The Investigators (Badge of Honor 7)

“I haven’t made up my mind where we’re going. Only that it’s not going to take long.”

“Whatever you decide is fine with me, fair maiden. But keep in mind the two-mile limitation.”

“What’s with two miles? What are you talking about.”

“These are marvelous machines, fair maiden, the ne plus ultra of German automotive engineering. But even a 911 requires what the Germans call, I think, ‘petrol.’ Or, maybe, essence. It’s needed, you see, to make the pistons go up and down.”

Susan dropped her eyes to the dashboard. The red FUEL WARNING light was blinking, and the needle on the gas gauge pointed below Empty.

“Shit!” Susan said, and started looking for a gas station.

“These are a real bitch to start after you’ve run them completely dry,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Among your many other qualifications, you’re a Porsche expert, right?” she snapped.

“Maybe ‘journeyman craftsman’ would be more accurate.”

“I’m touched by your modesty,” she said.

“And well you should be,” he said.

She pulled into a gas station and stopped at a line of pumps. Matt opened the door and got out.

The attendant appeared.

“You mind if I do it myself?” Matt asked.

“Help yourself,” the attendant said.

“How about getting me a little rag? I want to check the oil, too.”

“You got it.”

“The oil’s fine,” Susan said.

“An ounce of prevention is worth several thousand dollars’ worth of cure,” Matt proclaimed solemnly. “Pop the lid, fair maiden.”

“Shit,” Susan said, and got out of the car to check the oil herself.

“The way you do that,” Matt called to her from the gas pump, “is that there’s a long thin metal thing that fits in a hole.”

“Screw you, Matt.”

“Who taught you all the dirty words? Good ol’ Whatsisname?”

She pulled the dipstick, wiped it, dipped it again and looked at it in disbelief, and dipped it again. And again there was only a trace of motor oil on it.

“How much does it need?” Matt asked, and when she looked at him, he added, “I was watching your face.”

“A lot,” she confessed.

“What do you run in it?” he asked.

“Pennzoil 10W-30,” she said.

“Good stuff,” he said. He turned to the attendant. “Two, and possibly three, quarts of your very best Penn zoil 10W-30, please.”

“You got it,” the attendant said, smiling at him.