“Rourke?”
Rourke did not answer.
He leaned closer.
Not touching Caleb.
Only looking.
The tiny engraving was difficult to see.
A pair of crossed pistons beneath a small crow.
Rourke whispered:
“No.”
Caleb stepped back.
“What?”
Rourke looked into his face.
“What did you say your father’s name was?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
Rourke shook his head slowly.
“That wasn't his name here.”
Caleb froze.
“What are you talking about?”
The red-bearded biker’s eyes widened.
“Ghost.”
Rourke looked at him.
He nodded.
The word seemed to travel through the shop.
Ghost.
Another biker turned from the workbench.
“What?”
The shaved-head man walked closer.
Rourke pointed toward Caleb’s pendant.
Nobody spoke.
Caleb looked from face to face.
“What does that mean?”
Rourke looked at him.
“Your father.”
Caleb’s grip tightened around the pendant.
“What about him?”
Rourke’s voice dropped.
“He worked in this garage.”
Caleb stared.
“No, he didn't.”
“Yes.”
“My dad worked at Mercer Automotive.”
“Later.”
Caleb shook his head.
“He never lived in Mesa.”
Rourke gave a bitter half-smile.
“He lived here before you were born.”
Caleb stepped backward.
“You have the wrong person.”
Rourke pointed gently toward the pendant.
“That wrench was made by a man named Ellis Boone.”
Caleb looked down.
“He made twelve.”
“Okay.”
“Every mechanic in our original crew got one.”
Caleb’s breathing changed.
Rourke continued.
“I still have mine.”
He reached beneath his shirt.
Pulled out a chain.
Another silver pendant appeared.
Not a wrench.
A small socket.
Same engraved crow.
Caleb stared.
Rourke held it between two fingers.
“Ghost had the wrench.”
Caleb looked again at his own pendant.
His father had worn it constantly.
Even at dinner.
Even while sleeping.
After Daniel died, Caleb’s mother had placed the chain around Caleb’s neck before the funeral.
She said:
“He wanted you to have this.”
That was all.
Caleb had never asked more.
Maybe because asking meant accepting there were parts of his father he did not know.
Rourke watched him carefully.
“Your father had a scar?”
Caleb swallowed.
“Which one?”
“Left forearm.”
Caleb’s heart began pounding.
“Yes.”
“Long burn?”
“Yes.”
“Missing a piece of his right eyebrow?”
Caleb hesitated.
“Yes.”
The red-bearded biker whispered:
“Jesus.”
Caleb looked toward him.
“What?”
The man shook his head.
“You look like him.”
“No, I don't.”
“You do now.”
Caleb stepped farther away.
“I came here for a job.”
Rourke nodded.
“I know.”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever this is.”
Caleb shoved the pendant beneath his hoodie.
Rourke’s voice softened.
“Kid.”
“No.”
“Your father was my best friend.”
Caleb stopped.
He did not turn.
Nobody moved.
After several seconds he said:
“My dad never mentioned you.”
The sentence hurt Rourke more than Caleb intended.
It showed.
“He never mentioned this place either.”
Rourke nodded.
“I believe you.”
Caleb turned.