“All you need is a few more dollars, and I will put you in that car myself.”

His smile showed off his dingy, yellowing teeth. Jerry Brooks chewed on the end of his cheap cigar, the ones he bought from Plaid Pantry a few doors down from the dealership. He looked like you would imagine a used car lot sales manager to look, only he was the owner. A ring of hair encircled the balding spot on top. He wore the cheapest polyester shirts he could and a tank top underneath. Today’s shirt was a button-down pale yellow color that showed all the dirt and grime, including a few greasy stains from tacos three nights ago. The stains wouldn’t come out and Jerry refused to buy a new one, telling his staff of two salesmen it brought the sales right to him. His polyester slacks were brown, similar to his shirt, except the material was a touch sturdier, water-resistant, and, according to the tag, stain-resistant. He had yet to test the stain-resistant part. But the water part? Earlier that day, his milky white coffee slid right off them, splashing the floor and his number one salesman, Terrance Kowalski.

“See?” Terrance smiled at the potential buyer, Ace Mahoney, a young man and a bit of a hot shot. Terrance called him a kid in his head, was a former football star at Aloha High School, and was a big deal until he graduated. Ace’s football career ended his senior year when Aloha beat every team with a 14-0 record. He completed every pass thrown to him.

Terrance knew he didn’t have the credit, much less a downpayment, but he walked him through the process anyway. If anyone could get him to buy? It was Jerry. Disgusting as he was, he had a way of making deals, even if he shortcutted the process and cheated people. Terrance still had the coffee stains at the bottom of his khasis pants.

Terrance looked more like a golf pro than a used car salesman, except for his jet-black slicked-back hair. He thought about growing a beard, thinking it might influence more people to buy, but it didn’t. Instead, he kept the whispy black mustache, making him look like a creepy version of Bill Paxton. Terrance had black bags under his eyes from gambling all night long. He had an obsession with online gambling in other countries with currencies other than U.S. dollars. Every night, he would throw away thousands of Indian Rupees or Indonesian Rupiahs. Terrance never spent over a hundred USD, but it would last him all night. And he was too stupid to realize that eight thousand Indian Rupees or 1.6 million Indonesian Rupiahs were next to worthless in the United States, equaling a bill of U.S. currency with Ben Franklin on the front.

Ace felt inside his pocket, knowing he had a little over four thousand dollars in cash. Part of the cash was from various birthdays, but most of it was from working at his dad’s Burgerville franchise. He hated the work, but Ace frequently snowed the high school girls into doing his jobs. His dad didn’t spend much time at home, instead focusing on growing his franchises, owning more than eight in less than five years. At his current growth rate, Ace was told by his mother, not his dad, that he wouldn’t have to work again. The four grand was the beginning. Patting the cash in his pocket, he blinked a few times, not so much as nodding at Jerry.

Neither of the men knew he had so much cash.

Terrance walked over to Ace and put his arm around his neck. “Son, we all know what a great receiver you were for Aloha. But if you really want that car, we need,” Terrance raised his gaze to Jerry, “another thousand dollars, and it’s yours.”  

“More than a fair offer, kiddo,” Jerry said, clenching the cigar between his teeth. “It’s a very pretty red Ranger. Trustworthy. Reliable. All the things you need to go to college in the fall.”

Ace eyed both salesmen, wondering whether they were being straight with him. “So what you are saying is I need two thousand dollars? And I can leave here with the truck, keys, and title in hand, no questions asked?”

Jerry nodded, as did Terrance. “Yep.”

Ace sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t have two thousand dollars,” he said. Ace started to walk out of the office. Both salesmen jumped to their feet.

“Wait a second there, son,” Jerry said, helping Ace sit in a squeaky office chair. Most customers who sat there couldn’t wait to leave the office, the chair squealing with the slightest movement. Jerry knew it. So did Terrance. But Ace didn’t. “Let me get the paperwork together, and we’ll do it for fifteen hundred.” Jerry opened up an almost empty filing cabinet holding nothing more than the dealership’s paperwork for selling cars. He had it all in one folder, separated for ease, but grabbed other paperwork that had nothing to do with selling the vehicle. This other ‘documentation’ was designed to get the ‘new’ vehicle owner more time to add more ‘options’ to their car, truck, or motorcycle before Jerry or Terrance collected a payment. Most of the time, the chair and the add-ons earned the dealership an extra thousand dollars.

“Okay,” Ace replied. “Fifteen-hundred. Out the door, nothing else. No extras. No add-ons.”

“Sure, kid. Sure.” Jerry laid down the paperwork, mixed in with the actual documents, on his desk, littered with what appeared to be legal documents, a few newspaper sports pages, and a word search book, held open with a pencil.

“You fill all those out, and Terrance will be back with you in a minute,” Jerry snatched Terrance by the collar and walked him out to the lot. Ace started to read through the stacks of paper signing. He didn’t think buying a car would be this hard.

“You know who that kid’s dad is, right?” Jerry whispered, even though they were far enough from the tiny office shack for Ace to overhear their conversation.

“No, Jer. Who?” Terrance pulled an unfiltered Camel out of a soft pack from the pocket of his khaki. Flipping open his zippo, he lit it and took a considerable drag. He exhaled straight into Jerry’s face.

Jerry scowled, unwrapping another of his thick, cheap cigars. Snapping his fingers and pointing at Terrance, he finally got what he was snapping for, Terrance’s lighter. Unlike Terrance, Jerry took a few puffs on the cigar, chewing it with his teeth. “Mahoney owns all the Burgerville’s in this area. Last I heard, he bought his last one three weeks ago in Hillsboro. The dude is loaded! Imagine the possibilities if we could get his kid sold on our cars!”

“Yeah!” Terrance shouted. “Get his dad in here, too!”

Jerry smacked Terrance. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind? If he came in here and took one look at what we do? Do you really think we’d be in business?” Terrance shook his head no, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

“Why?” Terrance asked.

Jerry smacked him again. “Because, you moron. Not everything we do is legal.”

“It’s not?” Terrance asked. “I thought you said shortcuts are what all dealers do to make money.” He stomped out his cigarette in the gravel lot.

“We better go check on the kid.” Jerry took his time going back to the office.

“How’s it going, kiddo?” Jerry asked, the cigar still smoldering.

“All done,” Ace said, handing him all the bogus paperwork. “None of these apply to me.”

Jerry smiled, puffing three times on the cigar, Ace making the chair squeak a few more times. Ace rocked back and forth in it. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, the one sound that Jerry couldn’t handle. Ace watched Jerry review the documents, signatures, and initials while he made the chair squeak more. “You know Jerry, I like this chair you’ve got. Can I have it?” The request was genuine, even if Ace’s motives were less forthcoming. All it took was three more rocks, and Jerry lost it.

“Will you PLEASE stop doing that? For the love of all that is holy! Cut it out!”

“Oh. Can I go now?” Ace asked.

“No!” Jerry shouted. “I mean,” he said, calming down, “we have the minor detail of payment. Then I’ll add my signature to the bill of sale. And THEN,” he said, “you can go with your new truck,” he pointed at the squeaky chair, “and that accursed thing, deal?”

Ace raised his eyebrows. “Deal.” The two men shook hands, and Ace snapped his fingers. “Oh, let me get that check out of my car.”

“Check?” Jerry’s face went ghost white. The last time he took a check, it bounced, which upended his personal checking account. He wasn’t very good at balancing his checkbook, and online banking wouldn’t happen for another ten years. “Check? I thought you said cash.”

“I thought you said it didn’t matter as long as I could pay for it.”

Jerry crossed his arms after snatching the cigar from the ashtray. He took a few puffs from it and pointed at Ace. “You are quite the smartass kid. But I tell you what. Go get that check and bring it to me. After I examine it, I’ll decide if you walk out of here today with that truck.”

“Fair enough,” Ace answered. “Be right back.”

Jerry stood up, watched Ace walk out to his car, open the passenger side door, and rifled through the glovebox. Jerry spied on Ace from the office, wondering what was keeping him. He watched the kid pull out a few maps, various documents, maybe oil changes or mechanic receipts. He couldn’t see Ace pulling out fifteen hundred dollars from his four grand, putting it in his rear pocket, and putting the remaining twenty-five hundred dollars back into the glovebox. From Jerry’s view, Ace put everything back where it was three minutes earlier. Ace returned to Jerry and his cigar. Terrance was now busy with another customer on the lot, smiling and talking loudly.

“Lemme see that check, kid.” Jerry held out his hand.

“I couldn’t find the check,” Ace said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out fifteen one-hundred dollar bills, “but I have cash. Does that work?”

Jerry’s face turned a pale color. He was stunned, almost dropping his cigar. “Cash?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.” Jerry smiled, snatching the fifteen bills from his desk and turning the bill of sale around, scribbling his signature quickly on the official document. “Keys and all that,” he pointed at the papers, “are yours.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Jer.” Ace jingled the keys and walked out with the messy stack of documents. Ace would figure out the papers later. Right now, he wasn’t all that concerned with anything other than driving off the lot with his new truck.

Jerry smiled, watching Ace drive away. Picking up the phone on his desk, he dialed. “Hey, Conner. I got a car I need to be towed off the lot. Can you come get it? Yeah. Ten minutes work. Who? Ace Mahoney. Yeah. The very same. Uh-huh. Came to buy a truck. Yeah. Paid cash for it, too. Do I think he’ll be back for his other car? I would guess as much, considering it’s Daddy’s car, not his. Yep. I’ll watch for you. Bye.” Jerry’s grin grew, and he took three more puffs from his cheap cigar.

“Sucker.” Jerry crushed his cigar in the ashtray.