Daisy's back in town

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Heat waves drifted across the concrete as the '63 Thunderbird slid from the shadow of the garage. Her big V8and Holley two-barrels purred like a satisfied woman, all warm and sexy and throaty. The hot Texas sun made ahundred little bursts of light within her wire wheels, slid along the chrome fins, and poured over the glisteningblack paint. The owner watched as she rolled toward him, and he smiled in appreciation. Several months ago,the Sports Roadster had been little more than a home for mice. Now fully restored to her former glory, she wasdazzling - a reminder of a time when Detroit had been more interested in cracking sixty in eight seconds thanmiles per gallon, safety features, or where to put the cup holder.

Jackson Lamott Parrish sat within the red leather interior of the big T-Bird, one wrist hanging over the redsteering wheel. The light caught in his thick brown hair, and fine lines creased the corners of hisgreen eyes as he lowered his lids against the blinding sun. He revved the big engine one last time, took his handfrom the steering wheel, and shoved her into park. He swung the door open, and the sole of his cowboy boot hitthe pavement. In one smooth motion, he stood and the owner of the restored Roadster stepped forward andhanded him a check. Jack glanced at it, noted that all the zeros were in the right places, then folded it in half. Heslipped it into the breast pocket of his white dress shirt.

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