Breverik's office

Breverik in his office gets a call from a friend's wife

              I sit at my mahogany executive desk, the window to the back of my chair. This is the highest point in the dealership, speaking both literally and figuratively. When the phones stop ringing and when the meetings end for the day, I swivel to look out on the lot. I know the anatomy of a breathing car lot. I’ve got the wanderers, the hesitant men who stray along the ends of the lot as to avoid the gaze of my sales sharks. Those wanderers don’t realize that the sharks don’t work on vision; they can smell interest, even the smallest whiff of it. When they smell that interest, they will poke and pitch until the interest is oozing from the clenched teeth of the soon to be new car owner.

 People don’t step onto the lot or into the showroom floor to look. They come to be convinced, to be sweet-talked because they’re money is the great equalizer, in the single instant when they’re money is not in my business, but is a signature away from my pocket, we are equals. Its when they sign the papers, get the payments planned, that is when I’ve got the customer on my line. I‘m no fishermen, and these people aren’t fish, but damn I’ve got them baited. The phone rings and I put it to my ear, but keep my peak out of the window, Jerry is leading a guy all the way from the edge of the lot into the showroom floor, “Hannah, I’m done taking calls.”

            “I know Mr. Breverik, but its Cassandra Bruckley. She says she needs to speak to you about Mr. Bruckley.”

            It was always something with Ed. Ed has lost himself in the red lights of New Orleans on a fat Tuesday, or Ed blew up on a waitress, or Ed jabbed the wrong guy in the chest.  Ed Bruckley, vice president of Breverik dealerships and my long-standing, alcoholic friend is supposed to be off on vacation. He’s a lanky man, aging like I am, but the age loosens the skin around his bulging eyes more than it does on mine. Anyone looking in on him would think he’s a goof, an odd assemblage of physical features; the gapped front teeth, the balding head and the specks that magnify his already protruding eyeballs. He has facial features that could only be collaged by a syphilis infected, Picassian God. But I love the guy and he is my favorite drunkard, I can imagine him wherever he is, twiddling a tooth pick in between his teeth before a cigarette. “What the hell has Ed done now, Sandy?”

            “He’s gone missing that’s what the hell he’s done.” Cassandra’s voice was a collection of frustration and despair. You knew that any woman who would sit passenger side to Ed in his SRT Viper truly loved him, or hated him enough to let them both die in a high-speed wreck. It can be hard to tell with Sandy and Ed. With me, Katrina only gets mad at me when we have closed the doors to the bedroom, but with them, Sandy will pull the fights of their bedroom into the drinking conversation on the outside patio.  

            “When did you see him last?” I need to make a note to promote Jerry. A salesman that could pull an outskirter straight into the building needed a little extra, maybe a new watch.  “Sandy?”

            “I don’t know Warren, I’ve been looking after the grand babies.” She started. I wonder if Jerry would fight me moving him to the dealership down the street if it meant a raise in pay for him.

            “Give me one second Sandy.” I put her on hold, and extended to Hannah, “Hannah, make a note for me to speak with Jerry about a promotion.”

            “Of course, Mr. Breverik.”

“Sandy, do you remember anything that he has said to you?”

“He said that he had an idea, and that we would be able to start a college fund for the grand babies. He told me it was a secret, and now I haven’t seen him for a couple nights. Why are you still giving this man vacations Warren?”

            “He’ll turn up, Sandy. You can’t have the search party out every time Ed slips out of sight for a couple days.”

            “Yeah. Alright well happy holidays Warren.”  

            “You too Sandy, goodnight.” To myself I laughed because I had remembered a joke Ed had told last Christmas eve.

            “Hey Warren. What have you got when you have nuts on your wall?”

            “I don’t know, what have I got?”

            “Well you’ve got walnuts, and what have you got when you’ve got nuts on your pine?”

            “What have I got Ed?”

            “You’ve got pinenuts of course.” He said. “And when you’ve got nuts on your chest?”

            “What have I got, chestnuts?” I asked and sipped my red wine.

            “Nope, you’ve got a dick on your chin.” And he slyly hissed smoke from his gapped teeth.  The guy will turn up somewhere.

Author's Note

I'm starting this novel minimally so I don't drive myself insane

Reviews

[Rosemary]

Seems cool by what we've read. Do add more soon! Would like to know more about the dynamic with Katrina, :)

P. S. LOVED the bit with the sales sharks description

[Chadvonswan]

Perfectly descriptive, i re-read this right now, and you are setting the scene beautifully for this Breverik fellow. I like this s**t, ZAK