It wasn't a few blocks from its last bed before the truck began sputtering with a strange clunk-clunk echo from somewhere underneath the tailgate.
"Clunk? Clunk isn't good," the low voice muttered, fingers clicking open a small cell phone.
"I need the address of an all-night mechanic's," he greeted the other end. Enoch was used to the unexpected calls; his hand paused only a second over the keys as he smirked.
"You're kidding, right?"
The silence was filled with a torrent of clicks, and Enoch finally replied, "Well, how about one that's notorious for working late?"