The first paycheck came quicker than Alex expected. When Freddy handed him the envelope at the end of the shift, he felt a small flash of excitement. It was his first real paycheck, the result of endless nights cleaning bathrooms that looked like they had survived the apocalypse and serving the city's strangest characters. But when he opened the envelope and saw the amount, the excitement deflated like a flat tire.
It was $200 in exchange. Alex sighed as he counted the bills. It was decent for a kid his age, but it definitely wasn't going to cover everything the Civic needed. "Well," he thought, "at least I'm not in a country where I get paid less, but it's not like I can buy a turbo with this either."
On the way to the shop, Alex showed the envelope to David, hoping for some motivation. But his friend was quick to launch into one of his classic taunts.
"Really, bro? This is all? You can barely buy a used air filter with this, and that's if you're lucky."
Alex snorted. "It's a start. Besides, I have no other choice. If I want to get the Civic off the ground, every penny counts."
David looked at him with a sly grin. "Yeah, sure. But at this rate, you'll be done with that car when you're too old to drive. What's next? Open a lemonade stand to make more money?"
David kept talking as they walked to the shop. "Look, Alex, I'm telling you as a friend: you need a strategy. If you're relying on this paycheck, you're going to be stuck. Maybe you should consider selling something."
"Sell what? I barely have any decent clothes, and I doubt anyone wants my socks," Alex replied, rolling his eyes.
"Then do what all great entrepreneurs do," David said, holding up a finger as if he had a great revelation. "Sell cookies. Everyone loves cookies."
"You want me to sell cookies to fix a car?" Alex looked at him as if he had just suggested he fly to the moon.
David shrugged. "It beats cleaning toilets, don't you think? Plus, imagine it: 'Civic Cookies, the treat that funds your speed dreams.'"
Alex couldn't help but laugh. "You're an idiot, you know?"
"I know. But an idiot with ideas," David replied, clapping him on the shoulder.
When they finally reached the shop, Marcos was under the Skyline, adjusting something that made a clanking noise every time he hit it with a wrench. Watching them enter, he rolled out on a mechanical skateboard, wearing a satisfied smile.
"So, kid? How much did they pay you to clean toilets and listen to weird people all night?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
Alex picked up the envelope and shook it. "Two hundred. It's not much, but it's a start."
Marcos chuckled. "Two hundred. Well, at least it's enough to buy you some hoses and maybe a filter. But don't expect a miracle with that."
David, who was still in his sarcastic mode, chimed in. "Hoses? I say I better buy some new shoes. Because with that money, the Civic isn't going to move anytime soon."
Marcos threw a wrench at him, which David dodged with an exaggerated jump. "Shut up, genius. Let's go to the junkyard. Time to teach this kid how to stretch that 200 like it's 2000."
-x.X.x-
The junkyard stretched out like an endless labyrinth of rusted metal and broken dreams. Alex gaped at the mountains of car parts piled up in no apparent order, forming unstable structures that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Rusty chains hung from the ceiling of a makeshift warehouse, holding up old engines that dripped oil as if crying for the days they roared through the streets. Dented doors, some with brightly colored graffiti, leaned against brick walls that barely stood. And amidst all this chaos, a group of stray cats strolled around with an arrogance that only comes from living in a place like this.
The air was heavy with a mix of smells: old oil, rust, and something sweet but unpleasant that Alex decided not to investigate. There was a constant hum, a chorus of crickets that mixed with the sound of parts being thrown and vendors shouting offers to each other as if they were in a medieval market.
"Welcome to the paradise of the desperate," Marcos said, spreading his arms as if he were presenting a work of art. His mocking smile suggested that he enjoyed every second of this chaos. "Here, with a little luck and a lot of patience, you will find what you need. Or what someone else needed, but now you can buy it cheaper."
Alex looked around, trying to understand how someone could find something useful in this mess. "This looks more like a dumpster than a scrapyard," he muttered.
"Exactly," Marcos said, patting him on the back. "It's a dumpster… but a dumpster with opportunities. You just have to know where to look. And more importantly, know when you're not being ripped off."
Marcos began to guide Alex through the piles of parts, moving with the confidence of someone who had spent years in this metal chaos. Every so often, he would stop to inspect something that caught his eye: a half-disassembled engine, a set of brake discs, or even a rearview mirror that looked like it had more tape on it than plastic.
"First, kid, learn to look at parts carefully," Marcos said, turning to face him directly. "Nobody here is going to give you guarantees or returns. If you buy something that doesn't work, it's your problem. And believe me, they can sell you a rock here with the excuse that it's an 'original part'. So pay attention."
Alex nodded, following closely behind Marcos as they approached a table full of alternators stacked like war trophies. They were of all sizes and conditions, from some that looked almost new to others covered in rust and dried grease.
Marcos picked one up and began turning it over in his hands, inspecting it with a critical eye. "Look at this one," he said, holding it up in front of Alex. "On the outside, it looks decent, right? It shines, it's clean… but that doesn't mean anything. The important thing is the rotor." He turned the moving part of the alternator, causing it to emit a slight squeak. "See? This thing is starting to get stuck. If you put it in, it's going to leave you stranded before you get to the corner."
Marcos leaned across the table and picked up another alternator, smaller and less shiny than the last. "Now, this one," he said, carefully turning the rotor. "Listen. No noise, no resistance. This one might work."
Alex watched it closely, making a mental note of every detail. "What if it looks good, but then fails? How do I know for sure?"
"That's why you always ask if they'll let you test it," Marcos replied, placing the alternator back on the table. "A good salesman will let you do it. But if they tell you it can't be tested, you turn around and find someone else. No one is your friend here, Alex. Everyone wants your money, and if you're not careful, they'll sell you air in a box and tell you it's high quality."
Alex chuckled. "Does anyone really fall for that?"
"More than you'd imagine," Marcos said, looking around. "Look at that guy over there." He pointed to a man who was inspecting a clearly bent brake disc, while the salesman tried to convince him that it was 'a cosmetic defect.' "That poor fool is probably going to pay for something that's not even good enough to make a sundial out of."
On a dusty corner, Marcos stopped in front of a pile of radiators stacked like old books in a secondhand bookstore. "Look at this, kid," he said, pointing to one that looked in good condition. "Radiators are delicate pieces. If they're cracked or leaking, they're useless. Always check the inlet and outlet pipes, and look for rust or corrosion spots."
Alex watched as Marcos inspected the radiator, pouring some water inside to check for leaks. "This one's fine," Marcos concluded. "It might be useful for a customer's car, but let's keep looking for something you need."
In another section, they found a batch of used brake discs. Marcos picked one up and turned it over in his hands. "See these deep marks? That means it's worn. But this other one," he said, pointing to one with more even wear, "could be usable after a little grinding."
Alex nodded, trying to absorb each lesson. "So it's a matter of knowing what can be fixed and what can't?"
"Exactly," Marcos replied. "Not everything has to be new. Some things just need a little love… and a good deal."
As Marcos continued to inspect parts for a customer, Alex began exploring on his own. On a table at the back of the junkyard, something caught his eye: a Honda-logoed valve cover, covered in grease but with potential. He carefully lifted it and brought it over to Marcos.
"Look at this! It could work for the Civic," Alex said, excited.
Marcos inspected the part with a critical eye. "Not bad, kid. Good eye. Even though it's dirty, it looks to be in good condition. But don't get excited yet. Let me negotiate for you, or you'll be charged like gold."
Up ahead, Marcos found something that made him smile. A used but good Momo steering wheel, hanging on a hook next to other less attractive pieces. "This is a gem," he said, turning it in his hands. "These kinds of wheels not only look great, but they're comfortable to drive. And they make any car look more serious on the track."
"How much do you think they'll ask for that?" Alex asked, already mentally preparing himself for the price.
"A lot. But trust me. We'll leave it at junkie price," Marcos replied with a mischievous grin.
They approached the seller, who upon seeing Marcos raised his hands in surrender. "Not you again! You always rip me off."
Marcos smiled widely. "You know we always do good business. Now, tell me how much for this steering wheel and valve cover."
The salesman started loudly: "For the steering wheel, $80. The valve cover, $40."
Marcos snorted as if he had heard a bad joke. "$80? This is not a Ferrari, man. I'll give you $30 for the steering wheel and $20 for the valve cover, plus you bring the parts to the front door."
"$30 for a Momo steering wheel? You're crazy," the salesman replied, but eventually, after a back-and-forth of banter and arguments, Marcos managed to get it down to $40 for both pieces.
"This, kid," he said as he passed the pieces to Alex, "is how you make your money go further."
While Marcos continued to negotiate with another salesman, Alex decided to explore one of the tables piled high with small, forgotten parts. His eyes stopped on something gleaming beneath a layer of dust: an old Pioneer radio. Though the front panel had a few scratches, the frame seemed to be intact. Alex carefully picked it up, feeling a flash of excitement.
"Do you think it works?" he asked, holding it out in front of Marcos when he returned. There was a mix of hope and doubt in his voice.
Marcos took the radio, examining it as if it were an archaeological artifact. He turned the piece over, checking the connectors and pressing the buttons. "Probably so," he said finally, handing it back to Alex. "These radios are like cockroaches, they survive almost anything. Plus, even if it doesn't work at all, we can fix it with a few tweaks. Just don't pay too much for something you're not sure will work."
They approached the seller, an older man with a dirty hat and a reflective vest who looked out of place in this environment. He was sitting in a plastic chair, chewing gum disinterestedly while checking his cell phone.
"How much for this radio?" Alex asked, trying to sound neutral so as not to show too much interest.
The man looked up, looked at the radio, then at Alex, as if he was evaluating how much he could get out of him. "That's it, $20," he finally said, stretching lazily.
Marcos let out a laugh before Alex could respond. "$20? Come on, dude. This thing looks like it came out of a car that went off a cliff. I'll give you $5."
The seller let out a snort, clearly not impressed. "$5 isn't even enough for a cup of coffee. This radio is Pioneer, man. It's quality. 18, and not a cent less."
Marcos shook his head, smiling. "18 for something we don't know if it even works. Don't make me laugh. I'm offering you 7 and I'm taking a risk."
"12," the man replied quickly, beginning to relent a little.
The salesman snorted, clearly irritated by the haggling. "12 dollars, and that's because I like you."
Marcos arched an eyebrow, smiling with an air of defiance. "12 dollars? For a radio that I don't even know if it will do more than be a pretty decoration? Look, man, these radios aren't as rare as you think. There's another table down the road with Pioneer, probably cheaper and in better condition. 8 dollars, and I'm doing you a favor because I'm in a hurry."
The man squinted at him, clearly considering whether it was worth arguing further. Finally, he shrugged. "10 bucks. I'm not going any lower. Neither of you want to be here all day arguing over a radio, do we?"
Marcos let out a laugh. "I like that, straight to the point. Deal." He pulled a crumpled bill out of his pocket and handed it to the salesman, while Alex held the radio out with a mix of excitement and relief.
As they walked away from the table, Alex looked at Marcos in admiration. "How did you manage that? I would have paid the 20 bucks without hesitation."
"And that's why I'm here to teach you," Marcos replied with a smirk. "The key is to not seem desperate, even if you are. Always act like you can get something better somewhere else. Most salesmen don't want to lose a sale, so they give in a little."
"What if the radio doesn't work?" Alex asked, feeling a small pang of doubt.
"Then you've learned a cheap lesson," Marcos said with a shrug. "But I have a good feeling. These things are hard. And if it doesn't work, we can fix it. It will just take a little more time and patience."
-x.X.x-
Marcos leaned over the Civic's dash and pointed to the empty space where the original radio used to be. "This is a little more technical, but nothing you can't handle. First, let's remove the remains of this old frame."
Using a screwdriver, Marcos removed the screws holding the frame of the old radio in place. After removing the old pieces, he connected the power and speaker wires that were behind the dash. "You have to be careful here," he said as he pointed to the wires. "Red is positive, black is negative. If you mix up the wires, you're going to fry the radio and probably yourself."
Alex nodded, watching intently as Marcos connected the wires. "And how do I know if the speakers are connected properly?"
"Easy," Marcos replied. "If they make sound, they're fine. If they don't make sound, you did something wrong. And if they blow up, you did something really wrong."
After connecting everything, they placed the radio in place and secured it with the screws. Marcos handed the ignition key to Alex. "This is your moment of glory. Turn it on."
Alex turned the key, and the radio screen flickered to life. He adjusted the dial, and after a few seconds of silence, an old song began to play through the car's speakers.
"It works!" Alex exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
"Of course it works," Marcos said, crossing his arms. "I told you those radios are tough. You've got music now. All that's left is for the car to move."
Alex leaned back against the car, looking at the interior with pride. The new steering wheel and radio gave the Civic a less beat-up appearance, and for the first time, he could imagine what it would look like when it was finished.
"This doesn't look like a complete junker anymore," Alex said as he wiped sweat from his brow. "There's still work to be done, but at least it doesn't look like we dug it out of the dumpster anymore."
Marcos nodded in satisfaction. "Way to go, kid. This car is starting to take shape. But don't get ahead of yourself. You still have to pay me for the brakes."
Alex snorted, letting his head fall back. "Always ruining the moment, aren't you?"
"It's my job," Marcos replied with a smirk. "Now, clean this up and let's go. Tomorrow we have to open up that engine and find out where that weird noise is coming from."
End of Chapter 10