Bell tapped it.
“Could be only three left in the country. If no planter that uses it exists, you've got three pieces of interesting scrap.”
Malik nodded reluctantly.
“That make sense?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Rare means nobody else has one and somebody actually needs it.”
Bell smiled.
“Now put your treasure with the other forty identical treasures.”
Malik was embarrassed for two days.
He had imagined telling his family he had found one especially valuable plate.
Instead, he found seventeen more copies within the next two crates.
But the embarrassment became useful.
From then on, Malik stopped asking:
Does this look special?
He started asking:
What machine needs this?
How many of those machines are still working?
Can the farmer get the part anywhere else?
That was a much better question.
The real breakthrough came in November.
The shop door opened around four-thirty on a cold Thursday afternoon.
A farmer walked in carrying a folded piece of paper.
His name was Harold Voss.
Malik knew him by sight.
Harold farmed about one hundred fifty acres west of town and had a reputation for keeping machinery far longer than manufacturers thought reasonable.
He drove a pickup with an old International planter in the bed.
Bell looked through the shop window.
“You bring the patient?”
Harold walked inside.
“Patient's fine.”
He handed Bell the paper.
“Missing organ.”
Bell unfolded it.
Casting number.
“What happened?”
“Plate cracked.”
“Got the broken one?”
Harold set two iron pieces on the counter.
The plate had split almost through the center.
Bell matched the casting marks.
“International.”
“Yes.”
“Dealer?”
“Called three.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
Harold sighed.
“Manufacturer hasn't stocked it in years.”
“What are you planting?”
“Specialty beans.”
“When?”
“Spring.”
Bell nodded toward the planter outside.
“Planter worth much?”
“Not much to anybody else.”
Harold smiled.
“But I know it. Paid for. Runs straight. Bearings are good.”
“New planter?”
“More than I want to spend.”
Bell looked toward Malik.
Malik was sweeping near the back.
“Malik.”
He stopped.
“Check your cards.”
Harold frowned.
“What cards?”
Bell smiled.
“Boy bought half a century of bad inventory.”
Malik put the broom down.
“What number?”
Harold read it.
Malik repeated it.
Then went to the index box.
Manufacturer tab.
International.
He flipped through casting numbers.
His fingers stopped.
There it was.
Quantity: 3.
Shelf: C3, upper.
Compatible: older International plate planter, specialty bean application.
Malik felt his heart accelerate.
He checked the number again.
Exact.
“I've got it.”
Harold looked at Bell.
“He's got what?”
“The plate.”
Malik walked to the third shelf.
He knew roughly where it was because he had cleaned the group two weeks earlier.
Three plates.
He pulled the best-condition one.
Returned.
Placed it beside Harold’s broken plate.
Diameter matched.
Hub matched.
Cell pattern matched.