Chapter 75 Chapter Six

Two steamy fluorescent lights in the rain lit high above the ground, and a dim sign hung beside the highway that read: "Welcome to Rieux." It was about 8 p.m. The main street is full of wooden houses, and there are also shops that have appeared impressively. The light of the grocery store on the corner hits the fogged glass, and cars flow in front of a small movie theater. bank in front of a group of people standing in the rain.There was Rieulite.I continued to move forward, and there was an open space around me again. The car had just passed through Orange County, and the surrounding area was empty and lonely, only the crouching foothills and the rain.

The mile, or three miles, was a fortuitous drive.Now I saw a fork in the road, and that road was lit by a faint light, as if the curtains were drawn inside the house.That's when I heard the left tire angrily hiss, which was funny, followed by the same sound from the right rear tire. My car parked at the intersection almost unbiasedly, which was hilarious.I got out of the car, lifted the raincoat up, removed a headlight, and saw a thick layer of zinc-coated tacks, the heads were as big as ten-dollar coins, and a piece on the tire. The nails reveal a shiny flat buttocks, blinking at me. With two flat tires but only one spare, I lowered my chin and walked towards the faint light on the side road.

This was the place I was looking for, the light from the sloping skylight of the garage, the huge double doors in front were closed, but there was a blinding white light coming through the gap.I shone the light up in my hand, and it was written on the door: "Art Hack - Auto Repair and Finishing." Not far from the repair shop, there is a house behind a dirt road, and behind it are clusters of sparse woods.There were lights there, too, and a dead car was parked in front of the wooden porch. The first thing to do is get the tire fixed, if it can be fixed, and they don't know me.Walking at night like this gets soaking wet.

I snapped on the light in my hand and knocked on the door.The lights in the house came out, and I stood at the door, licking the raindrops off my upper lip, holding the light in my left hand, and tucked into my raincoat with my right hand.The Luger was under his arm again. An unpleasant voice came from inside the house. "What do you want? Who is it?" "Open the door, my car blew two tires on the highway, but I only have one spare, I need help," I said. "Sir, we're off work. Rielet is just a mile west of here." I kicked at the door, and the people inside started cursing, and then another, much softer voice came.

"Smart guy, eh? Art, open the door!" The latch creaked, and a door slowly opened inwards.I shook the lamp in my hand again, and the light shone on a thin face.At this moment, an arm slammed over and knocked out the lamp in my hand.The hand that came over had a gun in it and aimed it at me. I crouched down, I silently fumbled around for the flash, I didn't draw my gun. "Sir, forget it, it will hurt you." The flash fell headlong into the mud, and I scrambled to stand up.The lights in the room were still on, revealing a tall figure in overalls.He walked back inside, the gun aimed at me the whole time.

"Come in and close the door." I did. "Your street is full of tacks, I thought you wanted to do this business," I said. "Didn't you know? There was a bank robbery in Rialit this afternoon." "I'm new here," I said, thinking of the group of people standing in front of the bank in the rain. "Okay, okay. What happened this afternoon, they say the gang's hiding somewhere in the mountains. Your car hit a tack they threw, didn't you?" "It seems so." I looked at the other guy in the garage. He was a stocky little man with hard brown cheeks and hard brown eyes.He wore a belted maroon raincoat and a dry brown hat tilted neatly on his head.He put his hands in his pockets, looking bored.

There was a sweet smell of collodion paint in the air, and in the corner a large car stood with a spray gun on the side of the fender.It was a Buick, so new it didn't need to be painted. The man in overalls put the gun in his side pocket, looked at the brown man, and the brown man looked at me, and said softly, "Stranger, where are you from?" "Seattle," I said. "Going west? Are you going to the big city?" His voice was soft, soft and dry, like the rustling sound of worn leather. "Yes, how far?" "About forty miles. Seems a bit farther in this weather. You've come a long way, haven't you? Along the Tahoe and Lone Pine?"

"Not through Tahoe," I said, "from Reno and Carson." "It's been a long journey, too." A smile flickered across his brown lips. "Art, grab a jack and get his flat tire out." "Now, listen, Rashi—" the man in the overalls snarled, then stopped abruptly, as if his throat had been slit all the way from left to right. I swear he was shaking, and there was dead silence, and the brown man was motionless, and there was something in his eyes.He then lowered his eyes shyly, his voice was still soft, dry and emotionless. "Art, get two jacks, he blown two tires."

The thin man silently accepted, walked to the corner, put on his coat and hat.He grabbed a brass wrench and headed for the door, lugging a jack and a jacking machine. "Still on the highway, aren't you?" he asked me almost gently. "Yes, one of them can be put on a spare if you're busy," I said. "He's not busy," said the brown man, staring at his fingernails. Art went out with the tools, and the door closed again.I didn't look at Rashi Yeager, I just looked at that Buick.I knew he was Rashi Yeager.There couldn't be anyone else in that garage called Rashie.I didn't look him in the eye, because looking at him, I seemed to see Larry Bazel lying in front of me, and my expression might give it away.But only for a while.

He also took a look at the Buick himself, and said slowly, "We have to start with the panels, but the owner has money, and his driver just needs a dollar or two. You know this is a living." "Understood." I said. Time slipped away quietly, and every minute and every second seemed lengthy and slow.At this time, footsteps approached creakingly outside the door, and the door was pushed open.The light hit the rain curtain, reflecting the rain into silver threads.Art slowly pushed the two muddy tires, kicked the door shut, and let the tires fall flat on the ground.The rain and the fresh air made his nerves tense again, and he looked at me viciously.

"Seattle, huh? Seattle, bullshit!" he growled. The brown man lit a cigarette as if he hadn't heard.Art took off his jacket, yanked the tire onto the rim spreader, loosened the tire roughly, took out the inner tube, and quickly patched it with cold patches.With a gloomy face, he strode towards the wall next to me, and as soon as he picked up the air supply pipe, he filled the inner tube with air. After it was full, he grabbed the tire with both hands and dipped it into the laundry tub filled with water. What an idiot I was, and they worked so well together that they didn't even lift an eyelid from each other when Art came back from rolling the tires. Art threw the air-filled inner tube into the air, held it firmly with open hands, stood beside the water basin, glared at the tire in his hand, took a small easy step, and slammed it on my head and shoulders superior. He jumped behind me in an instant, and his whole body was pressed heavily on the rubber, pressing the inner tube firmly against my chest and arms.I can still move my hands, but I can't reach the gun. The brown man now took his right hand out of his pocket, threw the cylindrical nickel into the air, and caught it with his palm with brisk steps. I staggered backwards, and then suddenly moved forward with all my weight.Art suddenly yanked the tire and forced me to my knees from behind. I lay on the ground, but I don't know when I hit the ground.On the way down, fists and nickel-filled tires on top of me, the timing was right, the weight was just right, plus my own weight, and I was completely down. I was like dust in the wind, and I fainted all of a sudden.