“Joker,” he answered, his hand appearing from the trunk holding tools, which he tossed to the tarmac with a loud clang. I winced as he went back in and pulled out my spare.

Joker. His name was Joker.

No, I didn’t know him. I knew no Jokers.

And anyway, who would name their child Joker?

“I’m Carissa. This is Travis,” I yelled as he moved around the other side of the car and I saw the back of his jacket. On it was stitched a really interesting patch that included an eagle, an American flag, flames, and at the bottom, the word Chaos.

Oh dear. He belonged to the Chaos motorcycle gang.

Even I knew about the Chaos biker gang. This was because when I was growing up, Dad got all his stuff for our cars at their auto store on Broadway, a store called Ride. Pretty much everyone did who knew about cars and didn’t want folks to mess them around.

“They’re bikers, but they’re honest,” Dad had said. “They don’t have a part, they don’t tell you another part will work when it won’t. They tell you they’ll get it, it’ll be in in a week, and then it’s in in a week. Don’t know about that gang. Do know they know how to run a business.”

As this memory filtered through my head, at the end of it, I realized the man called Joker made no response.

“This is really nice!” I called as he disappeared in a crouch on the other side of my car. The other side of the car meaning right by the traffic.

That concerned me. It wasn’t going fast and I’d pulled so far over, my passenger side tires were in the turf and scrabble at the edge of the shoulder, but it was still dangerous.

He again didn’t respond so I yelled, “Please be careful!”

His deep voice came back. “I’m good.”

“Okay, but stay that way. Okay?” I shouted back.

Nothing from Joker.

I fell silent. Well, not really. I turned my attention to my tussle with my son and did my all to turn his attention from the biker he could no longer see but very much wanted to get to.

“He’s busy, baby, helping us out, fixing our car.”

Travis looked at me and shouted an annoyed, “Goo gah!” and then shoved the arm of Joker’s sunglasses in his mouth.

I balanced him on my hip and tried gently to take the sunglasses away so Travis didn’t get drool all over them or worse, break them.

Travis shrieked.

“We can’t thank Joker for his help by breaking his sunglasses,” I explained.