Honky Tonk Samurai (Hap and Leonard) (5 page)

T
he car lot was called Frank’s Unique Used Cars. It was off the major highway that ran through the center of town, Highway 59. In the town itself the highway had a street name until it came out on the far side in a wide band of concrete heading north. The car lot was tucked in near a bank and a money-managing firm, a stone’s throw from a Burger King. It was a big lot, and the cars were in fact unique.

I had driven by there many times and seen those fine old cars, but it just then registered with me how rare and fine they actually were and how often I had looked at them. It seemed odd for our town to have that kind of business. Most guys I knew drove pickup trucks with dogs riding in the back, tobacco spit sprayed along the side of the truck, splattered like some kind of poorly executed racing stripe. Those trucks were frequently festooned with stickers about how proud the owners were to be rednecks and how they were going to cling to their guns until they were pried from their cold dead fingers. They often had stickers with beer and whiskey labels on the trucks as well. I guess they kept a dog in back in case they needed a designated driver.

The fancy cars were all parked out front on the lot, but you could bet they went into the huge building behind the office at night. It was a three-story building, and it looked like anything but a car lot. It had once been a fancy hotel. The bottom-floor wall had been knocked out and fixed with big aluminum doors, but the top floors were still the same, with broad windows and white shades over them. Not enough people came, so it closed down. Few years back it got a sweep-out and paint job, and its parking space became the car lot. A modern single-story office building had been built out front of the hotel, behind the display of cars, the glass reflecting the lot and anyone on it.

Leonard and I cruised by a couple times in a beige BMW we had rented from a place in Tyler so as to look prosperous. We were checking things out. Finally Leonard pulled us into the lot. Before we went inside, Leonard said, “I’ve driven by this place often in the last few years. The cars are still the same cars.”

“Guess it’s possible they are different cars that look like the same old cars,” I said, “but I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

We went inside, out of the intense summer heat. The office was large, a kind of showroom, mostly glass, but with no cars on display inside. It had the kind of glass that was hard to see through from the outside, appeared dark, but inside the glass had a different effect—you could see the outside clearly. A large part of the ceiling was made of glass. You could see clouds rolling by. It was bright inside and very air-conditioned, cool as a penguin’s ass on an ice block. The sweat began to cool-dry against my skin.

“You’d think they were selling igloos instead of cars,” Leonard said.

In the center of the room was a big clear plastic desk. At the desk sat a golden-haired beauty of a woman with two large, round tits from the tit store, firm as rocks. She had a nose by someone other than genetics and a lot of experience looking at her own reflection in the mirror, knew how to tilt her head just right, when to let go of her smile, like she was holding back a bomb until it was right on target. She let that bomb drop when she saw me looking at her. She was a lady who knew her chickens. Leonard, of course, was not going to be impressed. He was already scouting his eyes around for a male salesman that would be the lovely lady’s equivalent, but none was visible. In fact, no one else was around but us and the blonde.

Just for the record, when it comes to tits and noses, I’m not one of those who worry about if they’re real or not. If it doesn’t appear to have been glued on, nothing falls off during sudden moves, and the smile doesn’t look like a Great White gliding down on a tuna, it’s okay by me. I’m true to my baby, Brett, but I have never lied about the fact that I got this whole biology thing going on, and I like to look, and this lady was well worth looking at. I imagined Brett looked at men, too. She could appreciate a nice shape, which is what makes me wonder why she stays with me. I like to think it’s my massive pecker.

When the blonde stood up she looked even better. The surgery work had been mostly subtle. She wore a blue western-style shirt and a dark brown cowgirl skirt that was cut short, a little longer in back than in the front. I couldn’t see her rear, but I had a feeling that dress was pressed against a butt firm as a fresh-picked apple. She had long, spray-tan legs that were lightly oiled and inviting. She wore red-and-blue cowboy boots with shiny white moons on the toes. The heels were high, even for boots, and when she walked, she knew how to do it. Had that runway-model approach. As she got closer I saw she was older than she looked from a distance. Not all her face had been sculpted. She had some corner-of-the-mouth creases, a few lines around her eyes, and a crimp on her forehead like she was about to make a decision. The lips were nice, and the cheekbones were high. I like to believe those were natural.

Me and Leonard were dressed in our most expensive casual duds, which were so seldom worn both of us had to send a posse into our closets to find them. Our outfits smelled a little dry, like old wallpaper in a damp room. The boots she was wearing were worth more than what both of us had on, right down to socks and shoes and all that was in our wallets, including the change in my piggy bank back home. I actually have one. A pink pig. I think it’s precious.

It was a goodly walk to where we were. As she strolled, Leonard said, “She looks like your type, and I’m going to tell Brett if you smile too much.”

Within a few seconds she was in front of us, standing in a way she knew was killer, one leg slightly in front of the other to accentuate her legs and hips. Of course, why anyone would stand like that normally is impossible to figure, but like I said, it had the desired effect.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she said. She had the sort of southern voice that’s a little bourbon-soaked and so smooth you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth but a lie could happily live there. She let loose that bomb of a smile again.

I turned on what charm I had left, showed her my smile. At least I had all my own teeth. Except for the wisdom teeth. They were long gone, top and bottom. I have suggested many times that what was wrong with my life might be just that. No wisdom teeth.

“We’d love to talk to you for a moment,” I said. I was so friendly and cheerful I wanted to pull up a chair and listen to me.

“Would you like to go out on the lot?” She posed that like it was a question up there with a possible discussion of string theory, and that the two of us might really have something profound to add.

“Actually, we’re not here to buy one of those cars,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “We do sell cars, you know.”

“Yes, but I’m assuming you have others, ones not on the lot,” I said.

“Of course. Come sit at the desk and we’ll chat.”

We followed her over. I watched her buttocks wrestle in the tight skirt. Both sides of her ass seemed to be holding their own. She indeed had a firm-apple butt, and the skirt fit tight, as if it and the ass were one and the same.

She took her chair, and Leonard and I took the two chairs in front of the desk. Those chairs were like settling down on a cloud. I felt sleepy the minute I got situated. I could feel the sweat freeze-drying at the small of my back.

“I’m Frank,” she said.

“Hap,” I said. And Leonard gave his real first name, too. We didn’t offer last names. If it came to that we had already worked up some lies—Wilson and Smatter. He was Wilson, I was Smatter.

“Hap. That’s an odd name,” she said.

“It’s rare,” I said. “You don’t look like a Frank.”

“Actually it’s Frankie,” she said and shifted her legs so that I could be certain she was all woman, let her foot hang so she could dangle one of those fine boots. “But everyone calls me Frank. I thought it sounded better for the business.”

I doubted that. She didn’t seem old-fashioned to me, like she was trying to convince anyone a man ran the business. Maybe she was just trying to appeal to who she thought we were, a couple of male chauvinist pigs she could sell a car to.

I noticed her turning her head to the lot, checking what we drove up in.

“Would your car be a trade, if we were able to put you in a new ride? I must be honest. We don’t give substantial trade credit. It’s not our way.”

“He drove his car,” I said, indicating Leonard, “but I’m the one who’s come to buy a car. I wanted him to check them out with me.”

“He values my opinion,” Leonard said. “Him being my sidekick and all.”

She nodded. “That is so nice, to have a friend that dear.”

“Isn’t it?” Leonard said. “I get loose bowels thinking about it.”

Frank gave him a look that showed she was trying to appreciate his humor.

Easy, Leonard. Pull it back. There were some days when you just didn’t know which Leonard you would get. The sarcastically playful one, the deadly avenger with a heart of ice, or the snot-nosed little brother who wants his cookies and Dr Pepper and was easily bored. All the personalities that make up his overall personality were quirky at best.

“The cars on the lot, interestingly, are not for sale. They are showpieces, but we have others like them, and some even rarer. I mean, people can look at the ones on the lot if they want, but only to buy a car like it, not those cars.”

“It’s like when you get shown the dessert tray at a restaurant,” Leonard said. “They look good, but they’re shellacked over and not for sale.”

“Sort of like that, yes,” she said. “But you said you were looking for something different from what was on the lot.”

“I did indeed,” I said.

“Well, we have them.”

“Good deals?” I said.

“I suppose that depends on how one looks at it,” Frank said.

“How would one look at it?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “that depends on your bank account, to be honest.”

“Or to be frank,” I said.

“Yes, that’s a good one, Hap,” she said. “A good one.” She made it sound like I was the smartest man who ever squatted to shit over a pair of shoes. She was already starting to irritate me.

“Our cars are reconditioned with all original parts, which we have to go well out of our way to find, and that’s expensive. We don’t use substitute parts or any modern part that might fit, and that is a rarer situation every year. Therefore, each year there is a rise in expense. Hard to find those parts. But for what we have to offer with the cars, and how unique our services are, it’s worth it. You can look at one of our catalogs if you like. Not only pictures, but lots of explanation there.”

She gave me and Leonard the catalogs. I studied them. Lots of nice classic cars with some very nice classic women leaning against them while wearing only enough to keep from being arrested. In fact, the girls were more prominent than the cars. Redheads and blondes and brunettes, white-skinned, dark-skinned, short, and tall, but each of them so good-looking they nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“There are a lot of side benefits to buying a car from us,” Frank said. “If you want them. Were you recommended by anyone? Someone who might have told you about us, recommended our special services?”

I think it was the way she looked, the way she sat, the way she laid out the questions, that made me think what she was asking wasn’t exactly what she was saying. I began to get some idea of what we had actually walked into.

I avoided her questions, and asked her one.

“Say we want to buy something to go along with a car.”

She didn’t even blink. “You don’t mind expense?”

“I’m in a good financial position,” I said. “Inheritance. Some patents. I’m well-off, to put it bluntly.”

Leonard coughed a little.

“Are you all right?” Frank asked Leonard.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I swallowed a moth or something coming in.”

“Really?” she said.

“I’m all right,” Leonard said. “It was a little moth.”

“Goodness,” she said.

Her concern for Leonard dying of moth inhalation was brief.

She leaned forward, showing me her cleavage, which I should note was deep enough you might need mining equipment, a good light on your helmet, and some serious camping supplies to go down there and look around.

“What if I wanted something from your catalog?” I said.

“What kind of model are you looking for?” she said, leaned back and arched her back slightly. It was enough to give me a new and exciting view of the Grand Tetons.

“Something in your caliber,” I said, and I was surprised to find there was a catch in my voice. I, too, must have swallowed a moth. “The sort of car you would drive, I mean.”

“Of course,” she said. “A nice, clean, serviceable model.” She smiled to show me there was a joke in there somewhere.

Leonard cut his eyes at me. Buffy did that the same way. They really did have the same eyes. I put my attention on Frank. “Exactly,” I said. “A nice, clean, serviceable model.”

Now Frank laid it on thicker. She lowered her eyes slightly, gave me a sleepy kind of look, the sort she thought I might like to wake up to. Her voice dropped slightly, and you could almost hear panties drop and bedsheets being pulled back in that voice.

“Something sleek and fine-tuned. Something that could make you feel fine-tuned yourself.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “I mean, who doesn’t want to be fine-tuned?”

She looked at Leonard, lowered her eyelashes, and gave him that sleepy kind of look.

“How about you?” she said. “You think you might decide you want a fine-tuned car, too?”

“Absolutely. Something that would just tune the shit out of me would be nice,” he said.

She acted mildly shocked at such language, but in a pleasant way, as if she were a preacher’s wife who now and then liked to have a beer and have her ass pinched.

“So we’re talking a car for both of you?” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Leonard said. “I just came as his backup, but now that you mention it, hell, I might as well get one. Whatever he gets, I want one better. Fact is, make it bigger and longer than his.”