Chapter 4: One Offer

"I did," I said.

He looked from the koi on the flaps to my hands.

"Today?" he asked.

"Tuesday. Why?"

"Because a driver told me in Spokane that the best airbrush in the Northwest was working out of a tire bay for forty dollars."

His voice was low and rough.

"Then he was lying about the best," I said. "Forty is the price."

Something moved at the corner of his mouth, and it wasn't quite a smile.

"My name's Rafe Brasher. I run Brasher Restoration in Bend, Oregon. Vintage bikes, prewar to the seventies."

I knew the name. Everyone who had ever bolted a tank to a frame knew the name.

Dutch kept a framed photo of one of Brasher's restorations over the garage desk.

He used to say that if he ever met the man he'd shake his hand and then steal his clients.

"Stephanie Ansel," I said. "You're a long way from Bend."

"I came for the Triumph's owner. I stayed because of the koi."

He nodded at the flaps. "Who taught you to do scale like that?"

"My mother taught me to hold a brush. The scales I taught myself."

"Can you do that on a tank?"

"I've done it on four hundred tanks."

I heard how that sounded as it left my mouth.

He heard it too, and he kept his face still, which I noticed.

"I've got an empty bay at my shop," he said. "Climate-controlled booth, a downdraft table, a clean room for clear coat. It's yours."

"Mine."

"Your own bay. Your own signature on every piece that leaves it, and your name on the sign out front."

Keep reading free with an account. Start I Caught Him in the President's Office, So I Painted My Own Name from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.