Chapter Seven
In the towns, on the edges of the towns, in fields, in vacant lots, the used-car yards, the wreckers’ yards, the garages with blazoned signs—Used Cars, Good Used Cars.
Cheap transportation, three trailers. ’27 Ford, clean. Checked cars, guaranteed cars. Free radio. Car with 100 gallons of gas free. Come in and look. Used Cars. No overhead.
A lot and a house large enough for a desk and chair and a blue book. Sheaf of contracts, dog-eared, held with paper clips, and a neat pile of unused contracts. Pen— keep it full, keep it working. A sale’s been lost ’cause a pen didn’t work.
Those sons-of-bitches over there ain’t buying. Every yard gets ’em. They’re lookers.
Spend all their time looking. Don’t want to buy no cars; take up your time. Don’t give a damn for your time. Over there, them two people—no, with the kids. Get ’em in a car.
Start ’em at two hundred and work down. They look good for one and a quarter. Get ’em rolling. Get ’em out in a jalopy. Sock it to ’em! They took our time.
Owners with rolled-up sleeves. Salesmen, neat, deadly, small intent eyes watching for weaknesses.
Watch the woman’s face. If the woman likes it we can screw the old man. Start’ em on that Cad’. Then you can work ’em down to that ’26 Buick. ’F you start on the Buick, they’ll go for a Ford. Roll up your sleeves an’ get to work. This ain’t gonna last forever.
Show ’em that Nash while I get the slow leak pumped up on that ’25 Dodge. I’ll give you a Hymie when I’m ready.
What you want is transportation, ain’t it? No baloney for you. Sure the upholstery is shot. Seat cushions ain’t turning no wheels over.
Cars lined up, noses forward, rusty noses, flat tires. Parked close together.
Like to get in to see that one? Sure, no trouble. I’ll pull her out of the line.
Get ’em under obligation. Make ’em take up your time. Don’t let ’em forget they’re takin’ your time. People are nice, mostly. They hate to put you out. Make ’em put you out, an’ then sock it to ’em.
Cars lined up, Model T’s, high and snotty, creaking wheel, worn bands. Buicks, Nashes, De Sotos.
Yes, sir. ’22 Dodge. Best goddamn car Dodge ever made. Never wear out. Low compression. High compression got lots a sap for a while, but the metal ain’t made that’ll hold it for long. Plymouths, Rocknes, Stars.
Jesus, where’d that Apperson come from, the Ark? And a Chalmers and a Chandler —ain’t made ’em for years. We ain’t sellin’ cars—rolling junk. Goddamn it, I got to get jalopies. I don’t want nothing for more’n twenty-five, thirty bucks. Sell ’em for fifty,
seventy-five. That’s a good profit. Christ, what cut do you make on a new car? Get jalopies. I can sell ’em fast as I get ’em. Nothing over two hundred fifty. Jim, corral that old bastard on the sidewalk. Don’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Try him on that Apperson. Say, where is that Apperson? Sold? If we don’t get some jalopies we got nothing to sell.
Flags, red and white, white and blue—all along the curb. Used Cars. Good Used Cars.
Today’s bargain—up on the platform. Never sell it. Makes folks come in, though. If we sold that bargain at that price we’d hardly make a dime. Tell ’em it’s jus’ sold. Take out that yard battery before you make delivery. Put in that dumb cell. Christ, what they want for six bits? Roll up your sleeves—pitch in. This ain’t gonna last. If I had enough jalopies I’d retire in six months.
Listen, Jim, I heard that Chevvy’s rear end. Sounds like bustin’ bottles. Squirt in a couple quarts of sawdust. Put some in the gears, too. We got to move that lemon for thirty-five dollars. Bastard cheated me on that one. I offer ten an’ he jerks me to fifteen, an’ then the son-of-a-bitch took the tools out. God Almighty! I wisht I had five hundred jalopies. This ain’t gonna last. He don’t like the tires? Tell ’im they got ten thousand in ’em, knock off a buck an’ a half.
Piles of rusty ruins against the fence, rows of wrecks in back, fenders, grease-black wrecks, blocks lying on the ground and a pig weed growing up through the cylinders.
Brake rods, exhausts, piled like snakes. Grease, gasoline.
See if you can’t find a spark plug that ain’t cracked. Christ, if I had fifty trailers at under a hundred I’d clean up. What the hell is he kickin’ about? We sell ’em, but we don’t push ’em home for him. That’s good! Don’t push ’em home. Get that one in the Monthly, I bet. You don’t think he’s a prospect? Well, kick ’im out. We got too much to do to bother with a guy that can’t make up his mind. Take the right front tire off the Graham. Turn that mended side down. The rest looks swell. Got tread an’ everything.
Sure! There’s fifty thousan’ in that ol’ heap yet. Keep plenty oil in. So long. Good luck.
Lookin’ for a car? What did you have in mind? See anything attracts you? I’m dry.
How about a little snort a good stuff? Come on, while your wife’s lookin’ at that La Salle. You don’t want no La Salle. Bearings shot. Uses too much oil. Got a Lincoln ’24.
There’s a car. Run forever. Make her into a truck.
Hot sun on rusted metal. Oil on the ground. People are wandering in, bewildered, needing a car.
Wipe your feet. Don’t lean on that car, it’s dirty. How do you buy a car? What does it cost? Watch the children, now. I wonder how much for this one? We’ll ask. It don’t cost money to ask. We can ask, can’t we? Can’t pay a nickel over seventy-five, or there won’t be enough to get to California.
God, if I could only get a hundred jalopies. I don’t care if they run or not.
Tires, used, bruised tires, stacked in tall cylinders; tubes, red, gray, hanging like sausages.
Tire patch? Radiator cleaner? Spark intensifier? Drop this little pill in your gas tank and get ten extra miles to the gallon. Just paint it on—you got a new surface for fifty cents. Wipers, fan belts, gaskets? Maybe it’s the valve. Get a new valve stem. What can you lose for a nickel?
All right, Joe. You soften ’em up an’ shoot ’em in here. I’ll close ’em, I’ll deal ’em or I’ll kill ’em. Don’t send in no bums. I want deals.
Yes, sir, step in. You got a buy there. Yes, sir! At eighty bucks you got a buy.
I can’t go no higher than fifty. The fella outside says fifty.
Fifty. Fifty? He’s nuts. Paid seventy-eight fifty for that little number. Joe, you crazy fool, you tryin’ to bust us? Have to can that guy. I might take sixty. Now look here, mister, I ain’t got all day. I’m a business man but I ain’t out to stick nobody. Got anything
to trade?
Got a pair of mules I’ll trade.
Mules! Hey, Joe, hear this? This guy wants to trade mules. Didn’t nobody tell you this is the machine age? They don’t use mules for nothing but glue no more.
Fine big mules—five and seven years old. Maybe we better look around.
Look around! You come in when we’re busy, an’ take up our time an’ then walk out!
Joe, did you know you was talkin’ to pikers?
I ain’t a piker. I got to get a car. We’re goin’ to California. I got to get a car.
Well, I’m a sucker. Joe says I’m a sucker. Says if I don’t quit givin’ my shirt away I’ll starve to death. Tell you what I’ll do—I can get five bucks apiece for them mules for dog feed.
I wouldn’t want them to go for dog feed.
Well, maybe I can get ten or seven maybe. Tell you what we’ll do. We’ll take your mules for twenty. Wagon goes with ’em, don’t it? An’ you put up fifty, an’ you can sign a contract to send the rest at ten dollars a month.
But you said eighty.
Didn’t you never hear about carrying charges and insurance? That just boosts her a little. You’ll get her all paid up in four-five months. Sign your name right here. We’ll
take care of ever’thing.
Well, I don’t know——
Now, look here. I’m givin’ you my shirt, an’ you took all this time. I might a made three sales while I been talkin’ to you. I’m disgusted. Yeah, sign right there. All right, sir.
Joe, fill up the tank for this gentleman. We’ll give him gas.
Jesus, Joe, that was a hot one! What’d we give for that jalopy? Thirty bucks—thirty- five wasn’t it? I got that team, an’ if I can’t get seventy-five for that team, I ain’t a business man. An’ I got fifty cash an’ a contract for forty more. Oh, I know they’re not all honest, but it’ll surprise you how many kick through with the rest. One guy come through with a hundred two years after I wrote him off. I bet you this guy sends the money. Christ, if I could only get five hundred jalopies! Roll up your sleeves, Joe. Go out
an’ soften ’em, an’ send ’em in to me. You get twenty on that last deal. You ain’t doing bad.
Limp flags in the afternoon sun. Today’s Bargain. ’29 Ford pickup, runs good.
What do you want for fifty bucks—a Zephyr?
Horsehair curling out of seat cushions, fenders battered and hammered back.
Bumpers torn loose and hanging. Fancy Ford roadster with little colored lights at fender guide, at radiator cap, and three behind. Mud aprons, and a big die on the gear-shift lever.
Pretty girl on tire cover, painted in color and named Cora. Afternoon sun on the dusty windshields.
Christ, I ain’t had time to go out an’ eat! Joe, send a kid for a hamburger.
Spattering roar of ancient engines.
There’s a dumb-bunny lookin’ at that Chrysler. Find out if he got any jack in his jeans. Some a these farm boys is sneaky. Soften ’em up an’ roll ’em in to me, Joe. You’re doin’ good.
Sure, we sold it. Guarantee? We guaranteed it to be an automobile. We didn’t guarantee to wet-nurse it. Now listen here, you—you bought a car, an’ now you’re squawkin’. I don’t give a damn if you don’t make payments. We ain’t got your paper. We turn that over to the finance company. They’ll get after you, not us. We don’t hold no paper. Yeah? Well you jus’ get tough an’ I’ll call a cop. No, we did not switch the tires.
Run ’im outa here, Joe. He bought a car, an’ now he ain’t satisfied. How’d you think if I bought a steak an’ et half an’ try to bring it back? We’re runnin’ a business, not a charity ward. Can ya imagine that guy, Joe? Say—looka there! Got a Elk’s tooth! Run over there. Let ’em glance over that ’36 Pontiac. Yeah.
Square noses, round noses, rusty noses, shovel noses, and the long curves of streamlines, and the flat surfaces before streamlining. Bargains Today. Old monsters with deep upholstery—you can cut her into a truck easy. Two-wheel trailers, axles rusty in the hard afternoon sun. Used Cars. Good Used Cars. Clean, runs good. Don’t pump oil.
Christ, look at ’er! Somebody took nice care of ’er.
Cadillacs, La Salles, Buicks, Plymouths, Packards, Chevvies, Fords, Pontiacs. Row on row, headlights glinting in the afternoon sun. Good Used Cars.
Soften ’em up, Joe. Jesus, I wisht I had a thousand jalopies! Get ’em ready to deal, an’ I’ll close ’em.
Goin’ to California? Here’s jus’ what you need. Looks shot, but they’s thousan’s of miles in her.
Lined up side by side. Good Used Cars. Bargains. Clean, runs good.
