The boy showed up on a Monday.
Adam was under a sedan, replacing a worn timing belt, when he heard a small voice behind him.
“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Kosta?”
He slid out from under the car, wiping his hands on a rag. A kid stood there. Maybe ten years old. Thin, with dark hair and dark eyes that looked too old for his face. He wore jeans with holes in the knees and a t-shirt that said “Blackhaven Tigers” in faded letters.
“That's me.”
“My name is Marcus. I live on Fuller Street. I want to learn to fix cars.”
Adam studied him. “How old are you, Marcus?”
“Eleven.”
“You're a little young for the training program.”
“I don't want the program. I want you to teach me. Like a apprentice.”
“Apprentices are usually older.”
“I'm not usually.”
Adam almost smiled. “Where's your parents?”
Ma
