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"I run a bicycle junk yard," Seward crossed his arms defensively and took a step back. "Look around." He was going to elaborate on the ecological value of recycling bicycles and getting people out of their cars, but didn't want to get sidetracked, so he unfolded his arms, putting his hands in his pockets, and asked again, "So, you know who I am. I'd like to know who told you where to find me?"
Inez put the wrench in her hand down on the counter before meeting his eyes with her pale green-grays. "Al sent me."
"The fuck he did." Seward quickly looked around the shop. It was still empty except for the two of them. He turned and walked to the front door, flipped the open sign to closed, and locked it. He picked up seat-post still connected to ratty looking saddle and slowly walked back over her WorkStation.
Seward looked quickly to the early morning street though the display windows. The streets were will empty. He raised his improvised club. "You have until ten to give me the safe word before I feed you to my compost heap." He looked back out at the street. "One, two, three, four…"
Inez didn't seem to be frightened. She put her hand on her slender hips. The only sign that seemed to indicate that she was taking Seward threat seriously was that she had taken two steps backward and now had her back up against the worktable.
"…five, six…" Seward was ready. He wasn't going to let past mistakes ruin what he had going here. His life wasn't perfect. He was always strapped for cash, and some weeks he had to go without a few meals, but he was his own boss. He also felt that he was doing the local community a service by giving teens a place to hangout and work on their bikes after school and on the weekends. He was teaching them a life skill. "…seven, eight…"
Inez reached into her pocket and pulled out a small laminated card with a clenched fist in a circle, lines radiating out from the fist. She held it up and read the word on the back, Hayduke. She held out the card for Seward to take. "Really, Edward Abbey. Seems, I don't know: cliché"
Seward wasn't sure he wanted to put the seat post down. He looked at her bike and for a split second thought, he could get way with killing her and make a tidy profit. Instead, he shook his head and dropped seat post at his feet. "That person is long gone. I haven't been Emmet Seward in over fifteen years."
Seward took the card. "Wow. Earth First." Seward rolled up his sleeve exposing a tattoo that matched the emblem on the card. Then he opened his hand indicating that she should look around the shop. "My activism these days is what you see here."
Inez looked around. "I like it."
"So," Seward rolled his sleeve back down, "Why do you need Emmet Seward?"