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He squinted at Hector a moment, perhaps debating whether or not he wanted to answer that question. “Revenant is the name of the manufacturer,” he explained. “Softail is a type of rear suspension--basically means it’s not as bumpy as other bikes might be. RS1800 is the model number. Cruiser is just a general type of motorcycle, as opposed to say, a sport bike or a touring bike or something.”

“Ah... okay...” Hector eyed the bike’s silver frame and black leather seating.

“It’s about eight years old, now, and it has a hundred and eighty thousand kilometers. It’s been good to me, but keeping it maintained has become more of a hobby than a need, these past few years.”

Garovel started laughing. ‘I hope you like skulls, because this thing has them all over the gas tank.’

“It, uh... it does actually run, right?”

The bike seller retrieved the key from a rack by the door, as well as a helmet and a jacket.

Hector tried to watch as carefully as possible while the man started the bike. He saw the guy turn the key in the ignition first, then turn a tiny spindle at the neck of the handlebars, then hold a metal clutch with his left hand, and then finally slam his foot down on the ratcheting lever beneath the seat. The engine roared to life, and the man took the bike out of the garage.

Hector watched him ride it up and down the street, and that was good enough for him. The money changed hands, as did the key and helmet, and Hector was soon wheeling the bike down the sidewalk. The man told him that all the paperwork was in a compartment beneath the saddle, but Hector wasn’t terribly concerned about it, and after seeing the money again, neither was the man.

He pushed the bike all the way to the empty parking lot of a long-abandoned department store. He took a deep breath as he stared at the machine.