She picked up the paper and folded it into ragged thirds.

She jammed it deep in her coat pocket without looking at him.

“Tell Travis I want that signed and back to me by tomorrow morning,” Michael said.

Lena slid out of the booth and walked quickly to the door.

At one in the afternoon the air in Derek’s shop bay reeked of motor oil and burnt exhaust.

Michael rolled the little yellow bike in through the big open bay doors, past an engine block that had been taken apart.

Derek wiped black grease off his thick hands with a red shop cloth.