'There's a hill behind the station. Sometimes I can hear phones working when people stop up there.'
'You tried?'
'I don't have a phone. I watched a trucker do it.'
The biker turned his head. His gaze moved from Leo's worn sneakers to the small pile of belongings beneath the bench, then to the patched bicycle visible through the back door. It was the look of someone beginning to understand a problem he had not been asked to solve.
'How long you been here?'
'A little while.'
'You from Kingman?'
'No.'
'You got somebody expecting you?'
Leo picked at a sliver of tape on the work light. 'Not somebody I want to find me.'
Sully said nothing. His expression did not soften, exactly, but the questions ended. He understood enough to recognize that more pressure would make the boy disappear behind whatever wall he had built to survive.
'Your dad taught you all this?' he asked instead.
'He had a shop in Reno. He did custom bikes. Mostly repairs, though. People needed repairs more than they needed custom bikes.'
'What's his name?'
'Patrick Gallagher.'
Sully frowned slightly, considering it. 'I rode through Reno back in the day. Your old man ever work out of a place with a yellow sign?'
'Gallagher Motor Works. The sign was yellow. The G didn't light up.'
'No kidding.' Sully leaned forward despite the pain. 'I think I knew that place. Didn't know him well. Stopped in once with a clutch problem. Guy told me the problem wasn't my clutch. Turned out he was right.'
Leo stared. 'He'd do that.'
'He didn't talk much.'
'No.' Leo almost laughed. 'He always said talking was what people did when they weren't listening.'
Sully's eyes narrowed with recognition. 'That sounds like him.'
It was a tiny connection, the kind that might have been coincidence. But to Leo it was as if someone had opened a window into a room he thought had disappeared forever. He wanted to ask whether Sully remembered the layout of the shop or the sound of Patrick's voice or the old dog that slept beneath the counter. He was afraid the questions would reveal how badly he needed the answers, so he bent to gather his tools instead.
Sully watched for another moment before speaking. 'Kid, you ought to have somebody look at those ribs.'
Leo's hand stopped. 'They're okay.'
'You move like breathing costs money.'
'I fell.'
'You fall a lot?'
Leo tightened the strap on the tool bag and did not answer. Sully's jaw moved once, as though he was grinding back a sentence. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.
'All right. We're not talking about that right now.'
The decision surprised Leo. Hank would have insisted on the answer, and if Leo had not provided it quickly enough he would have made one up. Sully accepted the silence and stood beside the bike.
'Time to see if your magic works.'
'It's not magic,' Leo said. 'And don't rev it. Just let it idle.'
Sully swung a leg over the Road King, reached for the ignition, and paused. Leo moved aside, holding the work light low where he could see the patched areas. His heart began to pound. It occurred to him that if the machine failed spectacularly, the man might forget every calm thing he had said during the last hour.