Read Online The Yellow Packard by Ace Collins - Free Book Online Page B

asleep, bodies demand comfort. In this case it was the man’s fifteen-inch neck that set in motion what would become one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.
    When he had initially succumbed to his need for sleep, George’s head rolled over on the top of the car’s front seat. This angle was anything but ideal. Thus, after a few minutes, he unconsciously lifted his head so his chin rested on his chest. Gravity took over from there. Inch by inch, George’s face fell farther and farther forward. It would be that end of that gradual movement that would take the spotlight off the auction and make the Packard’s perspective buyer the center of everyone’s attention.
    George’s nose hit the horn button first, followed a second later by his forehead pressing onto the outer horn ring. With the weight of his body now pushing on the horn, the Packard’s twin trumpets echoed off every corner of the building’s walls and ceiling. The constant sound blast could have likely awakened the dead and was so loud it caused many adults to bring their hands up over their ears and children to run for the exits. Yet numbed by exhaustion, George didn’t react. He heard the noise, but to him it was nothing more than a part of his dream. It was only the muffled shouts of agitated auction patrons that finally jerked him back to reality.
    As his eyes opened, the car’s round speedometer completely filled his field of vision. Still not fully aware of where he was or what he was doing, George ignored the horn and the shouts, all the while trying to figure why the speedometer was so large. It was only when he realized his nose was as flat as a new dime that he began to grasp what was happening. Finally, the screaming crowd and blasting horns jerked him back to the present. Grabbing the wheel with both hands, he pushed himself upright. As soon as his forehead lost contact with the horn ring, the drone of the steel trumpets stopped, and the barn was immersed in a deep, hushed silence.
    Looking out the window, George noted scores of angry eyes and twisted faces. Everyone’s attention was focused squarely on him. Embarrassed, he grabbed the door handle in his left hand and pushed down. As the door sprang open, he stepped out. All eyes were still on the man as the heel of his size-ten, wing-tip, left shoe caught the Packard’s wide, rubber-ribbed running board. Though he made an effort to grab the top of the door with his right hand, he missed it by more than a foot, falling face first onto the barn’s dusty, wood-planked floor.
    Pain shot through his cheeks and down his neck, as a stunned George found the ground as uncomfortable as the Packard’s seat had been inviting. He remained motionless, and an even more dramatic hush fell over the crowd. Finally, just before he regained his senses enough to push himself upright, a woman screamed, “My God, the Packard’s killed another one!”
    In a different time or place, people might have laughed at the frantic woman’s observation, but even as George rolled over, using the car’s running board to lift himself from the ground, no one laughed. In fact no one said anything. The barn remained eerily silent with all eyes locked on to the man struggling to find his balance.
    “Mr. Hall!” Janie Timmons’s voice was dramatically increased in volume by the public address system. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes,” he meekly assured her. But with blood now flowing from both nostrils he looked anything but the picture of health.
    “I’ll check him out,” Johns called out from the last row of chairs, “you all just keep the bidding going. And remember, every dollar goes to orphans, so don’t be misers.”
    By the time the lawyer got to the car, George had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was applying pressure to his nose. Meanwhile, Timmons refocused the crowd and was asking for more bids on a rolltop desk.
    “You took quite a fall there, son,” the lawyer said with a smile. “You