The girl moaned. “Not even some of your own? Please, Harv.”

He shook his head very emphatically.

Then she got hopeful. “Maybe they got some in Lynchburg. Harv, sell this kid a car.”

I turned up the gain so I could hear the police cars if they started to come this way. I was sure they would. The longer these stupid idiots fooled around, the less chance they had and the happier I would be.

The idea of selling a car inspired Harvey “Smasher” Lee. Right away he went into his act. “Here’s a Datsun! Another man wanted it but if you buy it quick, I can put him off. It’s a B210. It only has seventy thousand miles on the clock and it’s less than two years old. Only seven thousand dollars! And I’ll throw in five gallons of gas.”

The car was a beat-up wreck. One wheel was folded under. This salesman was pretty good. That was only double what the car had been worth new. I began to have hopes for him. Maybe he would run Heller out of money, for Heller only had two thousand.

“Ah think,” said Heller, “you got somethin’ foah less.”

“Oh, well! Of course I have. Now take this Ford pickup. It’s a real bargain. It’s only been used for hauling fertilizer and we’ll wash it all out for you. For five thousand…”

“Harv,” called the girl, “you better hurry up. We’ll have to leave any minute!”

Heller had been looking at the row of wrecks. There was a huge one at the end, light gray in color. He approached it. It was covered with dust. “How about this one! It’s the right color to be invisible.”

“Hey, kid!” called Mary. “You don’t want that one. It’s a gas hog! It won’t get eight miles to the gallon!”

Harv took position quickly to block the girl from Heller’s sight. “Now, kid, I see you got a real eye for cars. This here is a Cadillac Brougham Coupe d’Elegance! It’s one of the last real cars they made. It’s a 1968! Before they clamped down with pollution controls. Why, there’s five hundred horses right under that hood.” He pointed at it proudly.

“Horses?” said Heller. “You mus’ be kiddin’ me. Let’s see!”

Harvey instantly jumped to the front of the huge gray vehicle and, with some trouble, got the hood up. It was a giant engine. It didn’t look too bad.

“She has a 10.5-to-l compression ratio,” said Harvey. “A real fire-eater.”

“What’s it burn?” said Heller.

“Burn? Oh, you mean octanes.”

“No. Fuel. What fuel does it burn? You said it was a fire engine. What fuel?”

“What the hell… Gasoline, kid. Petroleum!”

“A chemical engine!” said Heller, suddenly enlightened. “Hello, hello! Is it solid or liquid?”

Harv yelled back at Mary, “Is this kid a kidder or what?”

“Sell him a car!” wailed Mary, staring now down the road to town in anxiety.

“Kid, this car is spotless. It was owned by a little old lady who never drove it at all.”

“Harv, stop lying!” Mary yelled. “You know (bleeped) well it was owned by Prayin’ Pete, the radio preacher, before they hung him! Sell him the God (bleeped) car! We got to leave!”

“It’s only two thousand dollars,” said Harvey in desperation.

“Harvey!” screamed the girl. “You told me just last week you couldn’t even sell that car to the wholesalers! Kid, quit letting him snow you under! He’s had that thing for six months and he only uses it to (bleep) the local talent in because it has draw curtains in the back!”

“Fifteen hundred,” said Harv frantically to Heller.

“Two hundred!” screamed the girl.

“Aw, Mary…”

“Two hundred or I’ll tell your wife!”

“Two hundred,” said Harv sullenly.

Heller fiddled with the money, trying to sort out its unfamiliar colors and numbers.

“Wait,” said Harv, grasping at a reprieve. “I can’t sell it to him. He’s under age!”

“Put it in my name and hurry up!”

Harv snatched the two one-hundred-dollar bills out of Heller’s hands and then grabbed enough more for tax and license. He angrily wrote up a sales contract to Mary Schmeck.

I turned up the gain again. (Bleeped) inefficient police. Must be looking in the wrong places as usual.

They certainly would have discovered those two maimed cops by now.

Harv left the hood up. He opened the door and let off the brake. He started to go behind the car to push it and then must have realized it was a hot night. He went to the office and came back with some keys. He slid under the wheel, turned on the ignition. The engine roared into powerful life.

“Hey,” he said in amazement, “it started! Must be a Penny battery.”

“Fill it up,” yelled the girl. “Check its oil, water and tires! Fast!”

Harvey eased the car over to the pumps. He checked the automatic transmission fluid, saw it was all right. He shut off the engine. He topped it up with water. He checked the oil, which, to his disappointment, seemed all right.

“There you are,” said Harvey. “I’ll file for these plates in the morning.”

Heller put the suitcases in the back. The girl got in front. Then the girl reached over and turned on the switch. “Harv! You owe us five gallons of gas! It’s empty!”

With no good graces, Harvey unlocked a pump. Then he had a bright idea. “I’m only allowed to sell tankfuls now. It’s a new rule!”

“Oh, God,” said the girl, looking down the road toward town. “Hurry it up!”

Gas was shortly gurgling into the monstrous tank. The girl said, “You didn’t check the tires!”

Harv grudgingly went around and filled the tires up. Then he took the gas nozzle out of the filler pipe and put on the cap. “That’ll be forty dollars!” he said. “The price just went up again and we haven’t had time to post it on the pumps.”

Heller paid him. The girl took the sales receipt. She scribbled her signature on a power of attorney card for the new license and threw it at Harv. “Now, let’s get the hell out of here!”

Heller apparently had seen Harv start it. He turned the ignition key all the way over and the engine blasted into life.

“Hey,” said Heller, “so that’s the way horses sound.”

“Beat it, kid,” said Harvey.

“There’s just one thing,” said Heller. “How do you fly it?”

Harv looked at him bug-eyed. “Can’t you drive?”

“Well, no,” said Heller. “Not a chemical-engine Cadillac Brougham Coupe d’Elegance,” he added, wanting to be exact. “With five hundred horses.”

“Jesus,” said Harv, softly. Then he brightened. “That’s the automatic shift lever. Put it in park when you are through with the car. That N means neutral and to hell with it. The L is low and you won’t never need it. The D is drive one. You won’t use that. That second D is where you keep it.

“Now, that pedal down there… no, the other one. That’s the foot brake and you push it when you want to stop. This other thing to your left is the hand brake and you use that when you park on a hill.

“Now, that thing there on the floor is the accelerator. You push it to speed up.”

There was an instant deafening roar as Heller tramped on it.

“Don’t rev it up so!” squeaked Harvey. The engine slowed. “And there you are. You got it?”

I caught a distant chortle of police cars.

“Is this the wheelstick?” said Heller, touching the steering wheel.

“Yes! Yes! You turn it to go to the right, you turn it this way to go to the left. Hey, I forgot to show you the lights. This is the light knob… Well, turn them ON!”

“Let’s get out of here!” wailed the girl.

Harv had his hand on the open window ledge. He bent close. “Kid, this car will do a hundred and thirty. If you get out there and kill yourself, don’t come back here complaining!”

“Jesus!” screamed the girl. “The fuzz!”

And there they came! Two of them! The first one bounced over the curb and into the used-car lot. The second saw them at the pumps and swerved toward them.

Heller engaged the Cadillac in drive!

He stamped on the accelerator! He almost tore his own head off.