Thursday afternoon, and Julian is later getting back to the garage than he means to be. He spent the morning across town dealing with paperwork he could have handled another day, three hours of numbers, signatures and questions that had nothing to do with engines. He told himself he would be back by two. It is closer to four by the time he pulls into the lot, and he knows before he parks that something is wrong.
One of the men near the entrance straightens too fast when he sees Julian’s truck. Another looks away, suddenly interested in something on the floor. A conversation near the front bay breaks off, starts again, then gets louder for no reason. Julian has worked with most of these men long enough to know what guilty looks like. Usually it means somebody broke something, ordered the w
