CHAPTER TWENTYLiving in a state of permanent anticipation was grinding Michael down, he felt as if he was trying to second guess his own second guesses. The hobbit shop was the worst: the whispering, the sudden noise to act as a diversion, the sleight of hand – what he had mended, broken; what he had lost, found; tires slashed, air released, rags stolen, washers missing. It was unrelenting. He couldn’t believe that Belfiore, his loose-lipped, heavy-limbed colleague on the bench, could be that adroit. He ended up suspecting everyone, even the kangas, who seemed to enjoy the sport. He didn’t think he’d get a single bicycle stripped down and rebuilt. He’d be repairing his own repairs until the end of time.
“Fight back. Show ’em who’s boss.” Laroche was ruling pencil lines on a plain sheet of
