The hum of the shop was a low, rhythmic vibration that Arthur felt in his marrow. His garage, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city, was a sanctuary of steel and oil. Today, however, the air held a different kind of charge. In the center of the bay sat "The Granny," a 1954 Chevrolet Bel Air that looked like it belonged in a parade, but hid the heart of a street brawler.