Lonny Best stood behind his desk and smiled, a big glad-hander’s grin that let me know that no sale was too small to command the boss’s attention. A few years older than me, he was nonetheless boyish, and fairly small-perhaps five-eight-and just this side of chunky, with short brown hair and apple-red apple cheeks that spoke of high blood pressure; his eyes were small and dark and bright, the eyes of a predator, or a salesman, if there’s a difference.
His red blazer was thrown over the back of his chair; he wore the white short-sleeve shirt, red-white-and-blue striped tie and white slacks that seemed a part of the BEST BUY uniform. He thrust his hand out for me to shake and I did. He suggested I pull up a chair and I did. He gave Angela a nod, which I supposed was a silent command for her to gather the paperwork, and then turned his too-pleasant smile on me. If his smile had been any bigger, there wouldn’t have been room in the little office for the two of us. If it had been any less sincere, I’d have lost all my faith in my fellow man.
“That’s a nice little car,” he said. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Go ahead,” I said, and smiled meaninglessly.
He lit a filtered cigarette, one of those low nicotine and tar brands that let you die slower.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, winking at me, giving me a sly ol’ grin. “But I think two thousand is a reasonable offer.”
“Well, this is a second car. For my wife. I also need to get something bigger, newer. Had my eye on that dark blue Buick that Ms. Jordan says got stolen out from under you the other day.”
He shook his head, laughed, as if something were funny. “Damnedest thing. Almost fifty years since my dad started this business, God rest him, and never had a car stolen before. Right off the damn lot.”
“Awful,” I said, world-weary again. “How do you suppose they managed it?”
His smile turned curious and perhaps a shade irritated; he cocked his head to one side like a dog and said, “Pardon?”
“How do you suppose whoever it was managed to steal it, right off your lot? On one of the busiest streets in the Cities, I would guess. Constantly travelled, and your lot’s well lit.”
He shrugged elaborately, still smiling, said, “Well, folks are always driving through the lot, after hours, browsing. Probably wouldn’t be so tough to do. Maybe we’re lucky it never happened before.”
“Don’t you have security?”
His smile showed some strain. “Not on the lot, no. But the boys in blue swing by, and a local security company has us on their route.”
I made a tch-tch sound. “Yet you still get a car swiped off your lot.”
“I guess there isn’t anything they wouldn’t steal these days. What do you expect?”
“I know,” I said, shaking my head in disgust.
“That’s what you get,” he explained, no trace of the smile now, “in a welfare state full of dope addicts.”
“That’s what you get,” I nodded.
“Country’s going to hell in a handbasket,” he said. “But don’t get me started on politics.”
“I don’t mind. I like a lively political discussion.”
His smile drifted to one side of his face. “Well, I got to warn you, Jack-my views are a little on the conservative side.”
“That’s fine with me, Lonny. I’m just a little to the right of Genghis Khan myself.”
He laughed, though I wasn’t entirely sure he understood the remark. “You have to expect wholesale theft in a society where the police are hamstrung, and the courts are soft on crime.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “How do you feel about this fella Preston Freed? Isn’t he from around here?”
He frowned. Swallowed. “I draw the line where that bastard is concerned-if you’re a supporter of his, I don’t mean to offend you.. ”
“I’m not and you haven’t.”
“He goes just too far. Too damn far.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He sure makes a lot of sense where prayer in school is concerned, and abortion. He’s got a healthy anti-drug posture, don’t you think?”
“Maybe so, but… well, here’s Angela.”
She came in, smiling sunnily; she had indeed got the paperwork together, and handed it to Best. He looked it over, informed me matter of factly that license and tax and so on would be on top of my two grand, and I didn’t bitch. I handed over the cash and we shook hands and I said, “I had an ulterior motive, coming to see you.”
“Oh?”
“Could we have a word in private?”
He nodded, then nodded to Angela, who disappeared in another swish of nylon, closing the door behind her. “What can I do for you, Jack?”
“Maybe I can do something for you. I’m in the auto parts business. Used.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not in the market…”
“Hear me out. I think I can provide you with like-new auto parts. Regularly.”
His eyes narrowed; his smile was, for the first time, sincere. Which is to say crooked, in more than one sense of the word. “I may understand at that.”
“I have people in Milwaukee and Chicago who can provide you with about anything you might need. Reasonably.”
He was nodding slowly.
“I’ve been working all over the Midwest, from Missouri to Wisconsin. But you’re the first person I’ve approached in this area.”
He lifted both eyebrows. “I’d need to be the only person you approached.”
“Fine. I understand you have another lot on the Illinois side.”
“Yes. And one in Clinton.”
“Why don’t you think it over,” I said, rising. “I’ll be in town a while. We can talk later.”
He stood, too. “I have a business partner I’ll need to discuss this with.”
“Understood.”
“Jack, if we do business… I don’t want to know any more than what you’ve just told me. I don’t know anything about you and/or your business. As far as I know, you’re a reputable auto parts dealer from Milwaukee.”
“Sure, Lonny. Far as we’re both concerned, a chop shop is a Chinese restaurant.”
He liked that. He laughed. Sincerely.
We shook hands and I left him in his cubbyhole office with his opinions about wholesale theft and the criminal justice system.
I had, I knew, in one stroke established myself with a cover story that was both believable and shady enough to serve my purpose, over these next few days. I had also learned plenty about Lonny Best.
Outside, Angela was waiting with my Sunbird and my keys. I arranged with her to have the car delivered to the Blackhawk Hotel; I had my rental to return. She was helpful and, the sale made, more relaxed, more real.
The sun bathed us, despite the chilly air; her congeniality seemed genuine, and so did her interest in me. My interest in her was pretty abstract. She was a beautiful woman, and I found her attractive and pleasant, but right now I had no plans for my dick except taking the occasional leak.
“I hope to see you again,” she said, warmly, touching my hand.
The little flags flapped overhead.
I glanced around this lot where that dark-blue Buick had sat, just a few days before, the vehicle that had brought death back into my life.
“You will,” I said, and got in the rental.
8
It was only ten minutes from Best Buy Buick to Paul Revere Square; I turned off Kimberly Road onto Jersey Ridge, a funeral home off to my right, and pulled in at the left, between the brick pillars, the wrought-iron gates standing open, as if welcoming me to a private estate.
Paul Revere Square was an ersatz slice of New England plopped along the frontage of Kimberly Road, a sprawling commercial strip on the western edge of the Cities, connecting Davenport and Moline. Mostly Kimberly was middle-class mini-malls, and franchise restaurants with “Mister” in their names; but Paul Revere Square seemed to cry out, “The wealthy are coming.”
I parked my rental job in the side lot and walked toward the courtyard square where wooden signs extended from buildings on wrought iron, swinging in the gentle chilly breeze, and lampposts lit up the overcast afternoon with yellow electric lights that pretended to be gas. Despite the efforts to look old, these brick buildings were new, the mortar barely dry, and a good many of the storefronts had yet to be filled. Saturday afternoon or not, there weren’t many people wandering the courtyard of shops, though those who were were well-dressed.