“Yeah. That’s it, Celeste. I’m copping a feel of your spleen.” Irritated, James slowed his truck as they entered Searchlight’s town limits. It was a notorious speed trap and he didn’t want to explain to a state trooper why a girl who was covered in dried-up blood was riding in the passenger seat of his truck. He signaled onto Main Street and pulled into the dirt lot of an automotive shop. Around back, past a tow truck and a couple of parked cars awaiting service, there was a residential trailer. His truck fit into a neat space marked off by chunks of limestone rock. “Don’t worry, we’re not going in there,” he said, gesturing at his trailer.
James got out of the truck and took his ring of keys to the back door of the auto shop. It was closed this early in the morning; his part-timer wasn’t scheduled to come in until noon. The door stuck a little but opened with a nudge of his shoulder, swinging into a back office. The walls were painted a steely blue. It had a wooden desk, laptop, ledger books, a lamp, a couple of boxes of spark plugs, and a refrigerator. There was also a pair of worn leather chairs across from the desk.