Alex heard the door to the truck open and saw Gottfried’s feet as the German stepped onto the forecourt. Alex’s thumb and finger were bleeding where they had slipped against the stubborn nut. What kind of idiot was he not to bring a wrench? But the nuts on Nemo’s truck had come off like they’d been sprayed with WD-40 on a daily basis, so Alex just hadn’t thought about it. Now not thinking was about to get him into big trouble. He heard Bob babbling in German and then saw feet moving toward the front of the truck. Who cared about his bleeding fingers, he thought, this was war. He gripped as hard as he could and turned, feeling the sharp edges of the nut digging deep into his flesh, but also feeling it turning. He twisted the nut off, slipped off the plate, and held it behind his back with his bloody hand just as Gottfried appeared around the front of the truck.

“What are you doing?” said Gottfried when he saw Alex kneeling in front of the truck.

Alex had no idea what the man had said, so responded with the one German phrase Bob had taught him in case of an emergency. “Checking for damage,” he said. Gottfried stood looking at Alex for several seconds as Alex tried to decide whether to stand up. At the moment, he was partially shielding the spot where the license plate ought to be and he was afraid if he moved, the driver would be sure to see that the plate was missing. Or worse, he might see the plate Alex had taken off Nemo’s truck lying on the pavement just under the truck’s bumper. So he knelt there, smiling like a schoolboy, hoping the German didn’t notice anything amiss.

After an agonizing few seconds, the German strode past him, trailing Bob in his wake and saying words Alex did not understand.

“You must have some Coca-Cola in there,” said Gottfried.

Bob followed Gottfried into the store, hoping that the other German would stay where he was. He managed to distract Gottfried with the search for Coke long enough for Alex to get Nemo’s license plate onto the front of the truck. When they came back out, Alex was smiling and wiping his hands on his coveralls. Alex hoped the German didn’t notice the streaks of blood this left behind.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fixing my truck?” said the German.

“Ja, ja,” said Alex, having no idea to what he was responding and hoping that “yes” was the correct answer.