The garage was empty, a quiet concrete space filled with a few cars in various states of dismemberment. A long-limbed man was lounging in an aluminum chair under the awning of the building, smoke drifting around him like a personal cloud. He glanced up as I approached, squinting up at me from under his baseball cap and blinking slowly, languidly, in the mid-day sun. He looked like a scarecrow that had come to life and then decided to spend all day smoking gage.

"You need gas?" He drawled, pulling back his cap to scratch at his hairline. I nodded. He looked me up and down, taking in my dark gray suit and fedora with a raised eyebrow and glancing behind me. "That your car?"

"Yes." I held back a wince as he whistled shrilly, getting to his feet with the unhurried, leisurely movements of a lizard.

"Damn, she's a real dish." He said appreciatively, running a hand over the hood. "Must've cost you a pretty penny."

I shrugged, remembering the dealership I had pinched it from back in Massachusetts. "I got a pretty sweet deal, actually."

"I'll bet." The mechanic grinned. "How much gas you need?"

"Just fill her up."

I leaned against the trunk as the mechanic retreated into the cool dark of the garage, returning a few seconds later with a greasy rag and a red plastic container. The city shimmered in the distance, undulating in my vision like it was underwater. The heat coming off of the asphalt turned everything into a mirage, and I felt sweat on my brow that had nothing to do with the dark fabric of my suit. Inhaling deeply, I tried not to breath in the heady, sickening scent of fuel that pervaded the air, tried to relax. The last time I had seen the city-my city, but not anymore- I had been driving in the opposite direction.

It had been a long time.

"Hey. Buddy." I turned around to see the mechanic offering me a drooping deck of Luckies fished out of the breast pocket of his overalls. "Wanna smoke?"

I eyed the puddles of gasoline on the ground warily. "No thanks."

"Your loss." He stuck one in his mouth and returned the pack to its denim hiding place, wiping his hands on the rag. "That's your car all done. Anything else?"

"No, that's fine. How much for that?"

"It's ten cents a gallon."

I did the calculations in my head and pulled out my wallet, digging around to find the cash I owed him. He jerked his head down the road, patting the car's fender.

"You headin' to the city?" He asked. I nodded, still rifling through my greenbacks for exact change. "Is it your first time visiting?"

"No." I handed him the payment, shaking my head. "I've been traveling, and I'm coming back."

The mechanic clapped me on the shoulder. "Good for you, pal. Been away long?"

"Yeah." I got into my car. He tapped on the window and I rolled it down, starting to get frustrated. "What? Did I count my nickels wrong?"

"No, you're good, I was just wondering…" He pointed at me thoughtfully. "I could swear I'd seen you before."

I felt my body tense. "No. I don't think we've met."

He frowned. "What's your name?"

"Max Eisenhardt." The alias slipped off my tongue seamlessly. I had a lot of time to practice- it was my third fake name in as many years. "What's yours?" I asked, trying to direct the conversation away from myself.

"Oh." He grinned and thrust a greasy hand through the open window. I shook it tentatively. "I'm Sam Guthrie."

"Well, Sam," I tried my best to make my smile look apologetic, but it probably came out as threatening. "I just have one of those faces. I don't think we know each other. Sorry."

"That's okay. Have a safe trip back home." His attention had drifted off again. The cigarette he had offered me still lay unlit between his lips.

"Thank you." I said, revving my engine. "I will."