Page 10 of Vargan

"I called Willie this morning," she says as we cross the street. "Asked him to stay with his friend Jacob another night." She glances up at me, her expression guarded. "If you need a place to crash, you can stay one more night. But that's it."

"Appreciate it," I say. "Should have the bike ready to go by tomorrow."

She nods, like that's what she wants to hear, but there's something in her eyes—worry, maybe. Or doubt.

Greene's Diner is already open and busy when we arrive. Through the window, I can see it's been cleaned up from the chaos of the night before and I wonder just how early Savvy had to wake up to make that happen. My bike is still where I left it. But the broken pieces have been piled up and pushed up against the building. Savvy pushes through the door, drawing every eye in the place.

The conversations die down as they take in the sight—their beloved waitress walking in with a massive orc trailing behind her. Whispers start immediately. I'm used to it. Savvy seems unfazed.

"That's Silas," she says quietly, nodding toward a booth in the corner where an old man sits alone, focused on his breakfast. He's the only one not staring. "I need to get to work. Try not to break anything else."

There's a hint of a smile on her lips as she walks away, heading for the kitchen. I make my way to Silas's booth, aware of the eyes tracking my movement.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask.

The old man looks up, his weathered face impassive. He's in his seventies, white-haired, with hands scarred from decades of hard work. Ex-military, if I had to guess—he has that look about him.

"Free country," he says, gesturing to the bench across from him. "Or so they tell me."

I slide in, the booth creaking under my weight. Silas returns to his eggs, seemingly unfazed by having an orc join his breakfast.

"Heard you gave Victor and his nephew a bit of trouble last night," Silas says, not looking up.

"News travels fast."

Silas snorts. "Only entertainment this town gets these days. About time someone stood up to those vultures." He finally meets my eyes. "Name's Silas Granger."

"Vargan."

"I know who you are. What I don't know is why you're still here."

I nod toward the window, where the mangled remains of my bike are still visible in the parking lot. "Need to get that running again."

Silas leans to look, then whistles low. "They did a number on her."

"I heard you might have tools I could borrow."

He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "I might. Used to run the garage till Victor raised my rent so high I had to close shop. Wife was sick—cancer. Needed the money for treatments more than I needed the business." His voice turns bitter. "Lost her anyway."

My beast sturs. "I'm sorry."

He waves off my sympathy. "What kind of parts you need?"

I list off what I can tell from looking at the wreckage—new fork, probably new handlebars, maybe work on the framedepending on how bad the bend is. Nothing I can't fix with the right tools and time.

"I got most of that," Silas says. "Been collecting parts for years. Might have to improvise a bit, but we can get her running."

"We?"

A grim smile crosses his face. "Been a while since I got my hands dirty on a proper job. Besides, anything that helps stick it to Victor Hargrove is worth my time."

Savvy appears at our table with a fresh mug of coffee, setting it in front of me. "Getting acquainted?"

"Young man here needs some help with his bike," Silas says. "Thought I might lend a hand."

Savvy's eyes flick to mine. "That's real generous of you, Silas."

"Least I can do for the man who finally put Royce on his ass." Silas takes a sip of his coffee. "Though I expect that's why they wrecked your ride. They don't take kindly to being shown up."

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