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"Oh, that wheel is loose, all right," Mr. Otis called as he arrived.

Ira said, "Maggie?" "It reminded me of a top, just before it stops spinning and falls over," Maggie said.

"Now listen here, Maggie-" "I know! I know!" she said. "But I can't help it, Ira; I really saw it wobble. And also it looked kind of squashy." "Well, that's a whole different problem," Ira said. "The tire may be underinflated. But that wheel is on tight as a drum, I swear it. I could feel it. I can't believe you're doing this, Maggie." "Well, I'm sorry," she said stubbornly, "but I refuse to say I didn't see what I saw with my own two eyes. I just think we're going to have to take him to that Texaco." Ira looked at Mr. Otis. "You got a lug wrench?" he asked.

"A ... sir?" "If you've got a lug wrench, I could tighten that wheel myself." "Oh, why ... Is a lug wrench like a ordinary wrench?" "You probably have one in your trunk," Ira told him, "where you keep your jack." "Oh! But where do I keep my jack, I wonder," Mr. Otis said.

"In your trunk," Ira repeated doggedly, and he reached inside the car for the keys and handed them over. He was keeping his face as impassive as possible, but inwardly he felt the way he felt anytime he stopped by Maggie's nursing home: utterly despairing. He couldn't see how this Mr. Otis fellow made it from day to day, bumbling along as he did.

"Lug wrench, lug wrench," Mr. Otis was murmuring. He unlocked the trunk and flung the lid up. "Now let me just . . ." At first glance, the trunk's interior seemed a solid block of fabric. Blankets, clothes, and pillows had been packed inside so tightly that they had congealed together. "Oh, me," Mr. Otis said, and he plucked at a corner of a graying quilt, which didn't budge.

"Never mind," Ira told him. "I'll get mine." He walked back to the Dodge. It suddenly seemed very well kept, if you overlooked what Maggie had done to the left front fender. He took his keys from the ignition and unlocked the trunk and opened it.

Nothing.

Where once there'd been a spare tire, tucked into the well beneath the floor mat, now there was an empty space. And not a sign of the gray vinyl pouch in which he kept his tools.

He called, "Maggie?" She turned lazily from her position by the Chevy and tilted her head in his direction.

"What happened to my spare tire?" he asked.

"It's on the car." "On the car?" She nodded vigorously.

"You mean it's in use?" "Right." "Then where's the original tire?" "It's getting patched at the Exxon back home." "Well, how did ... ?" No, never mind; better not get sidetracked. "So where are the tools, then?" he called.

"What tools?" He slammed the lid down and walked back to the Chevy. There was no point shouting; he could see his lug wrench was not going to be anywhere within reach. "The tools you changed the tire with," he told her.

"Oh, I didn't change the tire. A man stopped and helped me." "Did he use the tools in the trunk?" "I guess so, yes." "Did he put them back?" "Well, he must have," Maggie said. She frowned, evidently trying to recall.

"They're not there, Maggie." "Well, I'm sure he didn't steal them, if that's what you're thinking. He was a very nice man. He wouldn't even accept any money; he said he had a wife of his own and-" "I'm not saying he stole them; I'm just asking where they are." Maggie said, "Maybe on the . . ." and then mumbled something further, he wasn't sure what.

"Pardon?" "I said, maybe on the corner of Charles Street and Northern Parkway!" she shouted.

Ira turned to Mr. Otis. The old man was watching him with his eyes half closed; he appeared to be falling asleep on his feet.

"I guess we'll have to unpack your trunk," Ira told him.

Mr. Otis nodded several times but made no move to begin.

"Shall we just unload it?" Ira asked.

"Well, we could do that," Mr. Otis said doubtfully.

There was a pause.

Ira said, "Well? Shall we start?" "We could start if you like," Mr. Otis told him, "but I'd be very much surprised if we was to find a wheel wrench." "Everybody has a wheel wrench. Lug wrench," Ira