It was like buzzards circling a
body.
The Jones kid, Randy, was
out in the
Mule Barn parking lot with the hood up on his car. He was
staring down into it
the way a first-time parachutist would look out the airplane
door. You never
quite knew for sure what lay ahead.
“Looks like Randy’s got
problems,” said
Steve.
“Let’s have a look,” said
Dud.
So coffee was left to get
cold and the
entire Supreme Court of All Things Mechanical – Steve, Dud, Doc,
Herb and Dewey
– trooped out to see what was going on.
They formed a powerful
semi-circle of
wisdom around the youth and his engine with folded arms and
facial expressions
that said, “It’s okay, Kid. We’re here.”
Dewey spoke first.
“Having trouble,
Randy?”
“Won’t start.”
Doc, who has the
most initials
after his name, said, “Give it a try.”
Randy ground the
engine, but it
wouldn’t kick over.
“Stop! Stop!” Doc
yelled. “Don’t
want to flood it.”
All Doc knows about
flooding is
that the animals went on board, two by two.
“Randy, I think
it’s the
solenoid,” said Steve, looking wise.
“Doesn’t have one,
Steve,” Randy
said.
“Sure it does. All
cars have
solenoids.”
“Not the new ones.
Haven’t made
solenoids in years.”
Steve’s expression
said, “Young
punks, what do they know?” But his voice said, “Well, what do
you know about
that?”
“Need a jump?”
Dewey asked.
“Got plenty of
spark,” Randy said.
Randy looked at the
older men and
then bent to the engine and smiled. His voice came floating up
over the
radiator. “Might be the junction fibrillator. Or it could be a
malfunction of
the Johnson switch. If I rerun the wire from the organ housing
to the pump
by-pass, that might get it done.”
When Randy looked up, all
the men had
gone back in for coffee. He smiled and called Triple A on his
cell phone.
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Brought to you by Ol’ Max
Evans, the First
Thousand Years, by Slim Randles. Available from
unmpress.com.