Excuse me. No jokes, Ammani said. No names, no phone in my face. If you talk, I don’t touch it. Miles smirked. “Who does she think she is?” Immani stayed still, waiting like she’d learned waiting was safer than pleading. Damian glanced at the watching strangers. He wanted to win the moment. He lifted both hands. “Fine, 1 minute. Fix it. 100 million. Go.”
Miles didn’t put the phone down. He just stopped laughing. Ammani walked to the open hood. A small wooden stool sat near the bumper. She dragged it closer with her foot and climbed up because she was short. Her dirty sleeve brushed the clean metal.
She flinched like she expected someone to shout, “Don’t touch it. She didn’t dig around like a mechanic. She didn’t pretend. She did what she knew.” Simple things you learn when you sweep floors at a tiny garage and listen because nobody lets you ask questions. She leaned in and listened. Damian had turned the key. Weak click, weak whine, not dead dead, just not getting full power. Her eyes found the battery.