A man who looked frightening but listened.
Sophie pushed the flash drive back toward him.
"We're going to make copies."
The man looked confused.
"Then what?"
"We document everything."
"And if they threaten me?"
"We document that too."
"What if nobody believes us?"
Sophie thought of Marcus.
Diesel.
Snake.
Elena.
Jessica.
Teresa.
Carlos.
Rafael.
She smiled gently.
"Then we keep talking until somebody does."
That evening, Sophie rode to the Desert Kings clubhouse.
Not on the little red trail bike.
That one sat restored inside her garage.
She rode a full-size motorcycle now.
Legal.
Licensed.
Trained.
Marcus had inspected it three times before he allowed himself to admit it was safe.
She parked outside.
Marcus was sitting beneath the awning.
Older now.
Much more gray.
Still intimidating to anyone who did not know him.
Sophie removed her helmet.
Marcus pointed toward her front wheel.
"Tire pressure looks low."
"It isn't."
"You check?"
"This morning."
"Brake line?"
She stared at him.
"Seriously?"
"Answer."
"Checked."
"Fluid?"
"Checked."
"Pads?"
"Marcus."
"Pads?"
"Checked."
He nodded.
"Good."
Sophie sat beside him.
For a while, they watched the street.
A mural still covered the wall.
The paint had faded slightly.
The girl with the pink backpack remained visible.
COURAGE COMES IN ALL SIZES.
Sophie looked at it.
"You know what I remember most?"
Marcus expected her to say the cut brake line.
Or Anthony.
Or her father.
"What?"
"Your face."
"My face?"
"When I grabbed your vest."
Marcus frowned.
"What about it?"
"You looked terrified."
Marcus laughed.
"I was not terrified."
"You were."
"I was confused."
"You were terrified because a child touched you."
"Children are unpredictable."
Sophie smiled.
"I remember thinking you weren't scary."
"Your judgment has always been questionable."
She leaned back.
"I think that's why I ran to you."
"Because I wasn't scary?"
"No."
She looked at the mural.
"Because Dad always said the loudest motorcycles usually belonged to people who would stop first if someone needed help."
Marcus became quiet.
"He really said that?"
"Something like it."
"Convenient."
"Don't ruin it."
They sat together as the sun lowered over Third Street.
The neighborhood looked different now.
There were new buildings.
Old ones.
Affordable apartments.
Shops.
A community health clinic where a vacant warehouse used to stand.
Not everything had been saved.
Not every developer was corrupt.
Not every fight became a national story.
But people remembered Harmon.
They remembered the workers.
They remembered the witnesses.
They remembered a company that believed enough money could make human beings invisible.