The kid walked around to the front of the car again, trying to look poised and knowledgeable. Roy suppressed a smile and waited respectfully. After a moment, he added, “She was my mother’s. Never drove her much. I put some work into her a few years ago, so she runs, but I can’t promise she’ll pass inspection—”
“That’s all right,” the kid said, a little to readily. He finally asked, “How much?”
“How much you got?” It wouldn’t matter. The car wanted the kid, that had been made clear. Roy wouldn’t stand in the way. Whatever happened wasn’t his responsibility.
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