“Fucking-A right it’s smart. Money talks, bullshit walks. So if you want to give me money for the cause, I’ll take it.”

Webster said, “I give you money, you give us a good deal?”

“I take it to the owner, that’s what I said. Didn’t say nothin’ ’bout givin’ you anything.”

“Nothin’ for sale, huh?” Webster wiped sand from his eyes. “Shit, that’s too bad.” He was almost at the door of the shed. “I really didn’t feel much like wantin’ to come back.”

Sanchez shifted his bulky weight, his voice turning menacing. “Get the fuck away from my garage.”

Webster stopped, backed off, held out his palms. “Peace, bro. Sorry.”

“What the fuck you tryin’ to pull?”

“Nothin’,” Webster said evenly. “Just the guy at the shop told us we could get a real bargain here.”

“I tole you he fucked up. He fucked up bad. Now you’re fucked up bad.” Sanchez picked up a tire iron from the ground. “You give me a bad feelin’. Get the fuck outta here.”

Webster’s hand went inside his shirt, finger wrapped around the butt of his Beretta. He saw that Martinez had done the same.

Sanchez waved the iron, but didn’t advance. “Get outta here!”

Slowly, Webster walked backward until he bumped into his ’Cuda. Once Martinez was inside, he gunned the engine. As he pulled out, a rock crashed into the passenger door. Webster spun around, brought the car to a stop. “Stupid shit!” Webster screamed. “I’ll kill that motherfucker—”

Another rock came whizzing past, missed the trunk by millimeters.

“Let’s go, Tom.”

“Fucker put a dent—”

“Let’s go, Tom.” Martinez repeated. “Down. We’re going down the mountain.”

Webster cursed again and peeled rubber as he left. Martinez blew out air. “Slow down, for chrissakes. You’ll get us both killed.”

“I should report him to the local police.”

Martinez said, “You see that semi in the distance. Sanchez probably has a crew inside. Guaranteed, they’ll be outta here in less than five minutes.”

They rode the next few minutes in silence.

Martinez took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Sorry about your car.”

Tightly, Webster said, “Reckon I can fix it up pretty easy.”

“I’m not doing anything special this Saturday. If you want, I’ll come over and help you sand it out.”

“Thanks, Bert. That’d be great.”

Martinez patted his shoulder. “At least, we got what we came for.”

“I didn’t. I wanted to test-drive the Ultra Bagger. You see that mother? What a beaut!”

“Too much shit on it,” Martinez said. “Slows down the speed. I like something lighter and faster.”

“You do biking?”

“Used to do lots of it before I threw my neck out.”

“How’d that happen?”