'I don't want anything from him,' Leo said. 'I've got my own things in there.'
Sully nodded. Then he looked at the silver Ram. 'Funny thing about scrap,' he said. 'Sometimes it takes somebody else to tell you what it is.'
A ripple went through the men nearest him. Leo did not understand at once, but Hank did. He pushed away from the door and stepped between Sully and the truck, his hands open.
'No. Don't touch my truck.'
Sully looked at the vehicle, then at Hank. 'You brought it here to drag him away. You treat things like they're yours because you can put your hands on them.'
Hank glanced around, hoping to find a way out. He moved toward Higgins, but the deputy remained beside his own vehicle, suddenly unwilling to be associated with the man who had paid him to come.
Sully gave a brief nod. Twenty riders moved forward, not in a wild rush but with the grim efficiency of people accustomed to heavy equipment. Leo heard metal strike metal, followed by the crack of a plastic grille breaking. A door hung open at an unnatural angle. A wheel came away from the truck and rolled a short distance before falling flat in the dirt.
He could not follow every movement through the drifting dust. He saw tools carried from saddlebag to truck and back, heard glass scatter, and watched the vehicle lose the shape that had made it such an unmistakable sign of danger to him. There was no fire and no one was struck. The destruction was directed at metal, though that did not make it gentle or lawful.
Hank stood watching, pale and speechless. The silver Dodge Ram had always been his announcement of arrival, the machine Leo heard in the driveway before he heard Hank's boots at the door. Now the truck was becoming an inert collection of panels and parts, unable to carry anyone anywhere.
Sully did not smile. When Leo looked at him, the biker was studying Hank with an expression that contained more disappointment than pleasure.
'Stop,' Sully said finally.
The men stepped back. The Ram remained on the concrete like a broken animal, its usefulness gone. The desert wind moved through the open doors and carried dust into the cabin.
For a moment, Leo expected to feel triumph. Instead, he felt a strange exhaustion. The truck had been frightening because of who drove it, not because it was silver or loud. The real danger had lived in a man who had worn a friendly face for visitors while children counted footsteps upstairs.
Sully approached him. 'You all right?'
Leo looked at the ruined Dodge. 'I don't know.'
'Fair answer.'
'Is he going to come after me?'
Sully's expression hardened. 'No one here can promise what a bad man will think. But you're not getting in that truck today, and we're going to get people involved who can make sure you don't have to go back.'
That was not the grand, impossible promise Leo expected. It was better. It was specific, and it acknowledged that safety required more than one frightening afternoon.