Elias wiped sweat from his brow, his fingers tracing the folded envelope in his pocket. Two thousand dollars. It was every tip he’d scraped together delivering pizzas on a bicycle, every extra shift at the warehouse, and a small loan from his aunt. "Looking for something that’ll get you to the new job?"
The voice belonged to Miller, a man whose skin looked as weathered as the leather interiors he sold. He didn’t look at Elias with the predatory gleam of a big-city salesman; he looked at him with the weary understanding of a man who knew exactly what a "Buy Here, Pay Here" sign meant to the folks in Rankin County. It meant no credit check. It meant a handshake that mattered. It also meant a high interest rate, but for Elias, it meant a future.
Miller chuckled. "She ain't pretty, but she's got a heart of gold. New brakes, too."