Willis rattled the bars, testing, but felt no give in them at all. A pitcher stood on the floor near the cell door. Water. He drank deeply, figuring it safe enough, considering where he was. He moved back to his the bunk, kneeling painfully to shift the mattress aside and check for loose bolts. The legs were tube steel, and might make a handy tool, or a club, if he was lucky. It would be very nice to have an opportunity of repaying Rico.
Before doing anything noisy, he went to peer out the window again. The glass was filthy, giving him a limited view of the street front, and the gas truck parked in its revetment across the road. By looking slantwise to the left, he saw the corner of Cordovas house. Everything was quiet and it took him a moment to realize that his motorcycle was gone. The
