“Why is this one sixty?”
“Hard to find.”
Ruth raised one eyebrow.
“Or because somebody desperate will pay sixty?”
Malik stopped.
“What?”
She slid the card back.
“You decide which kind of business you’re building early.”
Malik frowned.
“I’m not cheating anybody.”
“I didn't say you were.”
“Then?”
Ruth folded her hands.
“If a farmer’s planter is useless without something you own, that gives you power.”
“What you do with it becomes your reputation.”
Malik looked at the card.
The plate could probably sell for more than sixty.
Maybe much more during planting season.
He thought about Harold Voss.
A machine worth thousands saved by a fifteen-dollar part.
He could have charged a hundred.
Would Harold have paid?
Probably.
Would he return?
Maybe not.
The next day Malik told Otis what Ruth had said.
Otis nodded.
“Your grandmother understands parts.”
“She’s never sold parts.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He opened a drawer.
Pulled out an old invoice.
“1974.”
A customer needed a transmission gear during harvest.
Only one around.”
Malik read the amount.
It was surprisingly reasonable.
“You could’ve charged more.”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Otis shrugged.
“Wanted him alive next year.”
That sentence defined Bell Repair.
It began defining Malik’s business too.
Spring arrived.
So did demand.
Farmers drove twenty miles.
Forty.
Seventy.
A man from Indiana called after obtaining Malik’s number through a cousin.
Another mailed a tracing of a plate on brown paper.
Malik matched the dimensions.
A farmer in Kentucky mailed his cracked plate in a coffee can.
Malik found a replacement.
Mail-order began almost accidentally.
Customers sent checks.
Malik wrapped plates in newspaper and cardboard.
His mother drove packages to the post office.
The postmaster finally asked:
“What exactly are you mailing?”
“Planter plates.”
“How many can one county need?”
“They're not all in this county.”
By May, Malik had earned back the original $180.
That moment mattered to him.
He went home.
Placed the money on the kitchen table.
Denise looked at it.
“What’s this?”
“The auction money.”
She frowned.
“I didn't loan you money.”
“I know.”
“Then?”
“I just wanted you to see.”
She counted.
One hundred eighty dollars.
Exactly.
“You made this selling those plates?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Malik thought.
“Twenty-six, I think.”
Denise looked toward the window.
“You still have eight hundred something.”
“Some aren’t worth much.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Malik smiled.
Ruth, sitting nearby, said:
“Don’t start counting money before parts are sold.”
Denise laughed.
“There she is.”
Malik put the $180 back into the business.
Not a motorcycle.
Shelving.
Metal bins.
Labels.
Postage scale.
A used typewriter purchased for $35.
Then a classified advertisement in a regional farm-equipment newsletter.
OLD SEED PLATES — OBSOLETE & DISCONTINUED NUMBERS. INTERNATIONAL, DEERE, OLIVER, ALLIS & OTHERS. CASTING NUMBER HELPS. CARTER PLANTER PARTS c/o BELL FARM EQUIPMENT REPAIR.
Otis objected.
“You named a business?”