The Man Who Hated Little Cars, Part Three

“That was horseshit and you know it, Jerry,” Virgil growled into the handset. “Now, I know things have changed on my end, but this project is still fully funded and we’re going ahead with it. I’ve got Don’s word on it.”

“Okay, Ex,” said Virgil’s long-time associate and the closest thing he had to a friend. “Okay.”

“Good. So we’re on for tomorrow? You put the word out to all those media schlubs and everybody?”

“Oh yeah, I told ‘em. They’ll be here. Magazines, newspapers, radio… even a couple TV stations said they’d cover it.”

“Good, good, Jerr. That’s great.”

“I just hope we have something to show them, Ex.”

“Don’t worry about that. They’ll just wish they brought more film, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Alright, Ex.”

“Talk to you this afternoon. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.” Outside his window, Virgil saw the paint prep crews starting their masking, dragging the long curtains along their tracks in the metal rafters. Tomorrow was in less than twenty hours.