Wheels (48 page)

"You don't have to tell me; I know how it is," the man said. "I'm in
business myself, get labor problems all the time. The kind of help you
get nowadays, they just don't care. But I sure appreciate your
attitude
.”

"It's the way I run my shop," Smokey declared, "as I'm sure you do
yours. So we can count on having your car here tomorrow morning
.”

"Sure can. I'll run it in early
.”

"That's a big load off my mind. Naturally, there'll be no charge and,
by the way, when you use the car between now and tomorrow, do me a favor
and drive with a window open
.”

The artist in Smokey could seldom resist
the extra embellishment.
"Thanks for the tipl And I'll tell you something, mister-I'm impressed.
Shouldn't be surprised if we do business again
.”

Smokey hung up, beaming.
At midmorning, Lottie Potts and her employer compared results. The
bookkeeper had managed to get four cars promised for next day, Smokey
five. The total of nine would have been enough if all the cars arrived,
but between now and tomorrow morning some owners might change their minds
or have problems arise to prevent them coming. Smokey decided to be safe.
He selected another eight names from Lottie's list, and the two of them
went back to telephoning. By noon, the owners of thirteen cars, in all,
had agreed to return them to the Stephensen dealership early the following
day for a variety of reasons.
Next was a conference between Smokey and his service manager, Vince Mixon.
Mixon was a cheerful whippet of a man, bald and in his late sixties, who
ran the service department like a skillful maitre d'. He could diagnose
instantly the ailm
ents of any car, his organizational work was good, and
customers liked him. But Vince Mixon had a weakness: he was an alcoholic.
For ten months of each year he stayed on the wagon; twice a year,
regularly, he fell off, sometimes with doleful consequences on the job.
No other employer would have tolerated the situation, and Mixon knew it;
he also knew that if he lost his job, at his age he would never find
an
o
ther
. Smokey, on the other hand, had shrewdly assessed the situation and
figured advantages to himself. Vince Mixon was great when he functioned,
and when he didn't Smokey managed. Smokey could also rely on his service
manager not to be bothersome if ethics were bent occasionally; also, Mixon
would do anything asked of him in tricky situations, such as now.
Together, they laid plans for tomorrow.
As each of the recalled cars arrived, it would be whisked to the service department and washed, its interior vacuumed,
the engine wiped over carefully to ensure a new appearance if the hood was
raised. Glove compartments would be emptied of owners' possessions; these
were to be stored in plastic bags, the bags tagged so that contents could
be replaced later. License plates would be removed, their numbers
carefully noted to ensure that eventually the right plates went back on
the right cars. Tires must have a coat of black paint to simulate newness,
especially where any tread wear showed.
The cars-a dozen, or thereabouts-would then be driven onto the fenced
lot behind the dealership where new cars, not yet sold, were stored.
And that was all. No other work, of any kind, would be performed, and
two days from now
apart from the cleaning job-the cars would be returned
to their owners exactly as brought in.
In the meantime, however, they would be on the premises for counting
and inspection by the bank's adjusters who would be satisfied, Smokey
hoped, that his inventory of unsold cars was the size it should be.
Smokey said thoughtfully, "Those bank guys may not get here till the
day after tomorrow. But the people'll be expecting their cars back
tomorrow night. You'll have to phone everybody in the afternoon, invent
a lot of excuses for holding 'em an extra day
.”

"Don't worry," Vince Mixon assured him, "I'll dream up good reasons
.”

His employer eyed him sternly. "I won't worry, long as you lay off the
juice
.”

The whippet-like service manager held up a hand. "Not a teaspoonful
till this is over. I promise
.”

Smokey knew from experience that the prom
ise would be kept, but in exacting it he had ensured that a bender would
soon follow. It was a strategy which the dealer seldom used, but he had to
be sure of Vince Mixon for the next forty-eight hours.
"How about odometers
.”

the service man asked. "Some of those cars'll have
a few hundred miles on by now
.”

Smokey pondered. There was a danger there; some bank adjusters were wise
to dealer tricks and checked everything during a new car audit, odometers
included. Yet messing with odometers nowadays was becoming tricky because
of state laws; also, those in this year's models were the tamperproof
kind.
"Nothing's tamperproof," Mixon asserted when Smokey reminded him of this.
From a pocket the service manager produced a set of small, shaped metal
keys. "See these? Made by a tool-and-die outfit called Expert Specialty
in Greenville, South Carolina. Anybody can buy 'em and they'll reset
odometers any which way; you name it
.”

"What about the new odometers-with white lines which drop if you change
the numbers
.”

"The lines are from plastic cases, set to break when you mess with them.
But the same people who made those keys sell new plastic cases, which
won't break, for a dollar each. I got two dozen outside, more on order
.”

Mixon grinned. "Leave it to me, chief. Any odometer in that bunch showing
over fifty miles, I'll turn back. Then before the owner gets the car
again, I'll fix it the way it was
.”

Happily, Smokey clapped his employee on the shoulder. "Vince, we're in
great shape I" By the middle of next morning, it seemed they were.
As Smokey had anticipated, three of the promised cars failed to show, but the other ten were brought in as
arranged, and were ample for his purpose. In the service department,
washing, cleaning, and tire painting were going ahead briskly, taking
priority over other work. Several of the cars had already been driven onto
the storage lot, personally, by Vince Mixon.
Another item of good news was that the bank adjusters were conducting
their audits in the order that the eight dealers' names appeared on Yolanda's list. Two of the three dealers whom Smokey tipped off yesterday
had telephoned, with news from themselves and other dealerships which
made this clear. It meant that Stephensen Motors could be sure of being
checked tomorrow, though they would be ready by this afternoon.
Nor did Smokey have any real worries, provided he could get through
today and tomorrow with his true stock positition undetected. Business
generally was
excellent, the dealership sound, and he knew he could have
his books back in order, and not be seriously out of trust, in a month
or so. He admitted to himself: he had overextended a little, but then,
he had gambled before and won, which was a reason he had lasted so long
as a successful car dealer.
At 11: 30 Smokey was relaxing in his mezzanine office, sipping coffee
laced with brandy, when Adam Trenton walked in unannounced.
Smokey Stephensen had become slightly uneasy about Adam's visits, of
which there had been several since their first meeting early in the
year. He was even less pleased than usual to see Adam now.
"Hit" he acknowledged. "Didn't know you were coming in
.”

"I've been here an hour," Adam told him. "Most of the time in the
service department
.”

The tone of voice and a certain set to Adam's
face made Smokey uneasy. He grumbled, "Should think you might let me know
when you get here. This is iny shop
.”

"I would have, except you told me at the beginning . .
.”

Adam opened a
black loose-leaf folder which he had carried during his last few visits
and turned a page. "You told me the first time I came: 'Everything's wide
open to you here, like a whorehouse with the roof off. You can see our
books, files, inventories, just the way your sister would, as she's
entitled to.' And later you said . .
.”

Smokey growled. "Never mind
!
Didn't know I was talking to a recording
machine
.”

He stared suspiciously. "Maybe you been using one
.”

"If I had, you'd have known about it. I happen to have a clear memory, and
when I'm involved in something I keep notes
.”

Smokey wondered what else was in the pages of the black folder. He invited
Adam, "Sit down. Coffee
.”

"No, thank you, and I'll stand. I came to tell you this is the last time
I'll be in. I'm also informing you, because I think you're entitled to
know, that I'm recommending my sister sell her stock in your business.
Also"-Adam touched the black loose-leaf folder again-1 intend to turn this
over to our company marketing department
.”

"You what
.”

Adam said quietly, "I think you heard
.”

'Then what the hell is in there
.”

"Among other things, the fact that your service department is, at this
moment, systematically stripping several used cars of owner
identification, faking them to look like new, and putting them with
genuinely new cars on your storage lot. Your service manager,
incidentally, has written bogus work orders on those cars for warranty
which is
not being performed but will be charged, no doubt, to our company. Right
now I don't know the reason for what's happening, but think I can guess.
However, since Teresa is involved, I'm going to call your bank, report
what I've seen, and ask if they can enlighten me
.”

Smokey Stephensen said softly, "Jesus Christ
!
"
He knew the roof had fallen in, in a way he had least expected. He
realized, too, his own mistake from the beginning: It was in being open
with Adam Trenton, in giving him the run of the place the way he had.
Smokey had sized up Adam as a bright, pleasant head office guy,
undoubtedly good at his job or he wouldn't have it, but naive in other
areas, including the running of an auto dealership. It was why Smokey
had reasoned that openness would be a kind of deception because Adam
might sense if information was being held back, and it would make him
curious, whereas frankness wouldn't. Also, Smokey believed that when
Adam realized his sister's interest in the dealership was being dealt
with honestly, he would not concern himself with other things. Too
late, the dealer was learning he had been wrong on every count.
"Do me one favor," Smokey urged. "Gimme a minute to think. Then at
least, let's talk
.”

Adam answered curtly, "All you'll be thinking of is a way to stop me,
and it won't work. And we've done all the talking needed
.”

The dealer's voice rose. "How the hell you know what I'll be thinking
.”

"All right; I don't know. But I know this that you're a crook
.”

"That's a goddam lie”
could take you to court for it
.”

"I'm perfectly willing," Adam said, "to repeat
the statement in front of witnesses, and you can summon me into any court
you want. But you won't
.”

"How a crook
.”

Smokey supposed he might as well find out what he could.
Adam dropped into a chair f acing the desk and opened the black loose-leaf
book.
"You want the whole list
.”