Opened the Ford’s hood.
Rummaged.
Returned carrying a short piece of rubber line.
John raised an eyebrow.
Leo cut a tiny section from it.
“Temporary.”
“How temporary?”
“Get-you-to-a-real-shop temporary.”
“I can live with that.”
Leo fashioned the smallest possible seal around the worn valve tip.
John watched.
“You do this before?”
“Not exactly.”
“Comforting.”
“My dad used to make gaskets out of cereal boxes.”
“That’s not comforting either.”
Leo smiled.
Maybe the first real smile he had made in days.
They reassembled the carburetor.
Leo adjusted it.
Then stepped back.
“Try.”
John mounted the motorcycle.
One prime.
Ignition.
Kick.
The engine fired.
Coughed once.
Then settled into a steady rhythm.
The sound filled the station.
Leo grinned.
John revved lightly.
No black smoke.
No choking.
He looked at the boy.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Leo stood a little taller.
John shut the engine down.
“You hungry?”
Leo’s smile disappeared.
That told John everything.
“I’m okay.”
“Didn’t ask if you were okay.”
Leo looked away.
John opened his saddlebag.
Pulled out a wrapped sandwich.
A protein bar.
Water.
He threw the protein bar.
Leo caught it.
“I don’t need charity.”
John stared.
“Kid, you just repaired my motorcycle with garbage you stole out of an abandoned Ford.”
“I’d say we’re bartering.”
Leo considered.
Then opened the wrapper.
He ate too quickly.
John pretended not to notice.
Halfway through the sandwich, John looked again at the bruise along Leo’s face.
“Who hit you?”
Leo stopped chewing.
“Nobody.”
“Funny.”
“Most nobodies don’t leave knuckle marks.”
Leo stared at the food.
John waited.
Silence worked better than pressure.
Finally:
“Some guys.”
“What guys?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Matters if they hit kids.”
“I’m not a kid.”
John looked at him.
“You got peanut butter on your face.”
Leo wiped it angrily.
John smiled.
“Fourteen is a kid.”
“Who?”
Leo hesitated.
“Silas.”
John’s expression changed.
He knew the name.
Not personally.
Enough.
“Salvage-yard Silas?”
Leo looked surprised.
“You know him?”
“I know what he is.”
Leo shrugged.
“He says this is his territory.”
“He says I owe fifty dollars to sleep here.”
John looked toward the abandoned station.
“Does he own this?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t owe him rent.”
“Tell him.”
“I might.”
Leo looked up.
John’s tone had changed.
He did not sound like he was joking.
“My dad would say stay out of things that aren’t yours.”
John looked at the tool roll.
“Your dad sounds smarter than most men I know.”
“He was.”
The pride in Leo’s voice was immediate.
“What happened?”
Leo swallowed.
“Heart attack.”
John nodded once.
“Sorry.”
Leo looked at him.