Jeff Baxter arrived in Primacy on November 5, 2004, by car. Forty-two years old and reeling from a long bitter divorce, Jeff or Bax as his friends called him, had decided to downsize. The small publishing company he had owned had been doing poorly and so he sold the whole thing lock stock and barrel to his biggest rival ColdLake Publishing for a paultry seven-hundred thou... half of which went straight to his ex Norma and the other half into his retirement fund.

They had long since divided the four-bedroom house they owned in Toronto and split the bank accounts and the small pension he had put away.

Bax wasn't headed for Primacy, Hell he didn't even know the place existed of course. He had purchased a little cabin in the quaint little village of Sundridge Ontario and decided to take the scenic route. As he crossed the town line he had noticed a strange sound, like a sewing machine and cursed. He rolled down his window and the sound grew louder.

"Shit!" Bax new the sound, he had heard it before on a family outing. The alternator was shot, which meant his battery wasn't getting any juice which in turn meant he wasn't going to get very far.

The road ahead was empty, he hadn't seen another car for hours. The forest came right up to the edge of the blacktop, pine trees, elms, dogwood. He wondered how far it was to the next service station and said a silent prayer. 'Please God... I don't wanna walk... or sleep in my car...'

Ten sweat-filled minutes later that prayer was answered. Ahead on the right was a gas station. The big yellow and white plastic sign out front wasn't customized. Instead, it was one of the kinds you rented and then put the letters on yourself. It read 'Bob Kout's Gas Bar and Auto Service' in big black block letters and Bax let out a long exhale of air. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath.

He turned off of the two-lane country road and rolled up to the old fashion pumps. 'Hell, these things should be in a museum!' he thought. He pulled the handle on the door but realized suddenly that a man was standing next to the car. He gave the guy an apologetic smile, turned the ignition to aux and rolled down the power window. The man was old, perhaps seventy with a droopy dour face. He had bushy white eyebrows and tufts of white hair stuck out from under a faded Blue Jays baseball cap. The name tag on his overalls read 'Robert'.

"Sorry, pal didn't see you there!" Bax said, flashing his most winning smile. The kind that seemed to set Norma off for some reason, even though he remembered a time when she couldn't get enough of his smiles amongst other things.

The man didn't smile back. "Fill 'er up?" he asked.

"Please... and you do service too right? I think my alternators gone south..."

Bob looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Finally, he said, "Don't have parts."

He turned abruptly and walked to the back of the car, opened the hatch and unscrewed the gas cap, then jammed the nozzle of the pump in with a loud thunk.

Bax opened his door and jumped out, this was not going well. "Are you sure? I mean an alternators pretty standard equipment. Maybe you could jury-rig something just to get me going."

Bob was cranking a lever on the gas pump and didn't answer.

"Holy shit! How old are these pumps? You have to hand crank 'em?" Bax asked.

Bob turned and looked Bax up and down as if sizing him up. "No 'lectricity." He said and went back to cranking.

Bax watched in awe as the large glass cylinder on top of the pump filled with gasoline. Once it was full, Bob started to pump it into the car. When he was done he replaced the nozzle, screwed on the cap and closed the hatch. "Twelve-fifty." He said.

Bax pulled out a twenty and handed it to the older man. "Keep the change," he said, hoping the big tip might help. "So about my alternator..."

Bob tucked the bill into his pocket. Again he seemed to size Bax up before he spoke. After a long pause, he nodded. "Alright, bring it in."

Bob walked slowly across the lot, hoisted the big rolling door on the one service bay by hand and disappeared inside while Bax jumped back in his car and drove it inside before the old man could change his mind.

Twenty minutes later old Bob confirmed what Bax already knew. It was the alternator and it was shot.

"So can you fix it?" Bax asked.

"Yup, gotta get some parts though. You won't be leavin' today." Bob said.

"Shit!" Bax spat.

Bob gave him a disapproving look.

Bax caught himself and felt stupid. "Sorry, it's just... So is there somewhere I can stay the night?"

Bob wiped his hands slowly on a greasy rag and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his overalls. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it before answering.

"The White Birch Hotels about three-quarters of a mile up the road. They'll have a room for ya." Bob said jutting his chin to the north.

Bax smiled. "That's great, can you give me a ride over there?"

"Nope," Bob answered, blowing a grey cloud of smoke up to the roof of the service bay.

Bax was annoyed. "Why not... I mean it's not like you have a lot of other customers." He said indicating the empty gas pumps and deserted road.

"I don't drive," Bob answered and walked out of the garage leaving Bax on his own.