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I grinned at that and then asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Because this thing was death on wheels I used to call it the Black Beauty You know, like the Green Hornet’s car?” He looked to rin doubled in size He was so cute when he was dorky “Idecade even, by far But hey, I was a kid, what did I know?

“Anyway,” he continued, “It had all these secret compartments and built-in weapons – that was the part that uns that would fold out of the front fenders And it had two decorative finials at the top of the driver’s seat that were actually the handles of these long, curved knives Cat and I used to have sword fights with them”

“Damn,” I murmured

“Catherine and I were in love with this car almost as much as my uncle was We’d sneak the key e knew he’d be tied up in s – he always kept it locked And we’d sit in the car and pretend to drive it, taking turns being the Green Hornet and Kato” Ded in awe’d ever seen before Or since”

“And the car was stolen?”

“Well, that’s ere told One day the Packard was out in the warehouse, the next day it wasn’t And even then, even at fourteen, I re ould have the balls to sneak into the headquarters of the Russian mafia and drive aith a car that flashy Ispotted in so you evenmy uncle and his men didn’t eviscerate you first”

Dainst the counter “So, the day after the car goes , the police show up atsurprised by that, surprised my uncle had called the cops to help hi but badmouth the police But they weren’t there about the car They were asking a bunch of questions about Vince Pasteretti Hoell did my uncle know hi an affair? So on and so forth”

“That’s right,” my father said in a low voice “He was our prime suspect Jealous husband and all that But we couldn’t find a shred of evidence We got warrants, searched his home, his vehicles, his places of business top to botto”

“Mr Nolan,” Dmitri asked, “where was Vince Pasteretti killed?”

“We never found the spot where he was actually murdered,” my father said “His body was left on the meat counter at his deli, hacked to shreds It was one of those criet, not if I live to be a hundred But that’s not where he was killed There wasn’t enough blood”

My mother crossed herself and murmured, “Sweet Mother of God”