“Two.”
A few people smiled.
“Come on, folks.”
“One thousand.”
Nothing.
Daniel stared at the machine.
Front axle.
Disconnected hydraulic line.
XP-2.
Prototype numbering.
His father’s warning returned.
Don’t fall in love with junk.
Daniel raised his bidder card.
The auctioneer immediately pointed.
“There we go.”
“One thousand?”
Daniel shook his head.
The auctioneer laughed.
“Five hundred?”
Daniel nodded.
Several people laughed.
“Five hundred dollars!”
The older equipment dealer from earlier stood nearby.
“Kid’s buying a lawn ornament.”
Daniel ignored him.
The auctioneer searched.
“Six hundred?”
Nothing.
“Seven?”
Nothing.
Then, because Daniel had eight hundred dollars in his pocket and fear was making him stupid, he called:
“Eight hundred.”
The auctioneer looked surprised.
“You bidding against yourself?”
Laughter.
Daniel immediately realized his mistake.
His ears burned.
The auctioneer grinned.
“I’ll take it.”
“Eight hundred.”
Then, from near the front, a hand went up.
“Nine.”
Daniel looked.
The bidder wore a gray jacket and expensive sunglasses.
Not someone who had inspected the machine.
Daniel’s stomach dropped.
Had the man noticed Daniel’s interest?
That happened at auctions.
Sometimes one person’s confidence created value where none had existed.
The auctioneer pointed.
“Nine hundred.”
Daniel had eight hundred cash.
But registration allowed payment by debit or certified funds.
His bank account held another five hundred he absolutely should not spend.
Michael would kill him.
Daniel raised his card.
“One thousand.”
His voice sounded steadier than he felt.
The man in the gray jacket looked at him.
Then at the machine.
He smiled.
Lowered his hand.
The auctioneer waited.
“Eleven hundred?”
Nothing.
“Ten fifty?”
Nothing.
“One thousand dollars.”
“Last call.”
Daniel almost hoped someone else would bid.
Nobody did.
The hammer fell.
“Sold!”
The crowd immediately moved toward the next lot.
Daniel remained standing.
He had just spent one thousand dollars on something everybody else considered scrap.
His available savings had dropped frighteningly close to zero.
He felt sick.
Then excited.
Then sick again.
“Congratulations.”
The elderly man from earlier stood beside him.
He did not sound congratulatory.
Daniel looked at him.
“You again.”
The man stared at the machine.
“Who taught you to inspect hydraulic systems like that?”
Daniel frowned.
“My father.”
“What’s his name?”
“Michael Carter.”
The old man went completely still.
Daniel noticed the color leave his face.
“What?”
The man looked at Daniel more carefully.
“Michael Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Worked fabrication?”
“Still does.”
The old man glanced around.
“Where are you taking the machine?”
“My dad’s shop.”
“Don’t.”