RILEY
Decker arrived at three-seventeen on a Thursday in a car that cost more than most people's houses, with two representatives and the kind of easy authority that comes from never having been told no by anyone who mattered.
I was in bay one, elbow-deep in the engine of a '71 Norton Commando restoration. Hunter was after school and theoretically doing homework at the workbench in bay three, which in practice meant he'd done his homework in fifteen minutes and was now shadowing whichever mechanic would tolerate his commentary. Luna was at the corner table she'd claimed as her workspace, which currently held her marine biology book, a notebook where she was taking organizational notes on the book's contents, and Gerald.
Knox was leaning against the side wall of bay one with a coffee and
