In Seconds

As Myles got out, the handicapped man leaned around the hood. “Afternoon, Officer.”

“Looks like you got trouble.” A red bucket of bolts, the truck probably hailed from the early nineties.

“Radiator’s busted,” came the response.

Camping and fishing gear filled the bed, not unusual for this time of year. The person inside the cab stared at Myles through his open window but stayed put. He seemed young. Not young enough to be the driver’s son, but maybe a nephew or brother.

The lame guy leaned heavily on his hands, as if it pained him to support his own weight. Although dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a ball cap, which didn’t expose a lot of skin, what skin Myles could see as he drew closer was covered with ink, even his face. The images of snakes and gargoyles were off-putting enough to make Myles wish he’d been able to run the license plate. He dealt with a lot of tourists, mostly men, some of them pretty rough. But this guy went beyond anything he’d seen since his days on the force in Phoenix. His appearance and lack of relief at the prospect of having help, not to mention the way the fellow behind the wheel pulled his ball cap down and sank lower in the seat, set Myles’s cop instincts abuzz.

He immediately thought of Pat’s murder and wished he could find out if they were driving a stolen vehicle or had outstanding warrants. “Engine’s hot, huh?” he said.

“Too hot to drive without cracking the block.” A jug of water sat on the ground next to the speaker. Obviously he’d done what he could to remedy the problem.

Judging by the burned smell, Myles thought it was too late to save the engine. “If that’s true, it can’t be driven. Why don’t I call for a tow? Harvey can come out, pick you up and take you and your vehicle into town.”