"Hey!" he yelled. "You got another customer!" He returned to his chair and smiled at the woman again.

Ed came into the room and stepped behind the counter, his dark brow looking darker than ever. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked, ignoring Blackburn. He brought out another clipboard and yellow form from under the counter.

"It's my Chevy," the woman said. Her voice was thin and fragile. "It shoots black smoke out the tailpipe. My son fixed it last time, but he's in Florida now."

"What's the model year?" Ed asked.

"1962."

"How long since the belts and hoses were changed?"

"I think my son did that at Christmas. Not this past Christmas, but the one before."

Ed wrote on the form and turned the clipboard around. "Fill this out. We'll get to it in an hour or two and give you a call."

The woman filled out and signed the form. "I'll be at home. I only live a few blocks from here."

"Don't forget to listen for the phone," Ed said. He hung up the clipboard and returned to the garage.

The woman stood there looking bewildered for a moment, then started for the door. She paused beside Blackburn. "Thank you for announcing me," she said. "I thought I'd take root." She held out her hand. "I'm Mrs. Stopes."

Blackburn took her hand. It felt like ash. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "I'm Don Wayne."

"Pleased to meet you too, Mr. Wayne." She looked outside. "That's my Chevy. My husband bought it brand new. It was the first new thing we ever owned."

Blackburn looked. The Chevy was robin's-egg blue, and immaculate. "That's a good car," he said.

"Well, I'd sell it if I had any other way to get around," Mrs. Stopes said. "If the buses were safe. But you're right, it is a good car. It just needs to be fixed up now and then." She smiled again. "Just like people."

Blackburn watched Mrs. Stopes walk past her Chevy and down the street. She walked as if her hips hurt. When she was out of sight, he returned to his magazine. He didn't think that Ed had been nice enough to Mrs. Stopes, but that was none of his business. As long as Ed and Earl did what they were supposed to do with his Fury, they could deal with others however they liked.

Thirty minutes later, he looked up and saw green water pouring from under the Fury's front end. He went into the garage and tapped the mechanic on the shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked.

The mechanic gave him a dull stare. "What's it look like?"

"It looks like you're draining the radiator."

"Good guess, man."

"You weren't supposed to drain the radiator."

The mechanic picked up the clipboard from the Fury's fender. "Says here: Drain, flush, and refill cooling system." He showed Blackburn. Earl had not crossed it out, but underlined it.

Earl appeared beside them. "What's the problem?"

Blackburn took the clipboard from the mechanic and showed Earl the problem. Earl turned to the mechanic.

"Can't you goddamn see?" Earl asked. "I crossed that out. You keep on screwing up and you can go look for a job on the South Side. Now get over there and help Sonny with that starter. I'll finish this myself."

The young mechanic went to the other car, muttering. Earl got down on the floor to replace the Fury's radiator drain plug.

"It wasn't his fault, Earl," Blackburn said. "Your cross-out looks like an underline."

"Customers aren't allowed out here," Earl said.

Blackburn returned to the waiting room and picked up a seven-month-old issue of Newsweek. At three-thirty, Ed came into the room, went behind the counter, and made a phone call. "Mrs. Stopes?" he said. "Yeah, this is Ed down at Ed amp; Earl's Auto Service. You brought your Chevy in around lunchtime? Well, I'm afraid you have some problems."

Ed seemed to be implying that he or one of the other mechanics had examined the Chevy. But Blackburn was sure that no one had gone near it. He hadn't kept a close eye on it, but he would have heard if anyone had opened its hood or started its engine.

"Well, ma'am, your belts and hoses are old," Ed said, "and your radiator cap's not sealing right. Your coolant's worn out and should be replaced, and your air cleaner's dirty. Your distributor cap's cracked, and you need new plugs, points, and a rotor. I'd also suggest new spark plug wires, because your insulation's brittle. You should also have a new fuel pump, and your transmission fluid and seals need to be changed. And for your safety, we strongly recommend that you replace your shock absorbers and have a complete brake job. When Earl drove it, he noticed some bounce and said that the brakes were mushy. As far as basic maintenance goes, you need an oil change and a new oil filter, and a tune-up. And frankly, ma'am, you should be getting all four tires replaced; they're just about running on cord. Probably due to underinflation."

Blackburn went to the pop machine and bought another Dr. Pepper. He spilled some of the soda and then stared at the can until it was steady.

"I'll have to add it up for an exact figure," Ed was saying, "but it's going to be around a thousand dollars. Yes, ma'am, but how much is your safety worth? Well, with that much work, we need a deposit of two hundred dollars. If you could have that to us before six, we might be able to get started today. No, ma'am, we can't give you a ride. We only have four mechanics, and they're all hip deep in work. Well, yes, you could bring the deposit in the morning, but we couldn't start work until then."

Blackburn went to the counter. "I'll pay the deposit," he said.

Ed waved a hand at Blackburn. "Just a minute, buddy, I'm on the phone."

"I said I'll pay the two hundred dollars for Mrs. Stopes," Blackburn said. "Let me talk to her."

Ed, scowling, looked from the phone to Blackburn and back at the phone. Then he handed the receiver to Blackburn.

"Mrs. Stopes," Blackburn said. "This is Donald Wayne. We met here this afternoon. I'm going to pay your deposit money so you don't have to make an extra trip. You can pay me back tomorrow, when your car's done."

Mrs. Stopes protested, but Blackburn insisted. Then he put the receiver on the counter and turned away. He took a long drink of Dr. Pepper and felt the coldness of it behind his eyes. He heard Ed say a few more words to Mrs. Stopes, but he didn't pay attention to them. Out in the garage, Earl was installing the Fury's new distributor cap. Blackburn sat down and picked up a ripped copy of Sports Illustrated.

Ed came around the counter. "Well," he said. His voice was murderous.

Blackburn unbuttoned his jacket pocket and took out his cash. He handed it to Ed.

Ed counted it. "There's three hundred here."

"The extra hundred's a gift," Blackburn said. "If both my car and the old lady's are done by six, you can keep it."

Ed locked the money into a drawer under the counter and went back into the garage. Blackburn watched him open the far bay door and speak to the two young mechanics. A moment later the two were pushing the car they'd been working on out of the garage. One of them drove Mrs. Stopes's car inside. They closed the bay door, opened the Chevy's hood, and got to work.

At twenty minutes after six, the mechanics closed the Chevy's hood, and one of them opened the bay door while the other one backed the car out. Then they both got into the car that had been on the hydraulic lift that morning and drove off. Earl slammed the hood on the Fury a few minutes later and closed the bay door that the young mechanics had left open. He wiped his hands on his coveralls and came into the waiting room with his clipboard.

"Gotcha all set," Earl said.

Blackburn dropped his magazine beside the two crushed Dr. Pepper cans. "Glad to hear it," he said, standing.

Earl went behind the counter and punched buttons on the calculator. He scribbled on the work order. "And the damage comes to two hundred twenty-seven dollars and eighteen cents," he said.