e looked down, toed the gaping crack that ran across the floor like a lightning bolt, saw the way the shop was sloping. "Earthquake?"

"Northridge. Popped the foundation like a pane of glass." I pulled the engine out into the open, keeping it on the level part of the floor.

"Don't they offer special loans?"

"Only if you're in the 'official' earthquake zone," I laughed. He started making apologetic sounds. "Balance that," I told him. We scootered the spare engine out of the shop.

I had to swap mufflers. His came away okay, thanks to the lavish amounts of anti-seize someone had swabbed on the fittings. It was one of those lifetime stainless steel bus mufflers from Germany or England or some damn place. Cost the earth. He looked around, sat down on the workbench when I nodded toward it. We were out back of the shop, under the shed roof. Plenty of light.

"So what are you getting for Christmas," he asked, smiling. I just looked at him, shook my head. I work best without an audience. "You want some coffee or something? This is going to take me a few minutes."

He said No; he had a thermos of tea in the van. "Seriously, what do you want for Christmas?" he smiled.

"Not being pestered in the middle of the night would be nice," I muttered.

He just laughed, as if I was joking. "Seriously," he said again.

"You want 'seriously'? Howabout a new house for those folks down the hill?"

He gave me a blank look and I realized he didn't know about the fire. So I told him. He ended up looking as sad as I felt. "What do you think they'd like for Christmas?" I goaded him. I shook my head, "It's mostly bullshit anyway. A birthday party that's gotten outta hand." And the best evidence of that was right there in front of me, some yuppie asshole Yuletide delivery service running around on Christmas Eve in an antique bus. He stood gazing off toward where the fire was. It had been a huge blaze, you could see it good from the house. Hopes and dreams and Christmas trees are all highly combustible.

I finished transferring the J-tubes and muffler to the spare engine and he helped me shift it on to the jack. We pulled it out to his bus and I started putting it in.

"It's unusual to find someone who doesn't want anything for Christmas," he said. I'd given him a pair of vise grips to hold. I didn't need them but I figured it would make him feel useful, mebbe shut him up. Wrong.

"I've got everything I want." I'd checked the splines. Things were lining up good. His seals looked new. I gave them a spray of glycerin so they wouldn't grab the engine.

"That's even more unusual," he said. He was smiling, acting a little antsy but working hard to keep me happy so he could get the hell out of there. About the worst thing that could happen to him would be for me to slow down. So I did.

"People spend too much time wishing for things they don't need." I patted the red high- roof. "I'll bet this thing is chock full of yuppie junk, eh?" He looked uncomfortable, passed the pair of vise grips from hand to hand. "And what about you? I'll bet you're some sort of retired executive, working a little Christmas-time tax dodge to supplement your retirement, eh? Bleached beard with a platinum rinse, funny suit and this oh-so-cute Santa's Helper delivery van, popping up in the middle of the night to trade on an implied warranty almost thirty years old?"

"What are you saying?" He looked kinda angry. The sight was as silly as his costume.

"You wouldn't understand," I sighed. I fished the throttle wire thru the blower housing, plugged the engine back in, started the upper nuts and shanghaied him into holding the wrench while I skivvied back under. Did the nuts, torqued to spec, did the fuel line, checked things over, skivvied back out. With everything installed underneath, I began putting the engine compartment to rights.

"You mean the religious aspect," he said.

"You heard about that, eh?" I kept working.

"Are you a religious man?" he asked softly. I was connecting the generator leads. I wanted to ignore him but couldn't. I stopped, rocked back so I could see his face. "Yeah," I told him. "I'm religious as hell. And so are you. But the difference is you worship money and I don't."

"And you can tell all that just by working on my van?" He was smiling. He was no longer angry but really cheerful.

"Yeah, I can. You've had some sort of anti-stick powder-coating process applied to the whole undercarriage. That must of set you back some major bucks. But it's not a car- show kinda van otherwise it would be all original underneath. That tells me you did it so you could impress your customers with your shiny, never dirty ride and THAT tells me you probably charge some big bucks for your Christmas Eve delivery service gig."

That wiped the grin off his face. "Very astute," he muttered. Then frowned. "But if you knew it was all just another Christmas-biz scheme, why are we standing out here in the middle of the night while you repair the engine?"

I laughed at him. "See? I said you wouldn't understand."

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