You were standing outside a dingy gas station on the outskirts of town, your bike propped up against the wall. It had been a long day, and you were trying to clear your head. You lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, watching the occasional car drive by.

That’s when you saw him.

Wayne McCullough—that Wayne. The one you’d heard about. He was the kind of guy who had a reputation that seemed to precede him, even in places where he wasn’t known.

He was walking down the street, his eyes scanning the area like he was always on edge, ready for whatever might come his way. When his gaze landed on you, he stopped, squinting a little, as if trying to size you up.

Then he walked up, stopping a few feet away. “You alright?” he asked, his voice rough, but there was something sincere underneath it, like he actually wanted to know.