Read Online Switcheroo by Robert Lewis Clark - Free Book Online

stopping only to remove my contacts
and brush my teeth.  Sleep was instantaneous and merciful.  I had one of those
really great dreams, where something really wild is happening but it’s okay
because you know it’s a dream. So you’re thinking ‘I gotta tell somebody about
this in the morning.’  Unfortunately, I remembered no details when I awoke.
    I began to reflect on the previous
night’s events, which also seemed like a dream.  The trucks really did switch.
Now what was I gonna do. I had no real plan to find the missing truck and about
twenty field calls to do for LISA starting Monday.  I needed to work today.  It
was noon. Too late to get an early start, oh well.
    By two o’clock I had eaten a
turkey sandwich at home, had three cups of Starbucks, and cleaned up to head
out.  Again, the weather was in the mid-sixties and seemed warmer in the bright
sun.  Top down in the LeBaron, my destination was Fast Eddie’s Auto Mart.
    I passed about half a dozen used
car lots on Chapman Highway before I pulled into Eddie’s.  On the north part of
Chapman you were never far from a pawn shop, a liquor store, a cheeseburger
joint, a used furniture store and any number of auto dealers who would let you
make weekly payments on a sled with no warranty and a sketchy title history.
    Eddie’s system was simple.  Let
the bank lend the money on the front line.  A high interest finance company
handled the second line. Anything in Eddie’s back row you could finance on
weekly payments to Eddie himself.  All payments were due by noon Saturday or
‘you walk to church on Sunday’ per the sign in Eddie’s office.  Eddie reminded
every customer of this when he had them sign their loan papers.  I had handled
a few of his front line cars and some of his floor plan financing when I was at
the bank.  He was a jovial guy, a true salesman.  He never met a stranger and
he had carved out a good living. Eddie’s lot was one of the oldest on this
strip.
    His office was an old mobile home
with a stick-built addition and a large covered porch.  Several people were on
the lot looking at cars, with salespeople in tow. A salesman greeted me,
looking past me at my Chrysler. Sizing up my trade in, I guess. I knew he was
figuring it would need to be put in the back row if they acquired it. I didn’t
need long to size this guy up. In need of some bridge work, hair too long,
belly too big and pants too short. He took a business card from his frayed
oxford shirt pocket.
    “Is Eddie in?” I asked.
    “Be here in about an hour, but he
won’t stay.  He’s headed to Gatlinburg for the evening.”
    “I’ll be right back then.” I
walked back to the LeBaron.  I drove to Auto Zone and bought a Haynes manual on
Ford Ranger pick ups. By learning everything that was normal for these trucks,
maybe I could find out what made these particular trucks special.
    Eddie had not changed much.  He
was a little thinner, more gray at the temples, but he was just as animated. 
He had a Muppet quality about him.  When he spoke and moved, you expected Frank
Oz to jump out from behind him at any second. He sat behind a desk cluttered
with post-its, credit applications, deals and trade magazines. Stacks of deal packets
were on the credenza behind him. A few had fallen over and were partially
covering his computer keyboard.
    After we reacquainted ourselves, I
got down to the business at hand.
    “A client of mine bought two Ford
Ranger pick ups from you recently. I needed…”
    “Now Rust, none of my cars are
warrantied. In fact, I get ‘em to sign at least three papers saying so,” Eddie
said defensively
    He misunderstood me. Most people
do.
    “Look, Eddie, it’s nothing like
that. There’s no legal action against you.  I am trying to find out where these
trucks came from, who owned them previously?  One was recently stolen,” I said.
    “You think the previous owner
stole it?” He relaxed now he saw this visit was not about him.
    “I don’t