Jerry D. Young
PERCY’S MISSION
Think about the events in this story as you read it. You may agree or disagree on the premise, but think about what you would do if…
CHAPTER ONE
“Percivale George Jackson,” said Percivale George Jackson. The look on his face brooked no attempt at humor based on his name.
The DMV clerk carefully input the information into the computer fighting to control his grin. Percivale was bad enough, but the vehicle being registered was called a Unimog. What the hell kind of truck was a Unimog? Sounded like a character in Lord of the Rings, or four of them, because Percivale was licensing four Unimog trucks.
Cutting his eyes up to the tall, skinny, middle-aged man, the clerk barely managed not to laugh, again, as he took in the sight of the worn felt hat partly covering the longish, mostly brown hair. The overalls Percivale wore were nearly new and the green plaid shirt looked new, too. He managed to keep the comment a silent statement to himself. “Must be his Sunday-go-to-Meetin’ overalls”, he said.
He came to the purchase price of the trucks and his eyes widened and he whistled under his breath. “Wait a minute,” he said then, picking up the purchase form in his hand and looking once more at Percivale. “Is this some kind of joke? This says the trucks are Mercedes-Benz trucks. The other papers say Unimog. There is no such thing as a Mercedes truck.”
“Mercedes-Benz does make trucks. Mercedes-Benz is the parent company that makes the Unimog line of vehicles. Is there a problem or something? It usually doesn’t take this long to register and license a vehicle.” Percy maintained his calm demeanor despite the smirk on the young man’s face. The smirk had appeared the moment Percy had stepped up to the counter.
“I suppose nothing is wrong. I just have to be careful. Registering a vehicle is an important procedure. It must be done correctly. This is a somewhat out of the ordinary vehicle. I’ve never even heard of one before.”
That was enough opening for Percy. He was proud of the versatile vehicle. It had taken him almost six months to get them, once he discovered they were available. Telling someone, especially this twerpy clerk about them, would be a pleasure.
“Sort of a cross between a tractor and a giant jeep,” Percy said. He realized his mistake immediately. He stopped the explanation as quickly as he’d started it.
“Tractor?” asked the clerk. “We don’t license tractors.”
Percy groaned. “It’s not a tractor… I… ah… was just kidding.” It sounded lame to Percy.
The clerk got even snootier. “I’m afraid the DMV does not appreciate such jokes. This is a serious business.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry. Sometimes I get a bee in the ol’ bonnet. It won’t happen again.” Percy heard whispers behind him after he had spoken. He turned around and looked to see what was going on. Percy groaned again.
He touched the brim of his hat. “Mornin’ Mrs. Applegate. Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“Percivale, the weather is atrocious and you know it. That sense of humor you just told that clerk you had is just as drab as it’s ever been. Please don’t waste his time, or mine. I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes’m,” Percy said softly, turning back to the counter. Mrs. Applegate had been his third grade teacher. She was in her eighties and still scared him.
She scared the clerk even more. He knew her as the wife of a state representative, somebody important. He quickly finished the process for Percy and handed him the four sets of license plates. He was already apologizing to Mrs. Applegate for Percy having kept her waiting as Percy stepped out of the way.
Percy sighed and headed out to the Suburban. At least the task was done. It had been a rough morning. Bernard’s wife was sick and he had to stay home to take care of her. On top of that, two of his other hands that were due back the previous day were still in Minneapolis because of yet another terrorist attack security clampdown. It was going to be at least another three days before they could get back from visiting their mother.
“Oh, well,” Percy muttered to himself, “such is life. Time to go see if Hector wants that tractor.”
He’d sold the Case tractor that one of the Unimogs was replacing to his nearest neighbor for a fair price. Percy began to grin as he climbed into the customized Chevy Suburban. “Old Hector wants that John Deere bad. I bet he’ll come across and I got to stop talking to myself. People think I’m crazy as it is.”
He touched the brim of his floppy felt hat as Mrs. Applegate walked past, her nose in the air. “Maybe I am. Maybe I am,” he muttered before falling silent. He started the Suburban and, just to show off a bit, grabbed the joystick mounted on the special console at his right hand and activated the crab steering on the six-wheel-drive, six-wheel-steer running gear of the truck.
There was plenty of space in front of him so he just edged the truck out, parallel to the curb until he was in the street. Percy straightened the wheels and flipped the switch to go back to normal front steering. As usual, passers-by had stopped to gawk at the event. Percy tipped his hat, grinned, and headed toward Hector’s place.
An hour and a half later Percy was talking to himself again. “Yep, Hector wanted that tractor bad.” Percy had two more stops after leaving Hector’s, before he headed back to the estate. He needed to stop and collect from McAlister for the two bob trucks he’d sold him, then go back into town and deposit the checks in the bank. “And probably should stop at Jimbo’s Emporium and pick up some gold and silver out of the accounts.”
It had taken Percy a long time to get Jimbo to agree to the arrangement. After Percy had kept track of the transactions he would have done if Jimbo would do them, and Jimbo saw what he would make by doing them, he agreed. With the way the precious metals markets had been for the last few years, Percy was able to withdraw significant amounts of the gold and silver in coin form on a regular basis and still maintain trading stocks to keep accumulating more.
Grouchy old McAlister reluctantly gave Percy the check he’d promised. “Things are going to cost me a fortune with the way gasoline prices are, you know,” McAlister complained as he handed over the check.
“I know what you mean, Hiram. Diesel is almost as bad.”
“Not telling me anything I don’t already know,” replied McAlister. “Fuel for my diesel equipment is over a third of my operating budget.”
Percy’s eyebrows rose slightly. He wouldn’t have thought that Hiram McAlister even knew what a budget was.
“According to Cynthia… she’s doing my books for me now… I’m going to have to go up on my harvesting prices.”
“That explains the budget,” Percy thought. “His daughter is doing it for him.”
McAlister frowned. “I’m not so sure I should have cut that deal with you on the trucks. Even short as I am on cash, giving you two forty acre harvests, plus what cash I am giving you, I’m beginning to think I should have just done all cash.”
“Well… if your prices are going up, Hiram, I guess it’s only fair to renegotiate.”
Before he could continue, McAlister interjected, “I ain’t got any more cash to spare, Percy.”
“I know,” replied Percy. “I was thinking I’d do the hauling for one of the fields. Would that make up the difference between the old price and new?”
“You’d do that? My pricing always includes haulage. That’s why I’m buying your two trucks. I need more hauling capacity.”
“You’re a good guy, Hiram. I want you to stay in business. We made the deal before you knew you had to go up. I’m okay with absorbing some of the difference.”
“Well, gee, Percy… Thanks.”
“Sure, Hiram. Tell Cynthia I said howdy.”