Read Online Death on the Greasy Grass by C. M. Wendelboe - Free Book Online Page A

case of Montezuma’s revenge and trying to fight that toilet seat from grabbing my ass.” Willie spit tobacco juice out the window. It slid down the side of Manny’s Oldsmobile. “And this?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThis?” Willie wiped his mouth with his bandanna and slapped the green metal dash. “Don’t see why you ever got rid of your nice Accord and bought this.”
    Manny feigned pain as he wiped the dust from the dash of his ’55 Olds. “The Accord had a ton of miles on it. It kept nickel-and-diming me to death. Besides, there’s more metal here than my Honda had.”
    Willie nodded. “Guess the more iron you have the less likely you’ll be hurt when—not if, but when—you have your next wreck. Next year at this time, this thing will look like every other rez rod prowling Pine Ridge. And”—he shook his head—“you should never buy a car you can’t push. And this one’s too heavy to push.”
    â€œYou’re the one who insisted on driving my car rather than your truck.”
    Willie shifted in the seat. “Just because you said this heap had air-conditioning.”
    â€œIt does,” Manny said. “It just doesn’t work.”
    â€œI can live sweating my butt off without air. But between the lumpy bed and the toilet seat and wrestling this thing around without power steering, I woke up feeling like I’d gone ten rounds with the Turtle Tree boys.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you tangled with those rowdies?”
    Willie’s hand shot to his cheek, still sporting a faint discoloration. “Two weeks ago when I backed up Hollow Thunder. Point is, that bed about beat me to a draw.”
    â€œMy bed’s just fine.”
    â€œAnd the hot water? Do you like your hot water running out halfway through?”
    Manny had done the two-step this morning when the shower turned as cold as a mountain stream partway through. “I notified the manager. Besides, we’re not exactly rolling in the dough. It was the most cost-effective room we could get.”
    â€œCost-effective? That’s just another way of saying you’re cheap.”
    â€œFrugal.”
    â€œHow frugal?”
    â€œThey gave me a veteran’s discount.”
    â€œHow frugal?”
    Manny looked out the window. “$22.90 a night.”
    â€œWhat! Does that include that rough TP? I got a paper cut with it last night.”
    â€œOh, bull.” Manny swore he’d gotten wood chips in his butt last night from the paper. But he wasn’t going to admit it to Willie. “So it’s not Charmin. When you’re trying to be frugal, you have to skimp on some amenities.”
    â€œThe softest toilet paper a man can use isn’t splurging. It’s the highest on the priority list.” Willie slapped Manny on the arm. “You’re just cheap. For the rest of the trip, I’ll make the reservations. I’m willing to pay a little bit more for a good night’s sleep. And for a butt that isn’t healing from a thousand unkind cuts.”
    Manny opened the door, but Willie made no move to follow. “So you’re pissed, and you’re going to sleep out here tonight?”
    Willie looked away. “I’m going to catch an AA meeting in town.”
    Manny put his hand on Willie’s arm. “Wish I could be of some help.”
    Willie shook Manny’s hand off and turned in the seat. “What could you possibly do? How could you possibly know what real addiction is? It’s not like you got much stress to deal with.”
    Manny wanted to confess he struggled with his smoking habit. And his weight. And his stress level soared with his on-again, off-again relationship with Clara, reaching an all-time high level now that they were engaged. And his guilt over the Red Cloud homicide. And his relationship with his brother Reuben. Manny knew stress.
    Willie forced a smile and