Arthur Hailey - Wheels

Smokey Stephensen slammed a meaty fist into his palm. "The smartass bitch!"

Adam looked at him inquiringly.

"That lousy broad planned that! She knew all along she wouldn't finance."

From the booth they heard the salesman hesitate. "Well . . . that could make a difference."

"A difference to what? The price of the car?" The woman inquired coolly,

"How could it unless there's some concealed charge you haven't told me about? The Truth in Lending Act . . ."

Smokey stormed from the window to his desk, snatched up an inside phone and dialed. Adam saw the salesman reach for a receiver.

Smokey snarled, "Let the cow have the car. We'll stand by the deal." He slammed down the phone, then muttered, "But let her come back for service after warranty's out, she'll be sorry!"

Adam said mildly, "Perhaps she'll think of that, too."

As if she had heard him, the woman looked up toward the mezzanine and smiled.

"There's too many know-it-alls nowadays." Smokey returned to stand beside Adam. "Too much written in the newspapers; too many twobit writers sticking their noses where they've no goddamn business. People read that crap." The dealer leaned forward, surveying the showroom. "So what happens? Some, like that woman, go to a bank, exchange financing before they get here, but don't tell us till the deal is made. They let us think we're to set up the financing. So we figure our take - or some of it - into the sale, then we're hooked, and if a dealer backs out of a signed sales contract, he's in trouble. Same thing with insurance; we like arranging car insurance because our commission's good; life insurance on finance payments is even better." He added moodily, "At least the broad didn't take us on insurance, too."

Each incident so far, Adam thought, had given him a new, inside glimpse of Smokey Stephensen.

I suppose you could look at it from a customer's point of view," Adam prompted. "They want the cheapest financing, most economical insurance, and people are learning they don't get either from a dealer, and that they're better off arranging their own. When there's a payoff to the dealer - finance or insurance - they know it's the customer who pays because the extra money's incorporated in his rates or charges."

Smokey said dourly, "A dealer's gotta live, too. Besides, what people didn't used to know, they didn't worry after."

In another sales booth below, an elderly couple were seating themselves, a salesman facing them. A moment earlier, the trio had walked from a demonstrator car they had been examining. As Adam nodded, under Smokey's hand a switch clicked once more.

". . . really like to have you folks for clients because Mr. Stephensen runs a quality dealership and we're happiest when we sell to quality people."

"That's a nice thing to hear," the woman said.

"Well, Mr. Stephensen's always telling us salesmen, 'Just don't think of the car you're selling today. Think of how you can give folks good service; also that they'll be coming back two years from now, and perhaps another two or three after that."'

Adam turned to Smokey. "Did you say that?"

The dealer grinned. "If I didn't, I should have."

Over the next several minutes, while they listened, a trade-in was discussed. The elderly couple was hesitant about committing themselves to a final figure - the difference between an allowance for their used car and the price of a new one. They lived on a fixed income, the husband explained - his retirement pension.

At length the salesman announced, "Look, folks, like I said, the deal I've written up is the very best we can give anybody. But because you're nice people, I've decided to try something I shouldn't. I'll write an extra sweet deal for you, then see if I can con the boss into okaying it."

"Well . . ." The woman sounded doubtful. "We wouldn't want . . ."

The salesman assured her, "Let me worry about that. Some days the boss is not as sharp as others; we'll hope this is one. What I'll do is change the figures this way: On the trade . . ."

It amounted to a hundred dollars reduction of the end price. As he switched off, Smokey appeared amused.

Moments later, the salesman knocked on the office door and came in, a filled-in sales contract in his hand.

"Hi, Alex." Smokey took the proffered contract and introduced Adam, adding, "It's okay, Alex; he's one of us."

The salesman shook hands. "Nice to know you, Mr. Trenton." He nodded to the booth below. "Were you tuned in, boss?"

"Sure was. Too bad, ain't it, this is one of my sharp days?" The dealer grinned.

"Yeah." The salesman smiled back. "Too bad."

While they chatted, Smokey made alterations to the figures on the sales papers. Afterward he signed, then glanced at his watch. "Been gone long enough?"

"I guess so," the salesman said. "Nice to have met you, Mr. Trenton."

Together, Smokey and the salesman left the office and stood on the open mezzanine outside.

Adam heard Smokey Stephensen raise his voice to a shout. "What you tryin' on? You wanna make a bankrupt outa me?"

"Now, boss, just let me explain."

"Explain! Who needs it? I read figures; they say this deal means a great fat loss."

In the showroom below, heads turned, faces glanced upward to the mezzanine. Among them were those of the elderly couple in the first booth.

"Boss, these are nice people." The salesman was matching Smokey's voice in volume. "We want their business, don't we?"

"Sure I want business, but this is charity."

"I was just trying . . ."

"How about trying for a job someplace else?"

"Look, boss, maybe I can fix this up. These are reasonable people . .."

"Reasonable, so they want my skin!"

"I did it, boss; not them. I just thought maybe . . ."

"We give great deals here. We draw the line at losses. Understand?"

"I understand."

The exchange was loud as ever. Two of the other salesmen, Adam observed, were smiling surreptitiously. The elderly couple, waiting, looked perturbed.

Again the dealer shouted. "Hey, gimme back those papers!"

Through the open doorway Adam saw Smokey seize the sales contract and go through motions of writing, though the alterations were already made.

Smokey thrust the contract back. "Here's the very best I'll do. I'm being generous because you put me in a box." He winked broadly, though the last was visible only on the mezzanine.

The salesman returned the wink. As he went downstairs, Smokey reentered his office and slammed the door, the sound reverberating below.

Adam said drily, "Quite a performance."

Smokey chuckled. "Oldest ploy in the book, and still works sometimes."

The listening switch for the first sales booth was still on; he turned the volume up as the salesman rejoined the elderly couple who had risen to their feet.

"Oh, we're so sorry," the woman said. "We were embarrassed for you. We wouldn't have had that happen . . ."

The salesman's face was suitably downcast. "I guess you folks heard."

"Heard!" the older man objected. "I should think everybody within five blocks heard. He didn't have to talk to you like that."

The woman asked, "What about your job?"

"Don't worry; as long as I make a sale today I'll be okay. The boss is a good guy, really. Like I told you, people who deal here find that out.

Let's look at the figures," The salesman spread the contract on the desk, then shook his head. "We're back to the original deal, I'm afraid, though it's still a good one. Well, I tried."

"We'll take it," the man said; he seemed to have forgotten his earlier doubts. "You've gone to enough trouble . . ."

Smokey said cheerfully, "In the bag." He switched off and slumped into one of the green leather chairs, motioning Adam to another. The dealer took a cigar from his pocket and offered one to Adam, who declined and lit a cigarette.