MaxAllan Collins - Quarry's vote

We were walking into the used car area now. There was a gentle but chilly breeze; pennants flapped above us.

And I asked her again: “What’s funny about it?”

She sighed, crinkled her cheeks with a wide, closed-mouth smile. “It was stolen.”

I shook my head and made a world-weary face. “Really. That’s terrible.”

She grunted agreement, then said, “Of all the cars on the lot, that one was the only one taken.”

“I suppose somebody hot-wired it and just took off.”

“I suppose. We never had a car stolen before. I mean, I’m pretty new, like I said, but Don has been here for years, and he said he never heard of such a thing.”

“Really.”

“Yes. And it just happened, you know.”

“Really.”

“Actually, I… well. Why don’t you let me show you something similar to the unit you had your eye on.”

“You started to say something. About the stolen car.”

“Well, Lonny-Mr. Best-just reported it stolen, yesterday.”

“Mr. Best? You mean the ‘Best’ in BEST BUY is a name?”

“Sure.” She looked at me with just a tinge of suspicion, or maybe it was just curiosity. “I thought you said you got through this area from time to time.”

“Well, I do, but only recently. I’ve only been working in Iowa and Illinois since the beginning of October.”

“I see,” she said. “Now, I know we have a like-new Regency, it’s a copper-brown, but…”

“Excuse me, Angela. Mind if I call you Angela? You said that car I wanted was just reported stolen, like that surprised you.”

“Well… I noticed it was off the lot on Wednesday morning, and I asked Lonny who’d sold it. He said nobody, and I asked where it was, and he said he thought it was being serviced.”

That was about as far as I dared push it.

I said, “What have you got in a smaller car?” She gave me a puzzled, if good-natured, look.

“I thought you wanted a big Buick…”

“I did. But it got stolen. What about that little black Sunbird?”

We walked over to it and she put her hand on the hood, gently, almost affectionately.

“It’s a cute little car,” she said. “It does have some miles on it-but a one-owner. The camel interior is lovely, don’t you think? I drive a little Sunbird myself.”

It had a cardboard sign in the window that said $2,500.

“What would you say to two grand cash?”

She raised an eyebrow, smiled. “I think that’s a possibility. I’ll have to check with Lonny. Mr. Best.”

“That’s fine. I’d like to meet Mr. Best. Lonny.”

She showed her teeth and her dimples; they went well together. “I think that can be arranged.”

I followed her back up the lot and into the showroom, where Cadillacs and other pricey barges were in dry dock. Soon I was inside a cubbyhole office decorated with GMC awards, classic car photos and, on a special shelf, golf trophies.

“Mr. Best,” Angela said, “this is Jack Ryan. He’s made an offer on the black Sunbird.”

Lonny Best stood behind his desk and smiled, a big glad-hander’s grin that let me know that no sale was too small to command the boss’s attention. A few years older than me, he was nonetheless boyish, and fairly small-perhaps five-eight-and just this side of chunky, with short brown hair and apple-red apple cheeks that spoke of high blood pressure; his eyes were small and dark and bright, the eyes of a predator, or a salesman, if there’s a difference.

His red blazer was thrown over the back of his chair; he wore the white short-sleeve shirt, red-white-and-blue striped tie and white slacks that seemed a part of the BEST BUY uniform. He thrust his hand out for me to shake and I did. He suggested I pull up a chair and I did. He gave Angela a nod, which I supposed was a silent command for her to gather the paperwork, and then turned his too-pleasant smile on me. If his smile had been any bigger, there wouldn’t have been room in the little office for the two of us. If it had been any less sincere, I’d have lost all my faith in my fellow man.

“That’s a nice little car,” he said. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead,” I said, and smiled meaninglessly.

He lit a filtered cigarette, one of those low nicotine and tar brands that let you die slower.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, winking at me, giving me a sly ol’ grin. “But I think two thousand is a reasonable offer.”

“Well, this is a second car. For my wife. I also need to get something bigger, newer. Had my eye on that dark blue Buick that Ms. Jordan says got stolen out from under you the other day.”

He shook his head, laughed, as if something were funny. “Damnedest thing. Almost fifty years since my dad started this business, God rest him, and never had a car stolen before. Right off the damn lot.”

“Awful,” I said, world-weary again. “How do you suppose they managed it?”

His smile turned curious and perhaps a shade irritated; he cocked his head to one side like a dog and said, “Pardon?”

“How do you suppose whoever it was managed to steal it, right off your lot? On one of the busiest streets in the Cities, I would guess. Constantly travelled, and your lot’s well lit.”

He shrugged elaborately, still smiling, said, “Well, folks are always driving through the lot, after hours, browsing. Probably wouldn’t be so tough to do. Maybe we’re lucky it never happened before.”

“Don’t you have security?”

His smile showed some strain. “Not on the lot, no. But the boys in blue swing by, and a local security company has us on their route.”

I made a tch-tch sound. “Yet you still get a car swiped off your lot.”

“I guess there isn’t anything they wouldn’t steal these days. What do you expect?”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head in disgust.

“That’s what you get,” he explained, no trace of the smile now, “in a welfare state full of dope addicts.”

“That’s what you get,” I nodded.

“Country’s going to hell in a handbasket,” he said. “But don’t get me started on politics.”

“I don’t mind. I like a lively political discussion.”

His smile drifted to one side of his face. “Well, I got to warn you, Jack-my views are a little on the conservative side.”

“That’s fine with me, Lonny. I’m just a little to the right of Genghis Khan myself.”

He laughed, though I wasn’t entirely sure he understood the remark. “You have to expect wholesale theft in a society where the police are hamstrung, and the courts are soft on crime.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “How do you feel about this fella Preston Freed? Isn’t he from around here?”

He frowned. Swallowed. “I draw the line where that bastard is concerned-if you’re a supporter of his, I don’t mean to offend you.. ”

“I’m not and you haven’t.”

“He goes just too far. Too damn far.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He sure makes a lot of sense where prayer in school is concerned, and abortion. He’s got a healthy anti-drug posture, don’t you think?”

“Maybe so, but… well, here’s Angela.”

She came in, smiling sunnily; she had indeed got the paperwork together, and handed it to Best. He looked it over, informed me matter of factly that license and tax and so on would be on top of my two grand, and I didn’t bitch. I handed over the cash and we shook hands and I said, “I had an ulterior motive, coming to see you.”

“Oh?”

“Could we have a word in private?”

He nodded, then nodded to Angela, who disappeared in another swish of nylon, closing the door behind her. “What can I do for you, Jack?”

“Maybe I can do something for you. I’m in the auto parts business. Used.”