Sold. Blair Denholm
a two-finger tap on the door frame. Max’s eyesight must be getting worse; the boss was sitting so close to his computer, it looked like he was pashing the monitor. No reaction; a louder tap, this time with his wedding ring.
Max started as if waking from a trance.
‘Gaz, come and sit down.’
Max nodded towards one of two black leather armchairs. Mugs of steaming coffee sat on a tray with a plate of chocolate biscuits. All set up for a cosy chat about business and life in general.
Gary fought his instincts to start talking; he hated silences and often spat out the first undigested thought that popped into his head. The smart thing to do now was to let the boss start. When the big guy finished, Gary would ask for the advance. Max poured milk into his coffee, added sugar and stirred at such a leisurely pace, Gary thought he was watching a slow-motion replay. He squirmed in his seat.
‘There’s no easy way of saying this,’ said Max. ‘What’s going on, son? The latest sales figures confirm what I already suspected. You’re dragging the chain. Even the new guys Hassan and Tony have had more success in the last couple of months. I’m worried about you.’ Max spoke in an even tempo, as he always did with Gary. His protégé could back a vehicle over a customer and Max would find a way to blame the customer.
‘I knew you’d be hauling me in here sooner or later and I’m kind of glad you did.’
Gary rolled up his sleeves, symbolising his desire to get on with the job. He read about this subliminal tactic in a self-help manual and now was as good a time as any to test out the theory.
‘Things have been a bit shit lately, I’ll admit it,’ said Gary. ‘But business in general is a bit slower than normal, right? People don’t have spare cash to spend with the downturn in consumer confidence, the end of the mining boom, rising unemployment. Shit like that’s a game changer.’
‘That sounds like a cop out, especially coming from you.’ Max frowned. ‘It still doesn’t explain the new blokes outperforming you. Something deeper’s troubling you. Are things right with Maddie? I need you to be honest with me.’
Gary summoned up all his courage to tell Max the truth, but couldn’t help pouring out the bullshit. Even as he began to speak, a wave of shame spread through his body. His face felt flushed and he itched everywhere – worst of all, in the damn balls again. He slid the clipboard across his lap and gave his testicles a relieving scratch.
‘It’s Maddie’s mum. She’s dying of leukaemia and I’ve been borrowing money from this guy in Surfers. He’s a mate of a mate, you know the deal. I’m gonna pay him back but he’s putting the hard word on me. I don’t know what to do. The more I worry, the harder it is to do my job properly. I’m so sorry Mr Buckley, I should have told you before things got out of hand.’ He picked up his coffee with shaking hands and took a sip.
‘You’re damn right you should have told me. I reckon we should contact the police. Or maybe one of our bikie customers.’ Max’s eyes narrowed in thought. ‘A word from one of those heavies should see that loan shark off your back. Just give me the bloke’s name and I’ll fix it.’ Max leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his ample chest, nodding as if he just solved a problem vexing humankind for centuries.
For a moment, Gary thought Max might have a good plan. But in reality it’d never work. For one thing, Jocko was mates with the Sergeants-at-Arms of the two biggest gangs in the city, the Cossacks and Satan’s Sons. Photos of Jocko sharing a beer with the two outlaw bikies hung in the bookie’s office. For another, just because Max sold a few cars to these guys, didn’t make them best buddies. As for contacting the police, forget it – everybody knew the cops on the Gold Coast were at best incompetent, at worst in cahoots with the crims. No, it was time to make Max see sense and stump up the money.
‘I know what you’re saying. I’ve thought about those options myself. But seriously, it will just cause me and Maddie even more trouble. For you, too. This bloke’s in the back pockets of the Cossacks and the Sons and those guys would chop your head off, rape your wife and daughters and burn down this car yard before you could blink. And to be honest, I’d hate to see anything bad happen to you because of my stupidity. You gave me a job when I needed help. I’ll never forget that, ever.’
‘How much do you need?’ Max asked bluntly. The horror scenario with the bikies must have changed the boss’s mind.
‘Three thousand nine hundred dollars, to be exact.’ Gary gave his sac another swift scratch. ‘But here’s the thing. I’m one-hundred percent confident my Russian client will come good. He’s gonna lay down at least a hundred grand; I’m thinking he’ll go for the more expensive cars. He was eyeing off the late model Porsches. I reckon he’ll take the BMW 328I Sport for himself. My commission on that alone will clear my debt and whatever I make on the other three I can use to help Maddie’s mum.’
Gary’s plan to let Max do most of the talking flew out the window like a bird on a Broadbeach breeze. But Gary was on a roll.
‘I reckon this Russian dude could easily afford brand new Rolls-Royces for himself and his family, but my instincts tell me he got rich by not throwing his money away. Not like other Russian guys you hear about, Mafia and that. Solid used cars with a prestige badge make more sense than new ones that lose half their value the minute they leave the showroom.’
He hoped all this detail would make Max think Gary had done his homework.
‘So um, maybe you can advance it to me?’
Max leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. For what seemed like five minutes, Max weighed his decision.
‘Okay. I will give – lend – you the money, but on two conditions. First, promise you’ll have nothing further to do with this crook. And second,’ said Max, drawing in his breath as if pronouncing a death sentence on his own child, ‘you mustn’t speak about this. I have a reputation as a bit of a hard arse myself, and don’t want word getting around that I’ve become a soft touch. If you blab, I’ll sack you on the spot. Understood?’
Gary exhaled with relief and stifled a chuckle. Other car dealers thought Max Buckley was a pushover who gave customers discounts and extended warrantees without being asked.
‘I promise you won’t regret this.’ Even as he spoke, Gary worked out the mathematics. Sell four expensive cars. A couple of grand to keep, so not a bad result, as long as Ivan didn’t give him the runaround, which was always a possibility. The more Gary thought he understood human nature and what motivated people, the more he realised a surprise lurked around every bloody corner. But please God, no surprises this time.
‘All right,’ said Max. ‘I can see you’re stressing about Maddie and her mum, so how about you clock off after lunch. See you back here on Monday morning, bright and early. Let’s just hope your Russian friend turns up. You don’t get the money if he fails to buy.’
‘Sure boss. He’ll be here, I know it.’
Gary made his way to his own car, a 2010 Ford XR6 with green metallic trim sporting a Gold Coast Titans sticker on the back windscreen. His mobile buzzed – Maddie.
‘Hi, babe.’
‘Hi, Gaz. What’s happening?’
‘Busy as. I’ve got a few fish nibbling and hope to offload some units early next week. They’re bloody expensive, so the commish should be a couple of grand, could be a game changer. Take you out to dinner at that new Thai restaurant in Surfers everyone’s raving about. Waddaya reckon?’
Gary opened the car door.
‘That sounds great, honey,’ said Maddie. ‘I knew you’d turn the corner. What time will you be home tonight? I’ll cook a T-bone for you.’
‘Oh shit, babe. Max wants me to stay back after work tonight. Team meeting with me and the new blokes.’ Gary tried to inject a bit of I’m sorry into his voice. ‘He wants me to pass on some of my knowledge