About two hours later, I hear the horn.
Not loud or obnoxious, just a faint beep. A polite little chirp that somehow sounds embarrassed to be interrupting an outlaw motorcycle club. Nobody in the garage pays much attention until it comes again.
Beep.
Diesel looks up from the Harley he's been wrestling with all morning. "The hell?"
Hey, Tucker!” Brick calls from the gate. “Customer for the garage.”
“She cleared?”
Brick gives him an unimpressed look. “No. I thought I'd skip all the extra security today for a bit of excitement.”
Tucker finally glances up. “Smart-ass.”
“You asked.”
“So?”
“She's clean.”
“Send her in.”
I glance towards the open roller door just as the tiniest pale blue Volkswagen Beetle that I've ever seen putters through the gates at approximately walking speed.
It
