Kendrick "Shade" Sullivan's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Shade worked past midnight with the journals spread across the bench. He found eleven models covered in careful hand. He found no sand-runner turbo pump. He flipped every book twice. The vendor had told him one volume was missing from the stack she sold him, and this was the gap. Omar's parts were due in four days. Without the pump journal, Shade could not confirm the ceramic bearing kit would seat in the housing, or the magnetic seal would clear the impeller. He shut the last book and rubbed his left ear out of habit. The ring was louder at night. The next morning a tractor rolled onto the lot on wide black tires. Red bodywork, smooth panels, a cab like a helmet. The driver climbed down slow. He was tall and thick through the shoulders, cactus-green, mustache thick under a flat nose. He pulled off a work glove and put out a hand. "Shade," he said. "Been a while." Shade knew the voice before he placed the face. Cisco Thornwood. Ten years and forty pounds ago they had traded punches over four rounds at a card in the flats. Cisco had won on points. Shade had bled from a cut above the eye for a week. "Hydraulic line's weeping," Cisco said. "Lift arm drops on its own. I run prickle pear and corn out past the red flats. I need it back by Sunday." Shade walked around the machine and found the wet seam under the left arm. Straight job. He quoted the price. Cisco nodded once. Then he reached into the cab and came back with a spiral-bound book. Tabs down the side. Cover soft from use. "Heard at the bazaar you bought a stack short one book," he said. "Old boy who ran turbo pumps out of my county left this with me when he sold his rig. Figured you could use it more than I can." Shade took the journal. The tab read PUMP. Inside, the seal tolerances and bearing seats were logged in pencil, page after page. "What do you want for it," Shade said. Cisco shook his head. "Not money." He looked at Shade's hands, then at his own. "Four rounds. Friendly. Saltpool has a ring on Thursday nights. Headgear, sixteen ounce. I want to know what the tenth round did to you. I want to know what it did to me." Shade held the book. He thought about the customer's sand-runner and the four days on the clock. He thought about the ear that would not quiet. He said yes. Thursday he taped his hands in the locker room and climbed through the ropes. Cisco was already there, breathing slow. They touched gloves. Shade caught a hook in the second round that dropped him to a knee. He got up. In the fourth he put Cisco against the ropes and made him cover. When the bell rang they hugged at the center. Shade walked out under his own power. The pump journal was on his bench when he got back to the shop, waiting under the lamp.