Linwood Barclay - Fear The Worst

A rich stockbroker from Stamford told me he was still mulling over whether to get the Honda S2000 he’d been in salivating over a few weeks ago. I put him in the “call back” list. An elderly couple from Derby had changed their minds about getting a car now that the husband had been diagnosed with cataracts.

And then I’d come to Lorna and Dell. The couple who’d looked at just about every car on the market and couldn’t reach a decision. They’d come close to driving me mad with their indecision, but some sales you just had to work harder for than others.

I glanced at the clock, saw that it was after four, and took a chance Lorna might be home from her teaching job.

She picked up. “Hello?”

“Hello, Lorna,” slipping into my car salesman voice, which is not far off from my regular voice, except that it sounds as though I’ve just had some cough syrup. “Tim Blake from Riverside Honda.”

“Oh, how are you today?”

“I’m just great, how about yourself?”

“We’re terrific. We’re loving the car.”

I almost asked her to repeat herself, but calm prevailed. “That’s just great,” I said. “I’ve been off a few days, you know. Just what did you end up getting?”

“We bought a Pilot. We spent all this time looking at sedans, and then we thought, maybe we could use a little more room. Are you feeling better?”

Evidently I had been ill. “Yes, much better,” I said. “I trust you were well looked after in my absence.”

“Oh, yes. We came in looking for you, and that nice boy Andy helped us out.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Be sure to drop by and say hello when you’re in for service.”

I hung up.

How it’s supposed to work is this: If a customer you’ve been working with for some time finally decides to buy, and he shows up on your day off to make the deal, the salesperson who helps him splits the commission with you. That is, if he’s not a scumbucket.

I poked my head around the divider and said to Andy, “Hey, you want to go grab a coffee and get some air?”

Andy looked up nervously. “Now?”

“Sure,” I said. “I could use a coffee before I start making any more calls.”

We walked over to the communal coffeepot, poured ourselves each a cup, then walked around to the back of the dealership where there was shade from some tall oaks on a neighboring property.

“Nice day,” Andy said.

“Oh yeah,” I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee.

“Laura’s sure been on the warpath,” he said. “Leaning on everyone to get their numbers up. But sometimes, you know, things are just slow. What are you gonna do, right?”

“Sure,” I said. “It happens.”

“Yeah,” he said, like we were two buddies, just shootin’ the shit.

“So, you gonna tell me?” I asked.

“Hmm?” said Andy.

“You going to tell me about the Pilot you sold to Lorna and Dell?”

Andy coughed up a nervous laugh. “Oh yeah, I was going to.”

“Were you?” I said. “You seemed to have forgotten about it when I asked you how things had gone the last few days.”

“It just kind of slipped my mind, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll split that commission down the middle with you.”

“Let me tell you something, Andy,” I said. “You’re still relatively new, so I’ll cut you some slack today, but you ever pull a stunt like that again I’ll slam a hood down on your fucking hand.”

“Sure, you bet,” Andy said. “Won’t ever happen again. You gonna tell Laura on me?”

I shook my head. “Laura’s sales manager. She doesn’t give a shit who gets the commissions as long as the cars get sold. She’ll just let us sort it out, and that’s what I’m doing now. Understand?”

“You bet.”

I tossed my full coffee into an old oil drum and went back inside. There was a guy hanging around my desk. The girl at reception caught my eye as I walked into the showroom and said, “That gentleman asked for you.”

He was sandy-haired, trim, mid-thirties, smart clothes. I put out my hand as I approached. “Tim Blake,” I said. “You were looking for me?”

He nodded and returned the handshake. “Eric Downes,” he said. “I got your name from a guy I work with who bought a car from you a few years ago.”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Dan?” he said. “I don’t even know his last name.” He laughed self-consciously. “You’d think I’d know a coworker’s last name.”

“No problem,” I said. I could recall two or three Dans off the top of my head, but it didn’t really matter which one. “What can I help you with?” I asked.

“I’ve been seriously thinking about a Civic coupe,” Eric Downes said.

“The regular coupe, or the Si?”

“Oh, the Si,” he said.

“Nice vehicle,” I said. “Six-speed, alloys, 197 horsepower. It really goes, and at the same time, you’re going to get respectable gas mileage with it.”

“Everyone’s thinking about that these days,” Eric said. “I’ve been reading up on them online, I’ve looked at other people’s, but this is the first I’ve been into a showroom to look at one. Thing is, I’ve also been looking at a Mini, and a GTI. The Volkswagen. But I wanted to check the Si first. You have any in stock?”

“I don’t have one on the floor here,” I said, “but I have one on the lot, a demo.”

“What I’d really like to do,” he said, “is take one for a test drive, but like, do I have to put down a deposit first to do something like that?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “I can arrange for you to take one out if you’d like. I just need a copy of your driver’s license, and it’d be my pleasure to ride along with you to show you the car’s features.”

Not that Eric would be able to pick up a load of manure with an Si, but I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Eric glanced at his watch like he had someplace to get to, then shrugged and said, “What the hell, let’s do it.”

While I was arranging to have one of the summer hires bring the red demo we had up to the door, I watched Andy skulk in and slink into his chair. He didn’t look over at me, or my customer. He was an okay kid. He just still had a lot to learn. Unless, of course, his ambition was to be a slimy car salesman. If that was the case, he was ahead of the game.

Shannon, at reception, made a copy of Eric Downes’s license, gave the original back to me, and I handed it over to him while he inspected other new cars on the lot. A couple of minutes later, the red Civic Si rolled up.

“What are you driving now?” I asked Eric.

“I’ve got a Mazda,” he said. “I’ve had good luck with it, but I feel like a change.”

“You’d be looking to trade it in?” I asked.

“I’m actually at the end of a lease,” he said.

“They call this Rallye Red,” I said, pointing out some of the Honda’s exterior features for Eric. The rear spoiler, the Si badging. I opened the door for him to get behind the wheel, then joined him on the other side.

“Nice,” he said, running his hands over the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I directed his attention to the navigation and audio systems, the side bolsters on the racing-style bucket seats.

“Start ’er up,” I said.

Eric turned the engine over, gave the accelerator a couple of light taps to hear the revs, pushed in the clutch and worked the gearshift around, getting an idea where all the gears were.

“Can I smoke in here?” Eric asked, about to reach into his jacket.

“Once you own it,” I said, smiling. “But for now, no, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” he said.

“Let’s go out that way,” I said, pointing right. “Then we’ll head up to the turnpike, get an idea how it performs on the highway.” I got the navigation screen set up so we could keep track of our movements. “You ever had a car with one of these built into the dash?” I asked.