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Show RFVER quite, managed to get it off the wall. In disgust, Smith attacked the cigarette machine. Several stout blows failed to smash the glass that guarded the cigarettes. Vince took the crowbar, heaved a mighty blow, smashed the glass and damn near cut off his hand. I woke up the next morning to the sound of Smith and Stockdale howling in the next room. There was a trail of blood leading down from the change machine. Stockdale had given Vince his car to get to a doctor. I borrowed some funds and flew to Southern California. Vince showed up two days later with a bandaged hand and his girl friend. I went over to his house to see how he was holding up. When I got there, Vince said, "I've got some bad news. Somebody stole Stockdale's car." I nearly choked. "What?" "I went to Berkeley and somebody stole it while I was in the hospital." "Agh! What does Stockdale say?" "Uh, he doesn't know anything about it." "Agh! What do the police say?" "They don't know anything about any white Plymouth." "That wasn't a Plymouth, that was a Dodge." When I got home that night, I got a call from Stockdale. "Where is he?" "He's down here." "I'm gonna kill him." "Uh, yeah, well, we'll get the car back. I think the Berkeley police have it." "Tell him he's got until tomorrow. Then I kill him." -48- |
