"It made it here from Fresno." "That's not the same as Stockton." Corey straightened up. "The car's fine. It's got" He stopped, thought about it honestly. "It's got a cooling issue above 65 miles an hour." "So, you drive under 65," Leo said.
"On the 99 at 7:00 in the morning, you're going to get killed." Leo rubbed the back of his neck. Garrett looked at Mike. Something passed between them quick, almost invisible. The kind of look that represents a full conversation between two people who've had enough of them that language is just a slow version.
Mike gave a very small nod, the kind that could be mistaken for nothing if you weren't watching for it. Garrett reached into his jacket. He came out with a card, plain white with a name, a number, and a San Bernardino address. He slid it down the counter to Leo.
Leo picked it up. "What is this guy named Ruben Garrett?" it said. "He runs a shop on Baseline in San Bernardino. Tell him Garrett sent you.
He'll look at the car tonight. He keeps late hours, and if it needs work, he'll do it at cost. You'll be on the road to Stockton by morning." Leo stared at the card. He turned it over.
It was blank on the back. "Why?" he said. He said it the way he'd said it to Mike earlier. Not ungrateful, not suspicious, just genuinely trying to understand the operating logic of people who kept doing things he had no framework for.
Garrett shrugged. "Because I've got a daughter, too," he said. "And she's never had to wait to meet me." Leo's hand closed around the card. It was the first time all night that Corey cried.