Bring a knife. Meet me at the back of the house in the garage.
This sounds a little strange, but, OK, I’ll go along with it.
Jason Wilkinson, the guy with a knife.
A tall bearded dude with brooding brown eyes rolls up the door and offers his hand in greeting – or does he simply want me to surrender my knife?
The garage, illuminated by a series of clip-on lamps that cast eerie shadows, has two stainless steel surgical-looking work tables.
There’s a Triumph Bonneville opposite…