it now.”
    I try again—still nothing.
    “That’s enough,” he yells as he comes over, dripping sweat. He pulls a rag from his rear pocket, dabs his forehead, and looks right through me. Wiping his hands, he says, “Got to take it back to the shop, pal, and hook it up to the computer.”
    “Is this going to take a while?” I ask him, like some dumbass schoolboy who doesn’t know shit about cars.
    “Not sure, pal, but it’ll probably need parts, which means you’re stuck here till tomorrow.”
    “That’s just great. I’ve got no place to stay.”
    “There’s a motel a half mile down the road,” he says, pointing with his chubby index finger. “I could drop you there.”
    “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll hoof it after I’ve chowed down, if you know what I mean.” And, trust me, he definitely knows what I mean.
    “Suit yourself. I’ll hook her up and be on my way. The shop is another half mile past the motel.” He hands me a card. “Here’s my number. You can call later if you want to check on the repair. The name’s Chunky.”
    “I can see that,” I say, trying not to smile.
    I head back inside for the third time now, and there’s the old man wiping down another corner of the bar. No one else has even come in, but he’s still wiping the bar. Guess there’s not much else to do around here.
    “You again, laddie?” he Irishes at me. “They fix your car?”
    “Nah, gotta tow her over to the shop and figure it out. Hey, where’s the head?”
    “Around back, through those doors.” He points over to the corner, past the Battle of the Bands sign.
    “Okay, be right back.”
    “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere, and the bands should be rolling in soon.”
    Any other time, I would have been excited about the entertainment, but right now, I couldn’t care less. Anyway, the shitter is out back—I mean, real outside out back. It’s a separate little shack set apart from the bar. A stand-alone crapper made from wood. I walk in and find Troyer sitting on the bowl, reading a newspaper, with his pants around his ankles.
    “Is that you, Tommy Boy?” he asks me, looking up over the news.
    “Quit playing games, Troyer. What’s this all about? Why are you following me?”
    “Like I said, I had to get out of the city bloody fast, and you’re the one with a car. I was simply going to borrow it. When I arrived at your place and saw you toss your luggage in, Iassumed you were packing to leave. I figured it would be a rip to surprise you, so I hopped in the trunk and hid.”
    I shake my head in disbelief. “Did you do something to my car so she won’t start?”
    “How could I do anything, mate? I was locked in your trunk.”
    At this