Special of the Week

“It’s cold as a witch’s teat out there,” Jimmy “Fastball” Burns exclaimed as he bustled through the main entrance of Everybody Rides used car lot, passing out cheeseburgers, fries, and steaming cups of coffee.

“I ain’t never seen a cold spell like this in the middle of December.”

“You got that right!” agreed Sam Jenkins, also known as Sam “Batboy” Jenkins.

Buzz “Homerun” Renfro took a sip of coffee. “Why don’t you two yahoos shut up and pass me some fries before they get cold.”

J.J. “Coach” Moran, the manager, looked at the three salesmen with mild disgust, the way a father would look at his rambunctious children. “Why don’t all three of you quiet down so I can finish this here book on Joe DiMaggio, the greatest baseball player who ever lived.”

Everybody Rides was the budget used car lot of the mega-dealership, King of the Road Jaguar, Chrysler, Dodge, Kia, Daewoo. In automobile sales, this was the bottom of the barrel. The good used cars were on display in a paved lot adjoining the new car dealership. Everybody Rides was located two blocks from the other lots. King of the Road owner, Wild Bill Hancock, didn’t want a car lot that proudly displayed in bright red letters under its name—NOTHING OVER $3995 and YOUR JOB IS YOUR CREDIT— to be too closely associated with the classier side of his business. As an added punishment, Everybody Rides had to stay open until 10 p.m. while the rest of the dealership closed at 9:00 p.m.

If an outside observer were to come to the conclusion that Coach had a thing for baseball, he or she would be right on the money.

He had coached Little League baseball for over thirty years and never had a winning season. But to hear him tell it, he had always been one hit or pitch away from baseball glory.

The only sounds in the office that evening were the four men inhaling their supper as they chewed, gulped, and belched their way down to the last French fry. Each man had his own story of what brought him to this place. Coach had successfully managed the upscale used car lot for ten years before he punched out an opposing Little League coach who happened to be the cousin of Wild Bill Hancock. The others were exiled to Everybody Rides for different reasons, and in keeping with his passion for baseball, Coach had given each of his “players” a nickname.

Jimmy “Fastball” Burns had been the leading Dodge truck salesman for three years in a row. Nobody knew more about pickup trucks than he did, and nobody could close a truck sale as quickly. Unfortunately, Fastball decided to celebrate his third divorce by driving off in a brand new loaded Dodge Club Cab that he hadn’t cleared with the manager. With a fifth of Jim Beam riding shotgun, he totaled both the truck and his sales career.

Sam “Batboy” Jenkins was a wiry fellow with nervous eyes. Coach had given him that name because, as he frequently reminded him, “Boy, you ain’t even in the game. You can’t score if you don’t get to the plate.” Coach used to call him Third String, but after three consecutive months at the bottom of the sales ladder, demoted him to Batboy.

Sam was the only one of the four men who had never been married. He had allegedly had only two dates, and one didn’t count—the occasion of his senior prom when he paid his next-door neighbor, Debbie Ann Muskgrove twenty dollars to accompany him. Rumor had it that he offered to pay her another five dollars for a goodnight kiss. The truth was that Debbie Ann told Sam the only part of her he could kiss for five dollars was her ass.

Before Buzz “Homerun” Renfro was exiled to Everybody Rides, he was the leading salesman at King of the Road for three years running. Then he hit a homerun of a different sort with Wild Bill Hancock’s personal secretary at the annual office Christmas party who also turned out to be Wild Bill’s secret Santa.

Coach was married to his second wife. Fastball was, as he liked to put it, currently “playing the field. Buzz, also divorced, was heavily involved with Darlene, a former dancer with Sand and Sun Cruise Lines. She was presently employed as senior nail technician for The New You Salon.

Buzz and Darlene had been together for more than a year and, although he had told no one, he was planning to pop the question on New Year’s Eve.

Leaning back in an office chair with his feet propped up on his desk, Buzz fingered the gold-plated money clip in his left front pocket that secured the five one hundred dollar bills he had saved to buy Darlene’s engagement ring. He smiled in anticipation of her excitement. No one could get as excited as Darlene. Buzz’s daydream was abruptly interrupted by the grating voice of Fastball.

“Customer on the lot. It’s your turn, Renfro,” he bellowed.

Buzz lit a Marlboro Light and peered out the office window into the cold, black December night. Who would be looking for a used car at 8:45 on a cold Saturday night? Blowing a spiral of smoke rings toward the ceiling, Buzz said, “Why don’t we give them a few minutes to see if they are really serious.”

Without taking his eyes off the page he was reading, Coach took charge of the situation. “Batter up, Buzz. Get your ass out there and into scoring position. Batboy, you’re in the on-deck circle.”

Batboy grinned at Buzz. “I done taken a peek, Homerun. I can tell from here, she ain’t much to look at and more’n likely she ain’t got no money. Them two kids means she ain’t got no man, which means she ain’t got no money, which means you ain’t gonna make no money. Comprendes, amigo?”

Buzz blew another series of smoke rings toward the door. “Two things, Batboy. First, I’m not your amigo, and second, can you Comprendes that?”

Zipping up his parka, Buzz ground out the remnants of his cigarette in the ashtray, closed the door behind him, and stepped out into the cold night.

___

Agnes was cold. Not just from the threadbare parka she was wearing, but cold deep inside, down in her bones. She felt like her heart was almost frozen shut— like it was barely beating. The only thing on this freezing December night that gave her any warmth was her son, Kenny, and her daughter, Sonja. And they gave her just enough to keep her going a while longer. Ten years seemed like a lifetime ago when she up and married their father, a truck driver twenty years her senior. They met at the small mountain top café where she had worked as a waitress. Harold had promised her the good life, but what he had given her was too many years of misery. He finally left her and the children two years ago with unpaid bills and no goodbyes.

Agnes wasn’t a woman given to bitterness, she was just tired. Somehow, having Kenny and Sonja made the misery worth the trouble. At eight and six, they were still young enough to make up the difference between the poverty and hopelessness with a few well-practiced dreams, the most recent being what Santa Claus might bring them. At least, Sonja had that dream. Agnes wasn’t sure about Kenny. He acted happy enough, but she had seen the sad, uncertain look in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

Working two jobs, one at a nursing home and the other at Taco Bell, didn’t provide much of a life. They had been evicted from their apartment for unpaid rent three days after her truck had been repossessed. Agnes had no illusions about her chances of getting the salesman walking towards her to sell her a car for a fifty-dollar down payment, but fifty dollars was all she had.

___

“How do you do, Ma’am? You gotta a couple of fine-looking children. Name’s Buzz Renfro. What can I do for you?”

Agnes looked at the salesman for several moments before she spoke. “Mr. Renfro, my name’s Agnes Davis and these here are my children, Kenny and Sonja. We are in great need of a reliable vehicle.”

“Yes ma’am. Well, you’ve come to the right place because reliable is our middle name. Every vehicle we sell has undergone a 21-point inspection.”

“Mama,” Sonja interrupted, “I’m hungry!”

“Hush Sonja, we’ll get something to eat when we finish our business with Mr. Renfro.”

Dropping her head at the tone of reprimand in Agnes’s voice, Sonja buried her face in Kenny’s jacket.

“Tell you what kids, how ’bout candy bars and cokes on me while your mother and I check out the cars,” Buzz offered, pulling three one dollar bills out of his pocket.

“I couldn’t let you do that, Mr. Renfro,” Agnes protested.

“I ain’t hungry anyway,” Kenny added, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket.

“Well, I am,” Sonja exclaimed, peering from behind the folds of her brother’s jacket.

“Hey, I insist,” Buzz responded. “Besides, you’ll be warm inside. Ask for a Mr. Moran when you get inside. He’ll show you where the goodies are.”

Agnes relented and Kenny took the three dollars and Sonja by the hand and proceeded toward the office. Buzz lit another cigarette as he and Agnes stood watching the vapor trail of Kenny and Sonja’s breathing as they made their way toward food and warmth.

“Now, Mrs. Davis, what would you like to look at? We only have about an hour until we close.”

Agnes’ eyes escorted her children into the office. “Mr. Renfro, I’m going to be honest with you. I’m in desperate need of a vehicle. I have two children, two jobs— if I can come up with transportation— nowhere to live, and fifty dollars in my right coat pocket.”

Buzz took a deep draw from his cigarette before he spoke.

“Ma’am, please don’t take this the wrong way, but it sounds to me like you need a lot more help than just a vehicle— at least more help than I can give you. You need to get hold of some area churches or the Human Services Department or something like that. Besides, the cheapest vehicle on our lot requires a down payment of several hundred dollars. Maybe you ought to call your family.”

Agnes turned her head slightly to compose herself. “No offense taken, Mr. Renfro. Don’t have no family, but I’ll figure something out.”

She took a deep breath and extended her hand. “I want to thank you for the kindness you showed my children. I’ll be fetchin’ them now.”

“Well, Ma’am, at least let me get you a hot cup of coffee.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Agnes replied as she walked toward the office, leaving Buzz to ponder the crisp night air.

“Hellfire,” Buzz muttered to himself. “Why do I always have to get the hard-luck customers? Life’s tough for everybody.”

He could see Kenny’s and Sonja’s faces peering out of the office window as their mother approached them and thought to himself, Where will they go? What’ll happen to them? What does it matter to me? It don’t.

 All Buzz had on his mind was the wad of cash in his pocket and Darlene. He popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and pretended to check the cars on the lot. He also pretended it would be less embarrassing for Agnes and her kids if he waited until they left.

Buzz watched as Agnes and her children made their way across the car lot toward the bus stop on the corner. As they started to cross the street, Sonja turned and waved to him and shouted, “Hey Mister! Thank you for the candy. I hope you have a Merry Christmas!”

It was at that precise moment that Buzz Renfro went temporarily insane.

He might as well have been hit by a meteor from outer space. The gold-plated money clip in his pants pocket seemed to turn white hot. He felt dizzy, his knees buckled slightly, and even with the chill of the night air, he could feel a bead of sweat break out on his forehead.

Somewhere between Sonja’s “Merry” and “Christmas,” something— some great mystery traveling faster than the speed of light—had penetrated Buzz Renfro and knocked him senseless. In that moment, the fake gold nugget ring on his right hand ceased to exist. Even the image of Darlene became little more than a dancing shadow. Buzz was pulled out of himself into a place he had never been before. It was as if he was having an out of body experience, observing himself running toward Agnes and her two children who were standing under the streetlight, waiting on the rest of their lives.

As he ran, his mind was saying stop, but his legs weren’t listening.

When he caught up with them, Buzz bent over and grabbed his knees, breathing heavily.

“Mr. Renfro, are you all right?” Buzz took a deep breath, sucking the cold air into his lungs. “Yes ma’am, I believe I am. It just occurred to me that we might have a vehicle suitable to your needs.”

“But I told you, I only have….”

Buzz interrupted her, “I forgot to tell you about the special of the week. If you could use a 1992 minivan, you could drive it away tonight for no down payment and one hundred and twenty-five dollars a month.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Agnes’ eyes widened.

“Say yes, Mama. Say yes!” Sonja exclaimed, jumping up and down as Kenny looked on silently.

“Yes,” Agnes said, her face freed up by the hint of a smile, the first she had felt in weeks.

Agnes with her coffee and Kenny and Sonja with their hot chocolate waited in the customer lounge while Buzz filled out the paperwork.

Batboy shook his head. “I would’ve bet a month’s pay that lady wouldn’t have two cents to her name. Can’t believe she’s got the cash for the down payment.”

“Well, believe it,” Buzz replied as he signed the last of the finance forms.

Draining the last of his coffee, Coach looked solemnly at Buzz and cleared his throat. “Well, Homerun, it wasn’t one of our better units— certainly not of home-run caliber, but I will give you an infield hit.”

Buzz handed Agnes the keys. Even Kenny seemed excited. Not like Sonja, but at least pleased. Looking at the keys in her hand, Agnes didn’t say anything. Instead, she put her arms around Buzz and placed her head on his chest. He didn’t know what else to do so he hugged her.

As the minivan left the lot of Everybody Rides, all Buzz could see was the smiling face of Sonja pressed against the rear glass window. Her smile went right through him. His fingers grazed the empty money clip. It wasn’t hot anymore. And he knew Darlene probably wouldn’t be coming down his chimney on Christmas Eve.

Opening a fresh pack of cigarettes, Buzz looked up at the glittering stars and said to no one in particular, “Merry ‘hotdamn’ Christmas.”

About the Authors

Michael Braswell: A former prison psychologist, Michael Braswell taught ethics and justice issues at East Tennessee State University. He has published books on moral issues, ethics, human relations and counseling as well as four short story collections. His most recent books are The Light that Remains: Stories of War and Consequence, When Jesus Went to the Cracker Barrel, and Gracious Plenty. His website is michaelcbraswell.com

Scott Braswell: Director for Marketing and Social Media for the School of Pharmacy at the University of Washington in Seattle, he received his M.A. degree in Creative Writing from East Tennessee State University. He has held previous positions in Communication, Social Media and Marketing including at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, North Carolina State University, and Hearst Media. He is the coauthor of Morality Stories.