Arthur Hailey - Wheels

"I said a dealer has to fight," Smokey said, "and so he does. But it's a game, too." He looked at Adam shrewdly. "I guess a different kind of game than yours."

Adam acknowledged, "Yes."

"Not so fancy pants as over at that think factory, huh ? "

Adam made no answer. Smokey contemplated the glowing tip of his cigar, then went on. "Remember this: a guy who gets to be a car dealer didn't make the game, he doesn't name the rules. He joins the game and plays the way it's played for real, like strip poker. You know what happens if you lose at strip poker?"

"I guess so."

"No guessing to it. You end up with a bare ass. It's how I'd end here if I didn't play hard, for real, the way you've seen. And though she'd look nicer 'n me bare-assed" - Smokey chuckled "so would that sister of yours.

I'll ask you to remember that, Adam." He stood up. "Let's play the game some more."

He was, after all, Adam realized, getting an untrammeled inside view of the dealership in operation. Adam accepted Smokey's viewpoint that trading in cars - new and used - was a tough, competitive business in which a dealer who relaxed or was softhearted could disappear from sight quickly, as many had. A car dealership was the firing line of automobile marketing. Like any firing line it was no place for the overly sensitive or anyone obsessed with ethics. On the other hand, an alert, shrewd wheeler-dealer - as Smokey Stephensen appeared to be - could make an exceedingly good living, which was part of the reason for Adam's inquiry now.

Another part was to learn how Smokey might adapt to changes in the future.

Within the next decade, Adam knew, major changes were coming in the present car dealership system, a system which many - inside the industry and out - believed archaic in its present form. So far, existing dealers - a powerful, organized bloc - had resisted change. But if manufacturers and dealers, acting together, failed to initiate reforms in the system soon, it was certain that government would step in, as it had already in other industry areas.

Car dealers had long been the auto industry's least reputable arm, and while direct defrauding had been curbed in recent years, many observers believed the public would be better served if contact between manufacturers and car buyers were more direct, with fewer intermediaries.

Likely in the future were central dealership systems, factory-operated, which could deliver cars to customers more efficiently and with less overhead cost than now. For years, a similar system had been used successfully with trucks; more recently, car fleet users and car leasing and rental companies, who bought directly, were demonstrating large economies. Along with such direct sales outlets, factory-operated warranty and service centers were likely to be established, the latter offering more consistent, better-supervised service than many dealers provided now.

What was needed to get such systems started - and what auto companies would secretly welcome - was more external, public pressure.

But while dealerships would change, and some fall by the way, the more efficient, better operated ones were likely to remain and prosper. One reason was the dealers' most commanding argument for existence - their disposal of used cars.

A question for Adam to decide was: Would Smokey Stephensen's - and Teresa's - dealership progress or decline amid the changes of the next few years?

He was already debating the question mentally as he followed Smokey from the mezzanine office down the stairway to the showroom floor.

For the next hour Adam stayed close to Smokey Stephensen, watching him in motion. Clearly, while letting his sales staff do their work, Smokey kept a sensitive finger on the pulse of business. Little escaped him. He had an instinct, too, about when his own intervention might nudge a teetering sale to its conclusion.

A lantern-jawed, cadaverous man who had come in from the street without glancing at the cars displayed, was arguing with a salesman about price.

The man knew the car he wanted; equally obviously, he had shopped elsewhere.

He had a small card in his hand which he showed to the salesman, who shook his head. Smokey strolled across the showroom. Adam positioned himself so he could observe and hear.

"Let me see." Smokey reached out, plucking the card deftly from Lantern Jaw's fingers. It was a business card with a dealer insignia on the front; on the back were penciled figures. Nodding amiably, his manner robbing the action of offense, Smokey studied the figures. No one bothered with introductions; Smokey's proprietorial air, plus the beard and blue silk jacket were his identification. As he turned the card his eyebrows went up. "From an Ypsilanti dealer. You live there, friend?"

"No," Lantern Jaw said. "But I like to shop around."

"And where you shop, you ask for a card with the best price difference between your trade-in and the new car. Right?"

The other nodded.

"Be a good sport," Smokey said. "Show me the cards from all the other dealers."

Lantern Jaw hesitated, then shrugged. "Why not?" From a pocket he produced a handful of cards and gave them to Smokey who counted them, chuckling.

Including the one he already held, there were eight. Smokey spread the cards on a desk top nearby, then, with the salesman, craned over them.

"The lowest offer is two thousand dollars," the salesman read out, "and the highest twenty-three hundred."

Smokey motioned. "The report on his trade."

The salesman passed over a sheet, which Smokey glanced at, then handed back. He told the lantern-jawed man, "I guess you'd like a card from me, too."

"Sure would."

Smokey took out a business card, turned it over, and scribbled on the back.

Lantern Jaw accepted the card, then looked up sharply. "This says fifteen hundred dollars."

Smokey said blandly, "A nice round figure."

"But you won't sell me a car for that!"

"You're damn right I won't, friend. And I'll tell you something else.

Neither will any of those others, not at the prices they put on their cards." Smokey swept the business cards into his hand, then returned them one by one. "Go back to this place, they'll tell you their price didn't include sales tax. This one - they've left out the cost of options, maybe sales tax, too. Here, they didn't add dealer prep, license, and some more . . ." He continued through the cards, pointing to his own last. "Me, I didn't include wheels and an engine; I'd have got around to it when you came back to talk for real."

Lantern Jaw looked crestfallen.

"An old dealer trick, friend," Smokey said, "designed for shoppers like you, and the name of the game is 'Bring 'em back later!"' He added sharply, "Do you believe me?"

"Yeah. I believe you."

Smokey rammed his point home. "So nine dealers after you started - right here and now is where you got your first honest news, where somebody leveled with you. Right?"

The other said ruefully, "Sure looks that way."

"Great! That's how we run this shop." Smokey draped a hand genially around Lantern Jaw's shoulders. "So, friend, now you got the starting flag. What you do next is drive back to all those other dealers for more prices, the real ones, close as you can get." The man grimaced; Smokey appeared not to notice. "After that, when you're ready for more honest news, like a driveaway price which includes everything, come back to me." The dealer held out a beefy hand. "Good luck!"

"Hold it," Lantern Jaw said. "Why not tell me now?"

"Because you aren't serious yet. Because you'd still be wasting my time and yours."

The man hesitated only briefly. "I'm serious. What's the honest price?"

Smokey warned him, "Higher'n any of those fake ones. But my price has the options you want, sales tax, license, a tank of gas, nothing hidden, the works . . ."