Chapter 6: The Invoice

The garage on the near west side still had the same cracked sign and the same smell of tires.

Three mechanics were standing in the bay doorway when the truck pulled in.

One of them had a wrench in his hand and did not seem to know it.

"Told you he'd be back," the youngest one said.

"You told me nothing," said the one next to him, and then he crossed the oily floor and hugged Cal so hard that his feet left the concrete.

Cal's locker was still at the back, with his name on the strip of tape.

Someone had kept it clean for three years.

His old boss walked straight past all of them to the office, and Cal followed.

The safe was behind a stack of old invoice books.

The old man crouched, spun the dial twice and pulled out a manila envelope gone soft at the corners.

He put it on the desk.

"Open it."

Inside was a single work order on yellow carbon paper.

The date was the morning after the crash.

*Silver sedan, front end. Left headlamp assembly, hood, bumper cover, windshield. Cash.*

In the box marked *Customer* someone had written two initials and a phone number.

*G.R. c/o driver.*

"The car had been washed and the plates were off," his old boss said. "I should have called someone. I took the cash."

He opened the bottom drawer and lifted out a coffee can with a lid taped shut.

Inside was a headlamp lens in three pieces, wrapped in a shop rag.

A few strands of blue wool were caught in the broken edge.

Cal stared at them.

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