Trust (17 page)

“No, no,” the man said. “The Ford’s in my name, all right. Like I told you, I bought that little beauty when I was a single man.”

“Good,” Earl said, writing in the woman’s name. “I could just see this falling through at the last minute because of some piddly thing like that.”

“Nope,” the man said. He endorsed the back of his registration to Centre Street Motors, and signed it. He pushed the currency and the check and the registration across the desk to Earl, who handed him the bill of sale. “Looks fine to me,” they said in unison. They both laughed. They stood up.

“Well,” the man said, folding the bill of sale and putting it in his inside jacket pocket, then extending his hand to Earl, “a pleasure to do business with you.” He laughed again. “And I never did get your name, either.”

Earl laughed. He shook hands. “Earl Beale,” he said, turning the registration over with his left hand. “Mister Forrest.” He looked up, still smiling, but frowning. “Chatham?” he said. “You live in Chatham? All the way down on the Cape? I thought you lived somewhere round here.”

Michael Forrest shook his head. “No,” he said, “well, fairly near here. I live, well,
we
live, north of Boston. Up in Andover. We register the car in Chatham because the insurance rates’re lower.”

Earl rolled his eyes. “Well, I know,” he said, “but
isn’t that taking a chance? I mean, where you register the car, where you insure the car, it’s supposed to be where you keep the thing, and where you do most of your driving. You get in an accident, and they find out, you’re actually up Andover there, and there’s where the car is garaged, well, your policy won’t be no good.”

“Oh,” Forrest said, “that’s no problem. We have a house in Chatham. A summer house in Chatham. And that
is
where the car’s garaged. And that is where we use it. In the summer Eleanor moves down there with the kids, and I lead the bachelor life. On weekends I just take the bus from in town to the Cape. So I have our car up here, if I happen to need it—most days I take the train—and she has, or had, the Ford down there, for errands and the beach.”

“Well, jeez,” Earl said, “we didn’t advertise that Falcon. Why come all the way down here to buy a car? Andover’s quite a ways. Or if the Cape is where you use it, why not just buy one there?”

“Simple,” Forrest said. “In Andover everyone knows exactly what I do. If someone hasn’t told them, all they do is look it up. In the town directory. And to a lesser degree they also know, down there on the Cape, though it matters less down there. On the Cape all the dealers inflate prices when they sell to summer residents, because that in their estimation is why God created them. On groceries and stuff like that, we have to sit and take it. But not on cars, uh uh, not when we’re buying cars.”

“Then why not Andover?” Earl said. “That’s a pretty nice town, isn’t it? Should take some good trades in up there.”

“Because of what I do,” Forrest said. “On the Cape
they screw me on general principles. In Andover it’s specific, because of my assignment. I’m a government lawyer. People don’t like us a lot.”

“That’s a new one on me,” Earl said. “The guy that … what do you do? Put people in jail?”

“Oh, no,” Forrest said, picking the Falcon keys off Earl’s desk, “I don’t do that. Okay to drive this around and swap the plates out front?”

“Sure, sure,” Earl said. “Well, what do you do?”

“I’m just a counsel, in-house counsel,” Forrest said. “An office lawyer, that’s all. Just a standard drone.”

“Well, who do you do this for?” Earl said.

Forrest smiled at him. He took out his wallet again and gave Earl a business card. It read: “U.S. Department of the Treasury. Internal Revenue Service.” The seal of the United States was embossed in gold below the agency name. Below it was the man’s name, and below that, in the lower-left-hand corner: “Regional Counsel. Northeast Region.” A Boston address and a phone number were listed on the lower right.

“Oh,” Earl said.

“I’m surprised you didn’t guess,” Forrest said, smiling.

Earl snickered. “No, you’re not,” he said. “You know you’re cute enough to do it, fool dumb clucks like me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Forrest said. “Look, the deal’s done now. You want to level with me? How much’s my car actually worth, that you think you’ll get for it?”

Earl shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “Some kid comes in, looking for a new Corvette with three hundred in his pocket, I might get a couple hundred. Leave him enough, insurance. Chances of that happening aren’t
good, I’ll tell you that. But I could turn a quick dollar. If I should get lucky.”

“And how much,” Forrest said, “was your honest-to-God rock-bottom on the Falcon? What you would’ve sold it for, if you had to move that car?”

“Just what you paid for it,” Earl said, looking him straight in the eye. “And you know why? Because I
did
have to move that car. We got inventory problems here, and we’re hurting for cash.”

“Do I believe that?” Forrest said.

“In your line of work,” Earl said, “I’d tend to doubt it, myself. Your habits’re probably pretty strong now. But I did tell you the truth.”

Forrest nodded and headed toward the back door. When he had left the office, Earl picked up the card from the desk, and put it in his pocket.

When Fritchie returned from lunch at quarter of three, he resisted Earl’s suggestion that he sleep it off in the storeroom. He mumbled something about “new fuckin’ junker out in front. Waldo’ll have your ass for that one.” He took off his jacket and sat down at his desk and gazed into space, moistening his lips from time to time. Then he rested his forearms on the desk and gazed. Finally he folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. Earl let him snore softly for ten minutes. Then he got up and gently pulled Fritchie’s chair away from his desk, easing Fritchie’s arms and head up and back so that his head lolled gaping-mouthed to the right and his hands lay on his crotch. Earl wheeled him slowly and quietly through the office and into the back room where the tools and ramps were
kept, pushed him into the darkness, and shut the door. He returned to his own desk.

The phone rang just as Charlene Gaffney and her mother appeared at the front door. He picked up the handset and said: “Centre Street Motors. Hold a minute, please?” He put the line on Hold. He went to the door and ushered the two women in. “On the phone,” he said, pointing to his desk. “Come in, sit down. Just be a minute.” He went back to the phone. “Centre Street,” he said, “thank you for waiting.” Then he said: “Hey, sorry, boss. Had some customers come in, same time as your call. You told me the rules, old buddy. Customers got to come first. No, it’s been pretty quiet. Roy took the late lunch. Isn’t back yet. So I’m here all by myself. Yeah, uh huh. Yup, one. The Falcon. Guy wanted it, his beach place. No, didn’t give me any trouble. Nice clean sale, for just what we wanted. I don’t think you need to, really. Roy should be back in an hour. This is his late night. Okay, so I’ll see you on Monday. Yes, I do, boss, don’t kid me—I have got tomorrow off.” He hung up the handset.

“Mrs. Arnold, Charlene,” he said, “why don’t you two all come with me and sit down. Tell me what I can do, help you out.” He got up and ushered them into Waldo’s private office. They took chairs facing him at the desk.

Charlene wet her lips and looked at her mother. Mrs. Arnold in her black coat sat without expression, her black bag clenched in her hands. Charlene looked pleadingly at Earl. “Mister Beale,” she said, “I hope maybe you can help us. Me. We, after we went home, I started calling people? The restaurants, like you said? And they do have some jobs. But I got no experience,
so I get starting pay. And, it isn’t very much. After what Ma tells me.”

Mrs. Arnold shook her head once. “I tried to tell her that,” she said. “God knows how many times. I guess this is better, though. When someone that she don’t know, that’s got no reason to protect her, tells her the exact same thing, well then, at least, she listens.”

“How much is it?” Earl said. “What does it come to?”

Charlene licked her lips again. Mrs. Arnold answered. “By the time they get through,” she said, “taking things out, and the hours that they’ll let her work, she’ll be lucky she brings home fifty a week. And that’s working almost full-time that place. It’s criminal what they can do.”

“It isn’t much, is it,” Earl said. “How long would the starter pay last? And what would you make after that?”

“Three months, they said,” Charlene said. “Then I would get fifteen more.”

“ ‘
If
there’s an opening, after three months,’ ” Mrs. Arnold said. “They didn’t promise you, would be. I told her and told her, and told her again. I said: ‘Charlene, that’s not enough. If Timmy was here, instead of Saigon, Timmy would tell you that, too.’ I don’t know who’s, which one of them’s taking the biggest chance. Her over here, mooning at cars that she just can’t afford, or Timmy over there with people shooting at him.”

“Oh, Ma,” Charlene said, “cut it out. Timmy’s an embassy guard. He’s not out where the fighting is, people’re getting shot. You read his letters, Ma, and you know, Timmy’s just plain bored.”

Mrs. Arnold said: “Huh. Timmy doesn’t know enough, get scared when he should. Don’t surprise me, he isn’t. He’s got no sense, either. Not an atom of sense. Just like the people in charge of the country—not an atom of sense. Americans should mind our own business, just stay home and go to work. What those Chinamen’re up to shouldn’t bother us at all.”

Charlene sighed. “Mister Beale,” she said, “do you see any way? Any way at all?”

Earl cleared his throat. “Charlene,” he said, “and Mrs. Arnold, let me assure you something. There’s no point, I’ve got no reason, sit and lie to you.” Charlene looked hopeful. Mrs. Arnold showed a small, grim smile. Earl shook his head. “No, Mrs. Arnold,” he said, “now you’ve got to listen, now. This is the truth I’m telling you, no matter what you think. If I sell you a car that I know you can’t afford, and I help you get financing, knowing you can’t keep it up, well, that won’t do me any good. It will hurt me, in fact. If you default on a loan that I vouched for you to get, the next time that I take a buyer in to get a loan, the bank is going to turn him down, no matter he can pay. And why will the bank do that? Because you didn’t pay on yours. So there’s no percentage in it for me, get you in some big fat mess. This is how I make my living, day in and day out. I’d rather lose a nice commission, I can live without, ’n get it and then find out that I can’t make any more.

“Now,” he said, “Charlene, I got to be honest with you. I know you love that neat hardtop. I want you to be happy. But this job that you’re describing won’t carry the payments until you graduate in June and go on, a better job. Unless, and I don’t know this, you can
make a big down payment. Just how much can you pay down?”

Charlene glanced at her mother again. She looked back at Earl. “I,” she said, “Ma finally said, if you could find a way, she would let me borrow some of Timmy’s money. Not all of it, but some.”

“Which Charlene has got to pay back,” Mrs. Arnold said, “before he gets home, October. And that’s how I decided how much I would let her use. By figuring up just how much is the most she can pay back, along with the bank payments.”

“You don’t need to tell him that, Ma,” Charlene said. “He don’t care about that stuff.”

“Well, and how much is that, then?” Earl said.

Charlene said, “Five hundred dollars, sir.”

“Okay,” Earl said, “let’s do the numbers.” He moved his pad in front of him and took his ballpoint out. “After you folks left today, I went and checked the book. I wasn’t sure the figures, so I went and looked them up. That car out there that you drove is a ’sixty-five. It’s only two years old, and the mileage on it’s low. This is good news for some buyer, but it may not be for you. That car listed new for thirty-eight, almost four thousand dollars. The Blue Book, which is what all the dealers use for prices, the Blue Book says that model, year, in good condition runs around twenty-six hundred bucks. Which isn’t chicken feed.” He wrote the figures on the pad. Mrs. Arnold scowled. Charlene continued to look hopeful.

“Now,” he said, “you don’t have a trade-in. Most people don’t know this, but I’ll let you in on a secret. If we don’t have to take your worn-out car in trade, and maybe lose some money on it by the time we get
it fixed enough to sell it, someone else, we’re in a position to sweeten things a little. Which means”—he paused and looked at them—“I can knock two hundred off that twenty-six I mentioned.” Charlene smiled.

Earl held up his right hand in the Stop gesture. “Don’t smile yet, Charlene,” he said. “I haven’t finished yet. You’ve got five hundred dollars. Good. On twenty-four that’s a good start—at least it looks like one. But I wouldn’t let you put it all down on the purchase price, the car. Because you’re going to need insurance, plus the fees for number plates. I’d be on the safe side and make sure I had enough. Since you’re under twenty-six, and you’ll be driving it, even if your mother owns it—which is what I would suggest—those insurance costs are high. I’d say put down three hundred.” He wrote that on the pad. “Which means you finance twenty-one. Twenty-one hundred dollars.”

“Now,” he said, “twenty-one hundred at eight percent for two years, just let me check the tables here.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a plasticized card. “Is one-oh-one fifty a month.”

“Eight percent?” Mrs. Arnold said. “I seen an ad in the paper, and on the TV too, that auto loans are cheaper’s that. Six or seven, I thought.”

“On new cars, Mrs. Arnold,” Earl said. “That hardtop’s used. And that’s for three years also, thirty-six payments, which the banks won’t write for used cars—two years, twenty-four months, is the highest they will go.

“Now, Charlene,” he said, “you’re going to need gas. Car with no gas in it, well, won’t get you very far. You’re going to need snow tires pretty soon, too, which
that car, coming from California, doesn’t have. Snow tires are expensive. You’re going to have to have the oil changed, and filters, and all that sort of thing. And all that stuff costs money. Next year about this time, you’ll get a new insurance bill. And there’s the excise tax you pay, just for owning it. Now, you may not’ve thought of this, but I think you really should. Owning a car, keeping it up, costs money. Steadily. If you get through a given month without having to spend at least sixty, seventy dollars, in addition to your payment, you can count yourself lucky. And if I was you I’d save that money, for next month when you may need it.”