desperate to reduce inventory, a shrewd car buyer might save several
hundred dollars on a mediumpriced car, compared with buying a month or
so later.
. I should be selling color televisions," Smokey growled. "That's what
dopes put money in around Christmas and New Year's."
"But you did well at model changeover."
"Sure did." The dealer brightened. "You seen the figures, Adam?"
"My sister sent them to me."
"Never fails. You'd think people'd learn. Fortunately l'or us, they
don't." Smokey glanced at Adam as they walked across the showroom. "You
understand, I'm speaking freely?"
192-wheels
Adam nodded. "I think we should both do that."
He knew, of course, what Smokey Stephensen meant. At model introduction
time-from September through November-dealers could sell every new car
which factories would let them have. Then, instead of protesting the
number of cars consigned-as they did at other times of year -dealers
pleaded for more. And despite all adverse publicity about automobiles,
the public still flocked to buy when models were new, or after major
changes. What such buyers didn't know, or didn't care, about, was that
this was open season on customers, when dealers could be toughest in
bargaining; also, the early cars after any production change were
invariably less well made than others which would follow a few months
later. With any new model, manufacturing snags inevitably arose while
engineers, foremen, and hourly workers learned to make the car. Equally
predictable were shortages of components or parts, resulting in
manufacturing improvisations which ignored quality standards. As a
result, an early car was often a poor buy from a quality point of view.
Knowledgeable buyers wanting a new model waited until four to six months
after production began. By that time, chances were, they would get a
better car because bugs would have been eliminated and production-except
for Monday and Friday labor problems which persisted through all
seasons-would be smoothly settled down.
Smokey Stephensen declared, 'Everything's wide open to you here,
Adam-like a whorehouse with the roof off. You can see our books, files,
inventories, you name it; just the way your sister would, as she's
entitled to. And ask questions, you'll get straight answers."
"You can count on questions," Adam said, "and later I'll need to see
those things you mentioned.
wheels-193
What I also want--which may take longer-is to get a feeling about the way
you operate."
"Sure, sure; any way you want is fine with me." The auto dealer led the
way up a flight of stairs to a mezzanine which ran the length of the
showroom below. Most of the mezzanine was occupied by offices. At the
top of the stairs the two men paused to look down, viewing the cars of
various model lines, polished, immaculate, colorful, which dominated the
showroom floor. Along one side of the showroom were several cubicletype
offices, glass-paneled, for use by salesmen. An open doorway gave access
to a corridor, leading to Parts and Service, out of sight.
Already, at midmorning, despite the quiet season, several people were
viewing the cars, with salesmen hovering nearby.
"Your sister's got a good thing going herepoor old Clyde's dough working
for her and all them kids." Smokey glanced at Adam shrewdly.
What's Teresa stewing over? She's been getting checks. We'll have a
year-end audited statement soon."
Adam pointed out, "Mostly it's the long term Teresa's thinking of. You
know I'm here to advise her: Should she sell her stock or not?"
"Yeah, I know." Smokey ruminated. "I don't mind telling you, Adam, if
you advise 'sell,' iVI1 make things rugged for me."
"Why?"
"Because I couldn't raise the dough to buy Teresa's stock. Not now, with
money tight."
"As I understand it," Adam said, "if Teresa decides to sell her share
of the business, you have a sixty-day option to buy her out. If you
don't, then she's free to sell elsewhere."
Smokey acknowledged, "That's the way of it." But his tone was glum.
What Smokey didn't relish, obviously, was the
194-wheels
possibility of a new partner, perhaps fearing that someone else would want
to be active in the business or could prove more troublesome than a widow
two thousand miles away. Adam wondered what, precisely, lay behind
Smokey's unease. Was it a natural wish to run his own show without
interference, or were things happening in the dealership which he
preferred others not to know? Whatever the reason, Adam intended to find
out if he could.
"Let's go in my office, Adam." They moved from the open mezzanine into
a small but comfortable room, furnished with green leather axmchairs
and a sofa. A desk top and a swivel chair had the same material. Smokey
saw Adam look around.
"The guy I got to furnish this wanted it all red. I told him, 'Nuts to
thatt The only redll ever get in this business'll be by accident."'
One side of the office, almost entirely window, fronted the mezzanine.
The dealer and Adam stood looking down at the showroom as if from a
ship's bridge.
Adam motioned toward the row of sales offices below, "You have a
monitoring system?"
For the first time, Smokey hesitated. "Yeah."
"I'd like to listen. The sales booth right there." In one of the
glassed enclosures a young salesman, with a boyish face and a shock of
blond hair, faced two prospective customers, a man and a woman. Papers
were spread over a desk between them."
"I guess you can." Smokey was less than enthusiastic. But he opened a
sliding panel near his desk to reveal several switches, one of which he
clicked. Immediately, voices became audible through a speaker recessed
into the wall.
... course, we can order the model you want in Meadow Green." The
voice was obviously
wheels-195
the young salesman's. "Too bad we don't have one in stock."
Another male voice responded; it bad an aggressive nasal quality. "We
can wait. That's if we make a deal here. Or we might go someplace else."
"I understand that, sir. Tell me something, merely out of interest. The
Galahad model, in Meadow Green; the one you were both looking at. How
much more do you think that would cost?"
"I already told you," the nasal voice said. "A Galahad's out of our
price range."
"But just out of interest-name any figure. How much more?"
Smokey chuckled. "Attaboy, Pierre I" He seemed to have forgotten his
reluctance about Adam listening. -He's selling 'em up."
The nasal voice said grudgingly, 'Vell, maybe two hundred dollars."
Adam could see the salesman smile. "Actually," he said softly, "it's
only seventy-five."
A woman's voice interceded. "Dear, if it's only that much..."
Smokey guffawed. '-fou can hook a woman that way, every time. The dame's
already figured she's saved a hundred and twenty-five bucks. Pierre
hasn't mentioned a cuppla options extra on that Galahad. But he'll get
to it."
The salesman's voice said, 'Why don't we take another look at the car?
I'd like to show you..."
As the trio rose, Smokey snapped off the switch.
"That salesman," Adam said. "I've seen his face..."
"Sure. He's Pierre Flodenhale."
Now Adam remembered. Pierre Flodenhale was a race driver whose name, in
the past year or two, had become increasingly well-known na-
196-wheels
tionally. Last season he had had several spectacular wins.
'When things are quiet around the tracks," Smokey said, "I let Pierre
work here. Suits us both. Some people recognize him; they like to have
him sell them a car so they can tell their friends. Either way, he's a
good sales joe. He'll cinch that deal."
. Perhaps he'd buy in as a partner. If Teresa drops out."
Smokey shook his head. "Not a chance. The kid's always broke; it's why
he moonlights here. All race drivers are the same-blow their dough
faster'n they make it, even the big winners. Their brains get flooded
like carburetors; they figure the purse money'll keep coming in
forever."
"You didn't."
"I was a smart cookie. Still am."
They discussed dealer philosophy. Smokey told Adam, "This never was a
sissie business; now it's getting tougher. Customers are smarter. A
dealer has to stay smarter still. But it's big, and you can win big."
At talk of consumerism, Smokey bridled. "The 'poor consumer' is taking
goddam good care of himself. The public was greedy before; consumerism
made it worse. Now, everybody wants the best deal ever, with free
service forevermore. How about a little 'dealerism' sometime? A dealer
has to fight to survive."
While they talked, Adam continued to watch activity below. Now he
pointed to the sales booths again. "That first one. I'd like to hear."
The sliding panel had remained open. Smokey reached out and clicked a
switch.
... deal. I'm telling you, you won't do bet ter anywhere else." A
salesman's voice again; this time an older man than Pierre Flodenhale,
graying, and with a sharper manner. The prospective
wheels-197
customer, a woman whom Adam judged to be in her thirties, appeared to be
alone. Momentarily he had a guilty sense of snooping, then reminded
himself that use of concealed microphones by dealers, to monitor exchanges
between salesmen and car buyers, was widespread. Also, only by listening
as he was doing now, could Adam judge the quality of communication between
Smokey Stephensen's dealership and its clients.
"I'm riot as sure as you," the woman said. -With the car I'm trading in
as good as it is, I think your price is a hundred dollars high." She
started to get up. "I'd better try somewhere else."
They heard the salesman sigh. "I'll go over the figures one more time."
The woman subsided. A pause, then the salesman again. "You'll be fi-
nancing the new car, right?"
"Yes."
"And you'd like us to arrange financing?"
"I expect so." The woman hesitated. "Well, yes."
From his own knowledge, Adam could guess how the salesman's mind was
working. With almost every financed sale a dealer received a kickback
from the bank or finance company, usually a hundred dollars, sometimes
more. Banks and others made the payments as a means of getting business,
for which competition was keen. In a tight deal, knowledge that the
money would be coming could be used to make a last-minute price cut,
rather than lose the sale entirely.
As if he had read Adam's mind, Smokey murmured, "Chuck knows the score.
We don't like to lose our kickback, but sometimes we have to."
"Perhaps we can do a little better." It was the salesman in the booth
again. "What I've done is, on your trade..."
Smokey snapped the switch, cutting the details off.
198-wheels
Several newcomers had appeared in the showroom; now a fresh group moved
into another sales booth. But Smokey seemed dissatisfied. "To make the
joint pay I have to sell two thousand five hundred cars a year, and
business is slow, slow."
Knuckles rapped on the office door outside. As Smokey called, "Yeah," it
opened to admit the salesman who had been dealing with the woman on her
own. He held a sheaf of papers which Smokey took, skimmed over, then said
accusingly, "She outbluffed you. You didn't have to use all the hundred.
She'd have settled for fifty."
"Not that one." The salesman glanced at Adam, then away. "She's a sharpie.
Some things you can't see from up here, boss. Like what's in people's
eyes. I tell you, hers are hard."
"How would you know? When you gave my money away, you were probably
looking up her skirts, so you let her take you."
The salesman looked pained.
Smokey scribbled a signature and handed the papers back. "Get the car
delivered."
They watched the salesman leave the mezzanine and return to the booth
where the woman waited.
"Some things to remember about salesmen," Smokey Stephensen said. "Pay 'em
well, but keep 'em off balance, and never trust one. A good many'll take
fifty dollars under the desk for a sweet deal, or for steering finance
business, as soon as blow their nose."
Adam motioned to the switch panel. Once more Smokey touched it and they
were listening to the salesman who had left the office moments earlier.
"... your copy. We keep this one."
"Is it properly signed?"
"Sure is." Now that the deal was made, the
wheels-199
salesman was more relaxed; he leaned across the desk, pointing. "Right
there. The boss's fist."
"Good." The woman picked up the sales contract, folded it, then
announced, "I've been thinking while you were away, and I've decided not
to finance after all. I'll pay cash, with a deposit check now and the
balance when I pick up the car on Monday."
There was a silence from the sales booth.
Smokey Stephensen slammed a meaty fist into his palm. "The smartass
bitchl"
Adam looked at him inquiringly.
"That lousy broad planned thatl She knew all along she wouldn't
finance."
From the booth they heard the salesman hesitate. "Well... that could
make a difference."
"A difference to what? The price of the car?" The woman inquired coolly,
"How could it unless there's some concealed charge you haven't told me
about? The Truth in Lending Act..."
Smokey stormed from the window to his desk, snatched up an inside phone
and dialed. Adam saw the salesman reach for a receiver.
Smokey snarled, "Let the cow have the car. We'll stand by the deal." He
slammed down the phone, then muttered, "But let her come back for
service after warranty's out, she'll be sorryl"
Adam said mildly, "Perhaps she'll think of that, too."
As if she had heard him, the woman looked up toward the mezzanine and
smiled.
"There's too many know-it-alls nowadays." Smokey returned to stand
beside Adam. "Too much written in the newspapers; too many twobit
writers sticking their noses where they've no goddarn business. People
read that crap." The dealer leaned forward, surveying the showroom. "So
what happens? Some, like that woman, go to
200-wheels
a bank, ~ixrange financing before they get here, but don't tell us till the
deal is made. They let us think we're to set up the financing. So we figure
our take-or some of it-into the sale, then we're hooked, and if a dealer
backs out of a signed sales contract, he's in trouble. Same thing with
insurance; we like arranging car insurance because our commission's good;
life insurance on finance payments is even better." He added moodily, "At
least the broad didn't take us on insurance, too."
Each incident so far, Adam thought, bad given him a new, inside glimpse
of Smokey Stephensen.
I suppose you could look at it from a customer's point of view," Adam
prompted. "They want the cheapest financing, most economical insurance,
and people are learning they don't get either from a dealer, and that
they're better off arranging their own. When there's a payoff to the
dealer-finance or insurance-they know it's the customer who pays because
the extra money's incorporated in his rates or charges."
Smokey said dourly, "A dealer's gotta live, too. Besides, what people
didn't used to know, they didn't worry after."
In another sales booth below, an elderly couple were seating themselves,
a salesman facing them. A moment earlier, the trio had walked from a
demonstrator car they had been examining. As Adam nodded, under Smokey's
hand a switch clicked once more.
"... really like to have you folks for clients because Mr. Stephensen
runs a quality dealership and we're happiest when we sell to quality
people."
"That's a nice thing to hear," the woman said.
-Well, Mr. Stephensen's always telling us salesmen, 'Just don't think of
the car you're sell-
wheels-201
ing today. Think Of how you can give folks good service; also that they'll
be coming back two years from now, and perhaps another two or three after
that."'
Adam turned to Smokey. "Did you say that?"
The dealer grinned. "If I didn't, I should have."
Over the next several minutes, while they listened, a trade-in was
discussed. The elderly couple was hesitant about committing themselves
to a final figure-the difference between an allowance for their used car
and the price of a new one. They lived on a fixed income, the husband
explained-his retirement pension.
At length the salesman announced, "Look, folks, like I said, the deal
I've written up is the very best we can give anybody. But because you're
nice people, I've decided to try something I shouldn't. I'll write an
extra sweet deal for you, then see if I can con the boss into okaying
it."
"Well..." The woman sounded doubtful. "We wouldn't want..."
The salesman assured her, "Let me worry about that. Some days the boss
is not as sharp as others; we'll hope this is one. What I'll do is
change the figures this way: On the trade..."
It amounted to a hundred dollars reduction of the end price. As he
switched off, Smokey appeared amused.
Moments later, the salesman knocked on the office door and came in, a
filled-in sales contract in his hand.
"Hi, Alex." Smokey took the proffered contract and introduced Adam,
adding, "It's okay, Alex; he's one of us."
The salesman shook hands. "Nice to know you, Mr. Trenton." He nodded to
the booth below. "Were you tuned in, boss?"
202-wheels
"Sure was. Too bad, ain't it, this is one of my sharp days?" The dealer
grinned.
"Yeah." The salesman smiled back. "Too bad."
While they chatted, Smokey made alterations to the figures on the sales
papers. Afterward he signed, then glanced at his watch. "Been gone long
enough?"
"I guess so," the salesman said. "Nice to have met you, Mr. Trenton."
Together, Smokey and the salesman left the office and stood on the open
mezzanine outside.
Adam heard Smokey Stephensen raise his voice to a shout. "What you
tryin' on? You wanna make a bankrupt outa me?-
"Now, boss, just let me explain."
'Txplain I Who needs it? I read figures; they say this deal means a
great fat loss."
In the showroom below, heads turned, faces glanced upward to the
mezzanine. Among them were those of the elderly couple in the first
booth.
"Boss, these are nice people." The salesman was matching Smokey's voice
in volume. 'We want their business, don't we?"
"Sure I want business, but this is charity."
"I was just trying..."
"How about trying for a job someplace else?"
"Look, boss, maybe I can fix this up. These a.re reasonable people..
."
"Reasonable, so they want my skin I"
"I did it, boss; not them. I just thought maybe..."
'We give great deals here. We draw the line at losses. Understand?"
"I understand."
The exchange was loud as ever. Two of the other salesmen, Adam observed,
were smiling surreptitiously. The elderly couple, waiting, looked
perturbed.
wheels-203
Again the dealer shouted. "Hey, gimme back those papers!"
Through the open doorway Adam saw Smokey seize the sales contract and
go through motions of writing, though the alterations were already made.
Smokey thrust the contract back. "Here's the very best I'll do. I'm
being generous because you put me in a box." He winked broadly, though
the last was visible only on the mezzanine.
The salesman returned the wink. As he went downstairs, Smokey reentered
his office and slammed the door, the sound reverberating below.
Adam said drily, "Quite a performance."
Smokey chuckled. "Oldest ploy in the book, and still works sometimes."
The listening switch for the first sales booth was still on; he turned
the volume up as the salesman rejoined the elderly couple who had risen
to their feet.
"Oh, we're so sorry," the woman said. "We were embarrassed for you. We
wouldn't have had thathappen..."
The salesman's face was suitably downcast. "I guess you folks heard."
"Heard!" the older man objected. "I should think everybody within five
blocks heard. He didn't have to talk to you like that."
The woman asked, 'What about your job?"
"Don't worry; as long as I make a sale today I'll be okay. The boss is
a good guy, really. Like I told you, people who deal here find that out.
Let's look at the figures," The salesman spread the contract on the
desk, then shook his head. "We're back to the original deal, I'm afraid,
though it's still a good one. Well, I tried."
"We'll take it," the man said; he seemed to have forgotten his earlier
doubts. "You've gone to enough trouble..."
Smokey said cheerfully, "In the bag." He switched off and slumped into
one of the green
204-wheels
leather chairs, motioning Adam to another. The dealer took a cigar from his
pocket and offered one to Adam, who declined and lit a cigarette.
"I said a dealer has to fight," Smokey said, "and so he does. But it's a
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