Page 67 of Property of Bob

Piney frowned. “Again.”

Anchor turned the key. The same thing happened.

Post leaned over my shoulder. “Fuel?”

“Half tank.”

“Pump?”

“Maybe.”

Prime stepped closer. “Check the obvious shit first.”

“I am checking the obvious shit,” Piney snapped.

“This is going really well,” I told Shay.

She lifted her coffee cup. “Very professional.”

Pearl, who had sat in the broken chair, nodded. “Highly trained.”

Piney looked over his shoulder. “You two want to help?”

“No,” they answered together.

I laughed.

The next half hour turned into a rotating series of theories.

Alternator.

Fuel pump.

Loose battery connection.

Sensor.

Starter.

One of the guys suggested bad gas.

I nearly kicked him. “It is not bad gas.”

“You sure?”

“I buy good gas.”

“Gas is gas,” Shay said. “Right?”

“No, it is not.”

Prime looked at me. “You have strong opinions about everything.”

Post tapped the hood. “This thing has character.”

“Thank you.”

He scratched his head. “That wasn’t necessarily a compliment.”