High Priest of California by Willeford Charles

Author:Willeford, Charles [Charles, Willeford]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

I didn't feel like working. To kill time I sat in a car and listened to its radio. It had been a long time since I'd listened to early morning radio programs. The programs were good. There was more music for one thing and it was better music. Andy came by and moaned about me using the radio without the engine running.

"Listen, Andy," I told him, "if you don't like it keep your face shut about it. Otherwise, I'll give you a fatter lip than you've already got."

He walked away muttering. I jumped out of the car and caught up with him. I spun him around.

"What'd you say?"

"I didn't say nothing, Mr. Haxby."

"You better not, Andy." I let go of his shirt. My hand had grease on it. "Just a minute." I took a clean rag out of his pocket, wiped my hand and gave it back. I returned to the car and sat down again. Looking down the length of the lot I spotted a man wandering about. I snapped the radio off and walked down to see what he wanted. It was Stanley Sinkiewicz.

"Well, Stanley. Made up your mind, huh?"

"Hello, Mr. Haxby." He had a shy grin on his wrinkled face. "To tell you the truth, I've been studying buying a used car for a long time now. But I just been putting it off."

"Now is the time to buy. In another month they're going sky-high. The Government, you know."

"That's what I figured."

"You're figuring right. When Ruthie told me you were thinking about a car, I came down here the next morning and put one away for you. I could have sold it twice yesterday."

"She said you'd give me a good deal." He was hesitant.

"That's what friends are for."

"I know. But business is business."

"I don't own this business." I got confidential. "I just work here. It don't come out of my pocket." I winked slowly, punched him in the ribs.

"I know what you mean." He laughed. "What kind is it?" He rubbed his hands together.

"I'll show you." I took him to the fourth row, where we kept the heaps, and showed him the Essex I'd marked up from seventy-five to two-fifty. He admired the ancient vehicle. Then he noticed the price and shook his head.

"I can't do it, Mr. Haxby. That's too much."

I stepped into the cleared space between the rows of cars and looked carefully all around to see if anyone was looking. Nobody was. I marked out the fifty on the windshield. "There you are, Stanley. Two hundred. And as far as I'm concerned the hell with my commission. Give me one-eighty and you can drive it off the lot."

"That's a real buy."

"Sure it is."

"All right. I'll buy her." He pulled an old-fashioned purse from his pants and opened it. It was bulging with tens and twenties. Somehow, I wasn't surprised. He counted out $180 and handed it to me. It didn't make a dent in the wad in the purse. I took him into the office and we filled out the papers.

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