“What is that?” I asked, slowly moving closer.
Avery didn’t look up from where he was bent over the handlebars. “It’s a BMW R80 G/S.”
“Yeah, I got that part.” I joined them next to the bike, blinking hard as I tried to decide if it was real. “Where did it come from?”
One of the mechanics, Marco, wiped his hands on a rag and nodded toward the front office. “We picked it up this morning.”
Avery finally straightened. “The owner broke down in Yuma County last night. Poor guy is probably not getting it back for at least a month.”
I arched an eyebrow at my brother, wondering what the hell had happened to it to land it here, with us. This thing was one of the original adventure bikes, the granddaddy of the modern GS range, built for long-distance travel and endurance. It was expensive as shit and rare as hell, especially in such good condition.
My eyes narrowed. “That’s a restored… no, hang on, that’soriginal. Where the hell did he even find something like this out here?”
Avery shrugged. “Beats me, but he rode it hard enough to cook the engine.”
Marco scoffed down a laugh. “At this point, that bike is basically being held together by hope. If we’re going to try bringing it back to life, we’re talking specialty parts, some of which will have to be ordered, not salvaged, and no one in at least four counties stocks it.”
“Then it should go to Phoenix,” I said. “If we can’t help him here?—”
Avery shook his head before I could even finish the sentence. “Nope. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we haven’t exactly been slammed lately. If we can close this deal, it’s a full rebuild. That should keep us afloat until things start picking up again.”
“Sure, but it’s not going to be slow this week,” I said. “I’ve got four diesel jobs coming in on Friday and I’m going to need help. The bike won’t be a quick turnaround. You said it yourself, it’s a month at least if we’ve got to order the parts.”
“That’s a win,” Avery replied easily. “You’ll have your help. The parts aren’t going to be here by Friday. Hell, we’ll be lucky if they’re here by two Fridays after that.”
“Fucking idiot,” Marco muttered. “Who runs a bike likethisinto the ground? It’s crazy.”
“Yeah.” Avery snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as his gaze skimmed across the bike. “It’s weird for sure. Guys who buy this kind of thing are usually collector types that are a lot more careful. If they ever take the damn thing out of the garage at all.”
I glanced back at the bike. It was in real good shape generally, but it had a worn-in look about it, like it’d been ridden for miles and miles before the engine had given out. “This guy probably should’ve left his in the garage, too, but fine. Take the job if you can get it. We’re not busy enough to send it away without even trying.”
Before he could respond, I turned on my heels and headed for the office, where I found Dad behind the cluttered desk, hunched over an ancient computer he refused to let us upgrade. He was cursing under his breath and repeatedly hitting the space bar, but the image on the screen didn’t change.
“That won’t work,” I said. “It’s frozen, Daddy. We really need to get you a new one.”
He shook his head. “It works. It’s just taking a minute. The answer to everything in life isn’t to upgrade.”
“It is when the life you’re talking about is tech,” I countered, finally pushing off the doorframe and walking inside. “That stuff has a lifespan and this one is about twenty years past due.”
He glanced up at me, looking more like a crazy professor than a mechanic who hadn’t touched a wrench in at least eighteen months. His shirt was misbuttoned, his white hair sticking up in all directions, and his spectacles askew on his nose.
“You’re cranky today,” he said. “What happened?”
“Boredom.” I shrugged before dropping into the chair across from him. It squeaked under my weight, but it, too, was abouttwenty years past retirement. “We do have a new bike in the shop, though. Some guy broke down out in Yuma County.”
“So fix it.” He frowned, his features twisting in confusion. “What are you coming to me for?”
“I was thinking of calling Phil Forbes. He does bikes full-time, so he could help us with a proper, specialized rebuildifthe customer chooses to do the repair here.”
“He has to do the repair here,” Dad said, still looking vaguely confused. “He’s stuck in town without his bike. That means we’re fixing it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Stuck doesn’t mean what it used to, Daddy. He could have a towing company take it anywhere he wants and they’ll even bring him a rental car to get himself home. Or he could call a friend, a family member, or even just a shuttle service, or a taxi. Should I go on?”
“All that costs money,” he said as if that settled it. “Just start with the quote for the repair work and let him know that we’re his best shot.”
I sighed but left his office, dropping into the rolling chair at the front desk to get started. It spun once as I sat down, slow and lazy, like it’d inherited the town’s personality during the last decade it’d been serving under us.
The road outside shimmered, tumbleweeds bouncing up and down past the main doors. I watched it go, propping my chin into my hand and wishing it was Friday already. It wasn’t normal for the shop to be this quiet.
