“O.K. An’ what we owe ya for this here con-rod an’ piston?”
The one-eyed man rubbed his forehead with a knuckle, and a line of dirt peeled off. “Well, sir, I jus’ dunno. If the boss was here, he’d go to a parts book an’ he’d find out how much is a new one, an’ while you was workin’, he’d be findin’ out how bad you’re hung up, an’ how much jack ya got, an’ then he’d—well, say it’s eight bucks in the part book—he’d make a price a five bucks. An’ if you put up a squawk, you’d get it for three. You say it’s all me, but, by God, he’s a son-of-a-bitch. Figgers how bad ya need it. I seen him git more for a ring gear than he give for the whole car.”
“Yeah! But how much am I gonna give you for this here?”
“’Bout a buck, I guess.”
“Awright, an’ I’ll give ya a quarter for this here socket wrench. Make it twice as easy.” He handed over the silver. “Thank ya. An’ cover up that goddamn eye.”
Tom and Al got into the truck. It was deep dark. Al started the motor and turned on the lights. “So long,” Tom called. “See ya maybe in California.” They turned across the highway and started back.
The one-eyed man watched them go, and then he went through the iron shed to his shack behind. It was dark inside. He felt his way to the mattress on the floor, and he stretched out and cried in his bed, and the cars whizzing by on the highway only strengthened the walls of his loneliness.
Tom said, “If you’d tol’ me we’d get this here thing an’ get her in tonight, I’d a said you was nuts.”
“We’ll get her in awright,” said Al. “You got to do her, though. I’d be scared I’d get her too tight an’ she’d burn out, or too loose an’ she’d hammer out.”
“I’ll stick her in,” said Tom. “If she goes out again, she goes out. I got nothin’ to lose.”