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The man with the bruised jaw smiles.

“Trent Calloway.”

He holds out his hand.

I shift the backpack and shake it.

“You shot out a tire.”

Trent looks at Sean.

“You told her?”

“No.”

“I heard Kane on the radio.”

Trent’s smile grows.

“It was a good shot.”

The quiet man straightens.

“Holt Lawson.”

He doesn’t offer his hand.

I like him immediately.

He understands that not everyone wants to be touched by someone they just met.

“You’re the one who ate the gas-station burrito?” I ask.

Kane laughs.

Trent points at Holt.

“That was him.”

Holt’s expression doesn’t change.

“It had eggs.”

Kane looks at me.

“We’ve been having this argument for three hours.”

“It didn’t have eggs,” Trent says.

“You don’t know that.”

“It came from beneath a heat lamp.”

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

“It was gray.”

“The wrapper was gray.”