Then I walked out through the shop, past the tire racks, past the parts counter, where a pink bank slip was poking out from under his desk blotter.

He was at the oil drum when I came around the lift, kicking it with the flat of his boot.

It clanged, rolled a foot, and stopped against the drain grate.

“My deposit never went through,” I said.

“The bank says nothing posted.”

“I pulled it.”

“Why would you pull it?”

“Because I’m going to give it to you myself.” He said it quietly.