“But I'm grateful.”
Jake gave a small, awkward smile.
“Okay.”
Frank turned toward the pump.
Then Mr. Collins approached.
His face had hardened.
A woman at pump four noticed the tension.
A man loading drinks into his SUV stopped and looked over.
Mr. Collins looked at Jake.
“You're paying for that.”
Jake nodded.
“I know.”
“Out of your own pocket.”
“I know.”
“You already gave him the money.”
“Yeah.”
Mr. Collins stared.
“Then you're fired.”
The words were so direct that Jake didn't react at first.
Frank did.
He slowly turned.
Jake blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Mr. Collins looked toward the store.
“You ignored a direct instruction.”
Jake's jaw tightened.
“I gave him my own money.”
“That's not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is you were told not to get involved.”
Jake looked at Frank.
Then back at the manager.
“He needed gas.”
“That's not your decision to make.”
Jake let out a short breath.
For a second, he looked seventeen.
Not calm.
Not principled.
Just scared.
He looked at the store.
At the uniform.
At his badge.
Then down at the pavement.
Mr. Collins saw it.
But he didn't back down.
“Turn in your badge after your shift.”
Jake looked up.
“I still have a shift?”
“No.”
Mr. Collins pointed toward the store with his chin.
“Clock out.”
Jake stayed where he was.
Frank spoke quietly.
“Don't fire him over me.”
Mr. Collins turned.
“This isn't about you.”
Frank looked at the money in his hand.
“It looks like it is.”
Mr. Collins sighed.
“Sir, I understand he was trying to help, but I run a business.”
Frank looked at him.
“And helping somebody hurts the business?”
“If every employee decides the rules don't apply to them, yes.”
Jake answered:
“I said I'd pay.”
Mr. Collins turned sharply.
“You're not listening.”
Jake's voice stayed level.
“I am.”
“Then why are you still talking?”
Jake didn't answer.
Frank watched both men.
There was a long silence under the canopy.
Rainwater dripped from the metal edge.
A pickup rolled past at the far pumps.
Frank looked at Jake.
“You need this job?”
Jake gave a humorless little smile.
“Yeah.”
“Bad?”
“Pretty bad.”
Frank studied him.
“Then why'd you do it?”
Jake looked confused.
“You didn't ask me.”
“I am now.”
Jake shrugged.
“You needed gas.”
Frank waited.
Jake continued.
“You were trying to put the nozzle back without enough to get home.”
Frank looked down.
Jake added:
“I've been stranded before.”
Mr. Collins crossed his arms.
Frank looked back at Jake.
“And that was enough?”
Jake nodded.
“Yeah.”
Frank's face changed.
Not dramatically.
He still looked tired.
Poor.
Cold.
But something behind his eyes seemed to wake up.
He slipped the tip money into the inside of his jacket.
Then his right hand moved toward his trouser pocket.
For the first time, he removed a black smartphone.
Jake stared.
Mr. Collins did too.
Frank held it briefly.
Raised it.
Pressed it firmly against one ear.
Waited.
Only then did he speak.
“Send everyone here.”
Jake's brow furrowed.
Frank listened.
“Right now.”
He kept the phone against his ear.
Mr. Collins' expression shifted.
Not yet fear.
Something closer to confusion.
Frank listened for another moment.
Then added:
“No. Don't call me back.”
Pause.
“Just come.”
He ended the call but kept the phone in his hand.
Jake looked at him.
“Who'd you call?”
Frank slid the phone back into his pocket.
“Some people.”
Mr. Collins asked:
“What people?”
Frank looked at him.
“People who need to see something.”
Mr. Collins' face tightened.
“Sir, if you're trying to cause a scene—”
Frank shook his head.
“No scene.”
He looked toward the convenience store.
“I think you've had enough of those for one evening.”
Mr. Collins stepped closer.
Jake instinctively moved half a step between them.
Frank noticed.
So did Mr. Collins.
“No one is threatening anybody,” Mr. Collins said.
“I know,” Frank replied.
Then he looked at Jake.
“You still working here?”
Jake almost laughed.
“Not anymore.”
Frank nodded.
“Stay a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
Mr. Collins immediately said:
“He needs to leave.”
Frank turned.
“Why?”
“He's no longer an employee.”
Frank looked toward the store.
“Then he's a customer.”
“He hasn't bought anything.”
Frank looked at the money he had just been given.
Then at Mr. Collins.
“Neither have I.”
The woman at pump four covered a smile.
Mr. Collins noticed.
His embarrassment deepened.
Frank looked toward the wet road.
“Tell me something.”
Mr. Collins sighed.
“What?”
“How long have you owned this place?”
“Eleven years.”
“And before that?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.”
Frank nodded.
“Maybe everything.”