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holding onto the rail to keep from hitting the floor. Then I see his hand snake to his belt and a flash of a silver blade. I nail him hard, square on the temple, sending both him and the knife flying. He hits the boards while the knife skitters over the side of the deck.
    Suddenly everyone’s outside. Larry and Greg hold Spider back as he lunges at me. “You’re dead, kid, know what I mean?” Spider says through a fattening lip.
    I wipe my hands on my jeans and turn to Kenny. “Let’s get out of here.”
    In the semi-darkness of the lawn I spotthe glitter of steel. I bend and pick up the knife. It’s his switchblade. One quick push on a button in the handle and the blade flies out, thin, sharp, deadly. I hold it in my hand so Kenny can’t see, then close and slip it into my jacket pocket.
    I take Kenny’s hand and we walk across the lawn onto the street. I’ll pay for decking Spider, but I still hold a couple of aces. I know who stole the Mustang. I know whose garage likely holds a big stock of hot parts and tools. I don’t want to rat, but this is gonna get dirty.
    Kenny and I stroll along the sidewalk. As we cross the bridge over Stony Creek I toss the switchblade. I hear it plunk into the dark, fast-running water.

Chapter Nine
    Ned Barnier has given me a box of his old magazines. One of my favorite rods is
Lightnin’ Bug
, a “T” pickup with the body channeled — lowered six inches over the frame. It’s powered by a ’52 Cad engine and turned a hundred in the quarter mile. Pretty hot for 1954! This car was in almost all the scenes of
77 Sunset Strip
, an old television show starring Kookie Burns.
    I want to build one of these old-style rods!
    I’ve been working for Ned for two hours a night after school and six hours on Saturday. He lines up all sorts of work for me — landscaping around the community hall, painting interior walls, and yesterday he had me check and oil the bearings on their furnace. He’s impressed with how quickly I figure things out.
    â€œWhen I had my stroke, they took my license,” he tells me, “but I’m in therapy. I’ll get it back soon.”
    â€œMaybe you’ll make a rod run this summer yet,” Mrs. B adds.
    â€œA rod run?” My ears perk up.
    Mrs. B smiles. “Ned, I think it’s time.”
    He pauses for a moment. “All right. After lunch we’ll take the wraps off the coupe.”
    It’s the coolest machine I’ve ever seen. All I can do is stare. The bright red paint and the body lines are beautiful. It sits just right.
    He opens the driver’s door and I look inside. The upholstery is red and white pleated leather. The dash is full of high-end gauges and a Sun Super tachometer. My mind flashes back to Larry’s comment about there being lots of good racing parts. I feel a pain in my gut and decide that the Lark will know nothing about this car.
    Millie goes over to the garage wall and takes down a sign covered in plastic. “These are the specs of the car, Miles. We put this sign up beside it at car shows.”
    I scan the list: “1937 Ford coupe, ’58 Corvette 283-cubic-inch engine, 270 horsepower.” I turn to look at Ned and grin. “Dual quad carbs, Borg-Warner T-10 four-speed, Hurst synchro-loc shifter.” This is a
thoroughbred
. “’57 Olds rear end, 3.70 to 1 ratio; ’56 Ford F-100 front brakes, steering column and steering box.”
    â€œThe front axle is dropped four inches for a nice rake,” Ned explains.
    It sits butt in the air like a greyhound at the starting line.
    â€œDoes it run?” I ask.
    â€œI haven’t run it for over a year. I want to pull the heads and freshen them up first. That’s what I was talking to you about. Maybe you and I could do it together.”
    â€œSure,” I say.
    â€œI’ll pay you by the hour, myself,” Ned says. “Your community work is for