streamingout of the barn and began to gather around the cars. Parson watched for Zoe and then he saw her, wandering along, admiring a small painting sheâd obviously just bought.
The Barracuda was the big-ticket item and so the auctioneer would offer it last. The other cars were nice but not particularly rare, and they went fairly reasonably, the GTO with the butchered console topping the bunch at $16,200. When the auctioneer began to sing the praises of the âCuda, Parson got up from his place in the shade and began to walk. He reached the periphery of the circle surrounding the auctioneer as the man was stating that the car was ânumbers matching.â
âItâs not,â Parson said loudly.
The auctioneer turned on him. âI beg your pardon.â
âThatâs not the original engine,â Parson said. âThat motorâs out of a â68. It has nine to one compression heads, and a cast iron intake manifold. Tear it down and youâll find the crankshaft has four-inch main bearings. The Hemi they made in â70 was four and a half.â
It was pure double talk but Parson was pretty sure it would fly. He stood looking at the auctioneer, not in a challenging manner, but rather as someone just wanting to set the record straight. This was the tricky part of the proceeding. Everything that Parson had said was bullshit and if there happened to be somebody present who could verify that the car actually was as advertised, Parson was out of luck. But that rarely proved to be the case. Even if somebody suspected that Parson was bluffing, people were usually reluctant to present themselves as experts when there was money at stake.
The auctioneer was not happy. He shifted his glare from Parson to a man in a pink fleece pullover, standing just outside the door to the barn. The man was obviously either handling the estate for the family or, more likely, a relative of thedeceased. As Parson watched, the man looked skyward and shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated gesture. That was it for the auctioneer. He was pissed at the development, not just for the lost revenue it would cost him, but also because his company had advertised a vehicle that, apparently, was not what they claimed. He made a little speech, the standard spiel about buyer beware, clearing the house of all liability, and said that they would continue.
When the bidding began, Parson offered a couple times for appearanceâs sake, then dropped out at fifteen thousand. Zoe bought the convertible for twenty-two five. Parson knew it would have reached at least three times that if he hadnât spoken up. The auctioneer knew it too.
Parson walked to the Escalade and drove off, stopping again at the gas station at the corner, while he waited for Zoe to pay for the car and obtain the title and bill of sale. She showed up fifteen minutes later, getting out of a cab, still carrying the painting. She handed Parson the remainder of the cash in the envelope and he put it in the console as they drove off. He would send somebody over that afternoon to trailer the car to his shop.
âYou pay yourself?â he asked.
âYeah,â she said. âThe dude in the pink sweater was bad-mouthing you.â
âHe shouldâve pulled the car,â Parson said, âthe minute I opened my mouth.â
âThatâs what the auction house told him,â Zoe said. âToo late though.â
âFuck him.â
âHow rare is it?â
âRagtop, with the Hemi and the automatic, they made nine that year.â
âSo whatâs it worth?â
Parson smiled. âItâs worth whatever I can get for it.â
Zoe lit up again, to Parsonâs dismay. âTell me something,â she said. âWhat are you going to do when the day comes that you canât get somebody like me to do your bidding? Pardon the pun.â
âCome on, Zoe. Donât you treasure these moments
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