“Friend, I blew a tire just before the turn. You got a phone or some garage nearby?”

The bartender looked him over from his boots to his hat.

“We got both. Depends how close close is for you.”

Leo pulled out a dollar.

“I’ll take the cheaper kind of close.”

The old man pointed at a black phone on the wall without another word.

Leo called a garage the bartender gave him. After three rings, a deep voice answered.

“Baxter Road Service.”

“Yeah, friend. I’m at the Crow’s Nest with a blown rear tire and a dead spare.”

“Ten, twelve minutes. If the boy hasn’t gone off for cigarettes.”

“The boy is the mechanic?”

“Today he is whatever I tell him he is.”