Standing there was Caleb “Cal” Mercer, eighteen years old, lean, grease permanently embedded beneath his fingernails. He had been apprenticing under Walt since he was sixteen after aging out of the foster system. High school hadn’t held his attention, but engines had. Cal could disassemble a carburetor blindfolded and identify timing issues by sound alone.
Walt stared at him in disbelief.
“Cal,” he warned quietly.
But Cal stepped forward.
“Five days,” he said, meeting the biker’s gaze without flinching. “Give me five days.”
The bikers exchanged looks.
One of them chuckled low.
“Five seasoned mechanics already walked away, kid.”
Cal nodded.
“I’m not walking away.”
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