THE BLACK TIGER
By PATRICK O'CONNOR
IVES WASHBURN, INC.
NEW YORK
Copyright 1956 by Ives Washburn, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book, or parts thereof, in any form, except
for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Dedicated
to Bill and Steve Dredge and the
happy fraternity of sports-car racing
drivers in the United States of America.
Also to their hero mechanics.
Also by Patrick O'Connor
THE SOCIETY OF FOXES
FLIGHT OF THE PEACOCK
THE WATERMELON MYSTERY
THE BLACK TIGER
1
Woody Hartford, seated upon a four-legged stool of uncertain design,examined the pieces of a carburetor that lay on a bench before him, andcontemplated a problem of the nicest delicacy.
The problem had nothing to do with the carburetor. Woody at seventeencould put that back together without even thinking of what he wasdoing. He'd cleaned and adjusted a score of them since he first startedworking at McNess Union Service Station, Hermosa Beach, California,two years ago. The problem concerned the matter of whether to spendten dollars on Cindy Lou or on Mary Jane. It was not one that could belightly decided.
There were, Woody was dimly aware, certain ethical factors involved.Cindy Lou needed the money spent on her in the worst way. On the otherhand, if Mary Jane ever found out about it, she would, in a ladylikemanner, raise a great deal of trouble.
Again, if, to avoid strained relations with Mary Jane, Woody spent themoney on her, it would be a long time before he would have a ten spotto spend on Cindy Lou.
"A guy with a hot rod and thirty bucks a week," Woody said to the floatchamber of the carburetor, "has no right having a girl friend, too.On the other hand," he added, "a guy with a hot rod is going to windup with a girl friend whether he wants one or not. There's no arguingabout that."
He sighed, reached for one of a number of remarkably dirty rags on theworkbench, and thrust it into the float chamber of the carburetor. He'dhave used a clean rag if one was available. Clean rags were deliveredevery Monday to the McNess Union Service Station, but Mondays wereWoody's days off. When he arrived for work on Tuesday the rags were alluniformly dirty. This was one of the minor oddities about the servicestation that Woody had long ago ceased to trouble himself over.
Cindy Lou was Woody's hot rod. Or to be more precise, she was Woody's1940 Ford coupé, which he was converting into a hot rod with the hopeone day of competing in drag races. He'd already milled her head,worked over the chassis, changed the gear ratio, and moved the engineso that it was no longer in front of the driver's seat. Instead it wasalongside the driver, and separated from the driver by a makeshiftfirewall. All that was needed now was to buy a four-carburetor manifoldand Woody figured that Cindy Lou would hit a hundred miles an hour ina quarter mile from a standing start. A hundred miles an hour wasn'tchampionship speed or anything like it. Some of the boys were getting ahundred and thirty out of their mills. But it would be good for CindyLou, and with more expansive engine modifications, it could be improvedeven further.
But the final payment on the carburetor rig, secondhand, would cost tenbucks. And Mary Jane was expecting to be taken out that night with thesame ten bucks.