He stopped and gave the two cars a long look, then turned to the salesman and waved his hand in a call for immediate silence.
“What color is that car?” he asked.
“Oh, you’ve picked a good one, sir. That’s an SRX, and it’s priced just right. It’s on sale today. If you buy it in the next hour you’ll save even more.”
“What color is it?”
“We call that one ‘Light Platinum.’ And it’s the best.”
Cava pointed to the second car. “What color’s that one?”
“That’s ‘Radiant Bronze.’ You couldn’t make a better choice, Mr. Cava. It’s the best.”
“How can two cars be the best?”
“They’re all the best. That’s all we sell here. Just name your price and I’ll run it by Vinny-simple as that. Want the keys? Let’s test her out.”
Cava turned and looked down at the salesman. He was dressed in a ratty suit and his wrinkled shirt needed a hot iron.
“I don’t want a test drive. I want the car and I want it in Radiant Bronze. Now, go get Vinny.”
“We need to do this inside, Mr. Cava. We’ve got a deal room.”
Cava paused a moment. He didn’t know what a “deal room” was.
“I’m okay with that,” he said finally. “But I don’t work with a translator. If you want the deal, bring Vinny.”
“Okay, okay. But don’t come in until I give you the signal.”
The man winked at him, then cantered ahead and disappeared into the showroom. Cava didn’t get it. But then, he hadn’t understood anything the man had been saying for the past ten minutes.
He started walking toward the showroom, worrying again. Thinking that maybe he should head back to the Hummer and bolt. Take his chances that he wouldn’t get stopped. The witness probably saw his face and knew that he drove a Hummer, but that’s as far as it would go. No one had his plate numbers because he had taken the precaution of lifting a temporary set from the C Lot over at Los Angeles International Airport earlier that night, then switched back.
He could split right now and take his chances. But was it worth the risk?
He held out his hands and realized that they were trembling. Not enough that anyone would notice, but not rock steady, either. Not kill steady. He heard the salesman call out his name and looked up.
The little guy was holding the showroom door open and waving at him. Cava guessed that this was the signal.
He took a deep breath and stepped through the door. Heard Ray Charles singing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” Saw the bright lights hanging from the ceiling, and a man moving in from the right with a video camera. A second camera was pointed across the room at a man with a grotesque smile slowly descending a staircase from the management offices on the second floor.
Cava tried to keep cool and focused in spite of the confusion. The man making his runway entrance down the stairs was wearing some sort of weird costume. At first, Cava thought that he might be dressed up as Santa Claus or maybe even the Burger King. But after a while he put the scene together with the cameras and music and decided that the bizarre-looking jerk was just Vinny Bing, the Cadillac King.
Cava turned to the camera in his face and covered the lens with his right hand. When the cameraman tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on the lens. Then, a kid in jeans and a T-shirt ran over and started hyperventilating in his ear.
“Be cool, man. You’re on the show.”
“What show?”
“Vinny’s show. We’re shooting the second season. We’re on cable TV, man.”
Cava met the prick’s eyes, ready to snap the lens off the camera. “This is live?”
“No. It won’t be on until next year. The season starts in January. Not this coming January, the next one. If you wanna make the cut, you gotta be cool. You cool?”
Cava’s eyes swept across the showroom as he thought it over. He spotted the tent pitched in the middle of the floor-the neon sign that read let’s do da deal blinking over the entrance. The king was still working that staircase, his smile growing from cheek to cheek with each new step. A year from now and Cava would be the invisible man living thousands of miles away. No one would be looking for him anymore. Still, he wondered if this might not be a hallucination, or even a side effect from taking that sleeping pill last night and waking up too soon. Either way, unloading the Hummer had become a fucking nightmare.
“I’m cool,” he said.
“Then let go of the camera and shake Vinny’s hand.”
Cava released his grip, ignoring the angry look on the cameraman’s face. After another deep breath, he crossed the showroom floor. The king had hit ground level and was approaching him now. As Cava moved closer, he noticed the letters VB dangling from the king’s necklace. The letters were two inches high and encrusted with diamonds. The king extended a weak hand and Cava shook it.
“My name’s Vinny Bing, the Cadillac King. I heard you want an SRX Crossover in Radiant Bronze.” The king turned his head, looked into the camera, and flashed a TV smile. “Let’s do da deal.”
People started clapping. Salesmen standing at their desks and the video crew. Cava didn’t say anything, noting the cheap rings on Bing’s fingers and sizing up the man as they entered the deal tent. That speck of ketchup on the side of his mouth filled out the profile pretty good. His read was so clear that it felt like it came right out of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Vinny Bing was an overweight, knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing motherfucker in his early thirties. A first citizen from Generation Over and Out. Generation Done. One of the eighty percent crew who had given up the use of utensils and ate all three meals with their hands. Given up reading in favor of watching and consuming until their brains turned into guacamole and a bowl of broken tortilla chips with too much salt.
Both video cameras followed them into the tent, along with a short, round man holding a boom mike. Bing moved behind the desk and sat down on what looked like a toy throne. Then the irritating salesman who had been hounding Cava ran in and handed Bing a spec sheet on the car.
“Where we at?” Bing said, smacking his lips. “Whatta we gots?”
Cava watched the king’s eyes glide over his name on the sheet of paper. After a moment, he tossed it aside, pulled his pad and pen closer, and batted his eyes at the camera like he was ready to do big business.
“Okay,” he said. “Customer Cava wants the SRX Crossover in Radiant Bronze. Are we talkin’ about the V6 economy package, or the four point six Northstar V8? With the eight you get three hundred and twenty horses under the hood and feel like you’re in a rocket ship.”
“I want the rocket ship,” Cava said.
Bing smiled at the camera again. “Sweet,” he said. “I like this guy. He’s the quiet type, but I like him anyhow.”
Then Bing cupped his left hand and jotted down a number on the pad so only he and the camera could see it. He tore off the sheet, folding it over and passing it across the desk.
“Merry Christmas,” he said. “A special price ’cause you’re Vinny Bing’s special friend. And I’m gonna give you even more. Just say the word and the king throws in the Convenience Package, the Driver’s Package, even the Seating Package. I don’t care because it’s Christmas. I’m throwing it all in for free.”
Cava unfolded the paper and glanced at the secret number-well aware that the three packages went with the V8 and were part of the base price. He had test-driven the car at the auto strip in Glendale, researched the numbers on the Web, and knew exactly what Vinny Bing had paid for the car. The king was beginning to smell a lot like a grifter.
“What about the sunroof?” Cava said. “How ’bout throwing that in, too?”
Bing laughed. “That sunroof’s part of the Luxury Premium Pack. It’s an ultra-view.”
“But I thought we were friends.”
Bing paused a moment. “Your name’s Nathan, right?”
Cava nodded, his eyes pinned on the grifter. “Nathan G. Cava.”