Closers

    A 2009 Dodge Caravan pulled into the lot, circled once through the inventory, then settled in an open stall in front of the showroom. Not enough gross in the world to eat up that negative equity. Next. Neil returned his attention to the solitaire game on his computer screen, made small enough to allow him to switch back the Customer Relationship Management program that the sales managers would expect to see should any one of the five of them pass his desk. Minutes later, a 2014 Honda Fit parked next to the Caravan; a young Indian couple walked through the door. Too much work for a mini. Let the greenpea get his dick wet. He continued aimlessly dragging and double clicking on cards, essentially letting the game play itself. For a moment, he considered following up on the leads in the CRM, but thought better of it. 

Right on cue, Clark, sales manager #4 approached his desk. “Making your calls, Neil?” he asked.

“You bet, boss,” Neil hadn’t made any calls, but did log a series of “Call Attempt; No Answer” dispositions in the CRM.

“Great. Really gotta get people in the door. We want 100 new Hondas this month. We need you, buddy.”

“Let’s make it 120.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Clark extended a fist, and Neil casually gave him the bump. 100 cars in February? No Fucking way.. Neil returned to his card game, periodically looking out the window for the right opportunity. 

Shortly after five o’clock, there were three cars on the lot: a 2004 Chevy Impala with no matching tires, a 2008 Honda Accord hauling a family of 5, and a 2013 VW Golf hovering over the luxury section of the used inventory. Neil walked directly toward the Golf, passing on the credit criminal in the Impala and the family sure to want 3rd row seating at a 2 row price. By the time Neil approached his mark, the driver of the Golf, a twenty-something in tailored business casual, had already zeroed in on his car: a used 2016 Mercedes C-Class. Neil salivated at the prospect of a cock-sure young professional who had more budget than common sense. The only problem was the Benz; there wasn’t much gross in it. The used car manager had offered too much when they took it in on trade, and the fair market value was hardly enough to cover the reconditioning costs. Neil would have to hold an extra grand or two on the trade to make a decent commission on it. Neil was confident that he could make it happen, but thought it best to flip the kid into the 2015, which was better equipped, similarly priced, and--most importantly--had about five grand of profit to work with. If Neil could get him at sticker while also getting the guy to accept a trade allowance less than its appraised value, he’d be looking at a monster commission, one that could pay off the outstanding balance on his youngest--and favorite--daughter’s tuition bill that his ex-wife refused to split. You wanted her to go to that hoity toity school, you pay for it. Neil knew there was a way to get her to pay, but couldn’t afford a competent lawyer to make it happen. 

As the young man peered into the driver’s side window, Neil made his move: “Just brought her in. Beautiful iddint she?” Startled, the young man turned to Neil and nodded his head. “Neil Parkins. And you are?” 

The man accepted Neil’s handshake and took his hand with a firmness that surprised him. “Connor Kemp. Nice to meet you.” 

At this point, protocol was for Neil to ask if Connor had ever been here, and specifically, if he had worked with another salesman. Neil rarely followed this step. The computer would sort everything out. If he was logged into the system, then he could hand the customer over when the time came, and maybe do enough work to claim half of the commission. And if the customer had worked with a salesman who didn’t log him into the system, that other salesman didn’t deserve a dime. They called it skating, taking a customer that another salesman had worked.

    Neil didn’t know shit about this M-Class, but also knew it wouldn’t matter; young men never wanted to be told too much about cars. Instead, Neil just asked a series of obvious yes or no questions to which Connor could only answer, “yes.”

    “Iddint that a sharp black finish?” Randy asked.

    “Yes,” Connor replied, without breaking his gaze at the car.

    “Mercedes is all about fit and finish. Don’t you love the detail on those alloy wheels?”

    “Oh yeah.”

    “And look at that leather interior. All class, ain’t it?” Randy finished, unaware of the irony in his diction.

    “It really is.”

    This is what they call “Yes Momentum.” Neil knew from his years in the business that the more you can get a customer to say yes, the more they begin to take mental ownership. Oldest trick in the book. With other customers he might ask either/or questions to guide them to a specific car, but Connor clearly knew what he wanted. This would be Neil’s lone challenge. Neil offered to take Connor for a test drive. Almost unaware that this would be an option, Connor handed over his license for Neil to make a copy. Once behind the wheel, Neil started pointing out the obvious shit: the soft leather dash, the touch screen, the 12-way seat adjustment. He exited the dealership promising that Connor would have his chance behind the wheel once they found some open road for him to open it up.

    They found their spot and Connor took his rightful place in the driver’s seat. After fiddling with the mirrors for an eternity, Connor shifted into gear and gingerly applied some gas. Neil encouraged Connor to open her up, and Connor obliged. Neil knew at that point that this kid would take the car home, but he still needed to flip him to a car that could make Neil some real money. As they returned to the lot, Neil told Connor to pull into the “sold row.” Of course, no such thing existed, it was just a couple of open stalls, but if Connor didn’t object, he had taken mental ownership. Connor did as directed and put the car into park.

    “So, how much is this one going for again?”

    “Thirty-five nine.”

    “How much do you think they can come off on that?”

    “Unfortunately, I don’t have a say in that. I do know they price these cars to sell though. We gotta put an attractive number on the sticker to compete on the internet, ya know?”

    “Sure, but there’s some room to come down, right?”

    “If this is the car you want to take home tonight, I don’t want price to get in the way. I tell you what, though, did you see that ‘15?”

    “Well, I came here for this one. I’d like to see what you can do on this one.”

    “Of course. I’ll get you the best deal I can. But how ‘bout we take out the ‘15 and see which one you like better. It’s a grand cheaper and comes with the luxury package. I think you might be surprised. I’ll get the keys, you can take a look and then I’ll work numbers on both. How’s that sound?”

    “Well, sure. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

    Neil grabbed the keys to Connor’s soon-to-be new car. Sure enough, Connor loved it. While the differences were negligible, Neil played up the upgraded sound system, which seemed to be enough to tip the scales for this young hot shot. At this point, Neil had built up enough rapport with Connor to pick up the small talk. 

    “So what do you do, Connor?” Neil asked as he looked out the passenger window.

    “Actually, I’m also in sales,” Connor replied.

    “Oh yeah? What do you sell?”

    “Weight loss supplements. I mean, I don’t sell them, per se. I’m more of a sales coach these days.”

    “Sales coach? Pretty impressive for a young man like you. How’d you wind up with that gig?”

    “I started as a salesman a few years ago, hit it hard as hell. Made 100 grand in my second year.”

    “No shit?”

    “No shit. Hustled my ass off and got to top ten in the region. Got a team working under me, and now I mostly just coach them.”

    “Then I guess I’d better bring my A-game if you know all of the sales tricks.”

    “Naw, you’re good. In fact, I appreciate the fact that you’re showing me a cheaper car. I don’t like when I feel pressured into the expensive shit by a salesman trying to get his nut.”

    Neil was relieved that the kid didn’t know all of the tricks. “Well, that’s my philosophy. I want to find the car that is the best fit for you. You’re a young professional. This car is certainly more your style, and I can get you a better deal on it.”

    “I appreciate that, Neil. I think I’d like you to run some numbers on this one when we get back.”

    “No Problem. I’ll get your Golf appraised right away.”

    Neil walked the kid to his desk and gave him a complimentary bottle of water, the only courtesy granted to customers spending thousands of dollars at the dealership. He took the keys to the Golf and gave them to the used car manager to get the appraisal started. When he returned, he put the kid’s information into the CRM. He’d not been claimed by another salesman, so Neil wouldn’t have to split the commission. 

    The kid had sent out all of the buying signals. Neil knew he had him. The only question now was whether to rip his head off. He was a nice kid, and didn’t seem to put up much of a fight, but as the old dog in the used car office used to say, pigs get fed, hogs get slaughtered. The kid was in sales, so if Neil penciled a deal with too much gross off the top, he might ruin the rapport he had established. Of course, Neil also knew that these types of deals don’t come around often. Most used cars were stickered between two and three thousand over cost, which could mean up to a 600 commission. The ‘15 was listed at five grand over cost, and if he got close to sticker on the deal, Neil would be looking at at least a grand. He thought of how he could pay off that last little bit of tuition for the semester, how he’d have the freedom to buy a round or two of drinks tonight at the lanes. This one deal had the potential to give him a lot of breathing room. 

    After Neil entered the information into the CRM, he went to the used car office to get the appraisal for the Golf, then took that and the other information into the sales office. Dan, sales manager #3, was ready for him. “Neil, do you realize how much gross is in that Benz?” He asked.

    “Oh hell yeah. I flipped the kid from that ‘16.”

    “So how you want to play this? This kid gonna needle you, or do you think you can get him on the first pencil?”

    “Well, the kid is a salesman, but I don’t think he’s the type to put up much of a fight. He wants a little discount, but I don’t think he’s gonna grind me down.”

    “Does he have any expectations for trade value?”

    “I don’t think so.”

    “Excellent. Alright, so let me know what you think of this: His Golf was appraised at 20k. Let’s hold two grand on the trade and show him 18. Then we’ll take a grand off the Benz. You think he’ll go for it?”

    “I’ll see what he can do.”

    Neil took the negotiation paper and took a moment to collect himself. Holding two grand on the trade while only taking a grand of the new car meant that Neil would be looking at a 6 grand gross. From that, he would get a $1,650 commission, a once-a-year type of deal. He considered how he would approach the conversation. This set up was not the typical pencil, where you start at sticker price and then go back and forth. The idea here was to get him on the first pencil: no counter offer. This is where Neil shined. He could hardly be bothered to peel his pleated dockers from from his office chair to take an up and he never made cold calls, but if there was a guy that could close a deal in one pencil, it was Neil. The kid was a mark, but he couldn’t over play it. He needed to give off the impression that he and the kid were on the same level, make the kid feel like he’d already won the negotiation. A minor slip up, and the kid would demand a bigger discount, or worse, walk. New guys could never be trusted to attempt something like this because they’d already come in their pants before hitting the desk. This was what Neil was born to do.

    Neil returned to his desk, where the kid was looking at his phone. If he was on KBB, Neil could be fucked. But as he walked closer, he saw the kid was on Instagram. Praise the lord. 

    “Alright, Connor,” he began as he took his seat, not yet revealing the negotiation form, “so here’s the deal. Normally, how we do these things is we start with sticker price and then whittle it down a hundred or so at a time. But you’re a fellow sales professional, so I don’t wanna fuck around around. I asked my boss to just do the best he could so we don’t waste your time. Here’s what we can do for you.” He slid the paper across the desk and set the pen on top of it. Connor looked at it for a moment, then punched some numbers on his iPhone calculator.

    “Anything more you can do on the trade?” he asked.

    “That’s really out of my hands. We’ve gotta be able to make something on it to make it worth our while, and the VW’s have been a tough sell with the emissions scandal.”

    “For sure. I get that. It’s just that I’m not totally sure I want to trade it. I mostly want the Benz for business, you know? Looks impressive, and I can pile some miles on it without giving a shit, and I thought I might just hold onto the Golf to have fun with it.”

    Neil’s heart sank. Without the trade, he’d lose 2k gross, which would mean a 600 dollar cut in his commission. He had to keep it on the deal. “No problem,” he said, “We can always take it out of the deal, but my boss gave you the discount on the Benz expecting that we would have a car to make some money to offset our loss, so we might have to kick up the price five hundred or so.”

    “Hmm. Yeah, that makes sense. Alright. What do you need from me then?”

    “Just a title, a check, and a few signatures, starting with one right here.”

    Connor looked at the negotiation form one last time, then took the pen Neil offered, and signed his name, agreeing to terms.

    “Congratulations, young man. You just bought yourself a Mercedes Benz. Not a whole lot of guys your age can say that in this town.”

    Neil took the signature back to the sales manager’s office, refraining from smiling in order to act like this was an everyday sort of deal. He set it down on Dan’s desk. “Write that bitch up,” he said. Dan gave him an are-you-fucking-serious look and then wrote up the sales contract, printing out the rest of the paperwork as he wrote on the triplicate form. Neil returned to his desk with a stack of papers. 

    “Alright, we just need your signature a few times, and then I need you to fill out the credit app,” Neil said as he placed the folder of papers on the desk.

    “Oh, I don’t need to fill out the credit app. I’m paying cash,” Connor said, still staring down as his Instagram app.

    “No shit?”

    “Yeah, I figure, why take on the interest, right?”

    “Damn, you must be killing it.”

    “Yeah, NutriSlim has been good to me.”

    “I guess so. So how did you get into it?”

    “I had a buddy start selling it after college when he couldn’t find a job. Started making bank, so I asked him to hook me up.”

    “So how does a person get into it?”

    “Well, it takes an initial investment, but the stuff sells itself. My friends used to give me shit, saying that it was a pyramid scheme, but you can call it what you want. I’m on track to do 300k this year, and all of those friends who used to make fun of my pyramid scheme are working under me now.”

    “300? Hot damn. If you don’t mind me asking, how come you’re looking at used cars?”

    “I just bought a house cash, so I didn’t want to take on too much at once. Figure I’ll probably get a Tesla in a year or two, if any of those come into the lot, keep me posted.”

    “You bet. So what kind of time commitment does it take to sell that stuff?”

    “Depends on how much you want to make. I’ve got housewives, lawyers, all kinds of people who do it as a side hustle. Others do it full time.”

    “You said investment. How much are we talking?”

    “Well, to start off, you need to buy our starter package. This will give you the tools, training, and products to hit the ground running. It’s a little under 700 dollars, but if you sell all the products that come in that initial package, you double your money.”

    “So am I selling the product, or trying to add team members?”

    “Right, the pyramid scheme thing. It’s multi-level marketing. NutriSlim has found that word of mouth through social media is much more effective than traditional advertising, so they’d rather put their marketing money into the hands of our team members, the ones who are putting it out there.”

    “So does this shit work?”

    “Neil, you wouldn’t believe it. For real. I was never obese or anything,  just always a little chubby. Now I don’t want anybody getting the wrong idea, so I won’t take my shirt off, but if I did, you’d see that it works. And if you want, you can ask her.” Connor slid his phone over to Neil. On the home screen was a picture of Connor standing on the beach with his arm around a perfectly sculpted blonde with a smile that could light up the deepest depths of the ocean. 

    “Damn, she’s beautiful! Oh to be young again. When I was your age, I had’em lined up.”

    “I bet you did, Neil. Anyway, I don’t want to push this on you, but I have to tell you that I liked your approach. I think you could tap into a market that my team hasn’t been able to hit yet. I think you’d be a good candidate to join the team part time if you want to try it out.”

    “Shit, if you’re making money like that, I might just have to.”

    “Great. Listen, I don’t need you to make any decisions today or anything, but I am going to be putting in my orders. I can email you some information. If you decide to join, all you have to do is put in that first payment for the starting package. We’d love to have you, so take some time and see if you think we’d be a good fit to go into business.”

    Neil wrote his email down on a piece of paper and slid it over. They carried on with the paperwork, and Neil turned it in to the finance office. Neil continued to talk to the kid while they waited for his turn with the finance manager. There was something in Connor that reminded Neil of himself. He was a smooth talker, a bit cocky, but had a good heart. If the kid wasn’t loaded, Neil would have regretted making so much off of him, but Neil figured that any kid making that kind of money didn’t need to sweat a couple thousand.

    Carl, the finance manager finally made his way over to Neil’s desk with the paperwork in hand. Neil could tell that Carl wasn’t happy with the deal, which was typical of finance managers who took cash deals. Cash deals meant no backend for Carl, unless he was able to tack on a 3000 warranty. It’s a hell of a lot easier to break that 3000 down into 60 payments for a finance customer, where he could present it as just a few extra bucks a month. Neil didn’t give a shit; Carl made enough money. Just take the fucking check so we can send this kid down the road. There were still ways for this deal to go sour, so Neil knew not to consider that commission his quite yet. 

    As Neil nervously waited for Connor to emerge with the the paperwork declaring him the new owner of the Benz, he opened the email Connor sent with the NutriSlim information. It looked like every other MLM business that he’d seen. MLM companies are more about selling the opportunity than the product itself; the product is the opportunity. Neil knew this. He’d made a few bucks on some and got burned on some others, but if this kid really made what he said, this could be a sweet side hustle.

    Then again, how did he know the kid was for real? Yes, he was currently writing a check for twenty-five thousand dollars, or at least Neil thought he was. It hadn’t happened quite yet. The kid could just be full of shit. Maybe he had some kind of scam going. Maybe he would back out. Maybe he was just fucking with Neil. And even if he wasn’t, maybe he only made a fraction of what he said. For all Neil knew he could be living in a ratty two-bedroom with his best friend from high school. Neil knew what it was like to be a young hotshot. You only spend enough to get laid: cars, clothes, dinners, whatever it takes to be somebody. Neil himself had lived in a dump as a young man, but would romance women with extravagant dinners and nights at hotels, racking up charges on a card that would hopefully be paid off with the next month’s commission. But even if the kid was not exactly what he said he was, Nutrislim could still make him some extra cash. If he could just make an extra thousand a month he would be sitting pretty. And shit, with all of the downtime that he had on the showroom floor, he could easily push some product.

    Soon, Connor emerged from the office, paperwork in hand. Neil greeted him offering the usual post sales service, “Congratulations, Connor. I got her washed and gassed up out front. How about I walk you through the features and get your phone connected?”

    “That’s alright,” Connor replied, “I’m taking the girl to the city, so I gotta run. But I really appreciate how easy you made all of this. And again, I really hope you’ll consider joining the team.”

    “I might just do that. Take care, and enjoy. And let me know when you wanna get the lady something nice.”

    “You bet, Neil.”

    The kid got in his new car and drove away. Neil looked at the clock and saw that it was 6:40. His shift ended at 7. No point in taking on a customer, he figured. He had his bowling league tonight, and taking on a customer would mean another two hours at least. Figuring he’d made the dealership enough money for one day, he told Dan he had to leave. Dan had come to expect this sort of thing from Neil, and knowing he would be useless in that last twenty minutes, he granted Neil his wish. Neil didn’t work Thursdays, so today was his Friday. He’d arranged everything to line up just right. He took Thursdays as his day off so that he could let loose when he met up with his bowling league. He only had his daughter every other weekend, so Wednesdays nights were all his.

    When he got home, his house was empty. Sonja was working second shift at the gum factory and would meet up later. Neil poured himself a Jack and Coke and lit a cigarette. When both were finished, he took a shower, packed up his balls, and drove his 2005 Honda Pilot to Don Carter Lanes, Rockford’s premier bowling alley, one complete with a two story bar, an arcade, and an off-track betting window. On the drive, Neil considered throwing a few bucks at the ponies, but remembered his daughter’s tuition. She wasn’t in danger of getting kicked out of school, but the longer he waited, the greater chance of an embarrassing situation in front of her classmates whose parents had no problem with the tuition bill. He wouldn’t play the horses tonight.

     Ron was already placing his balls in the rack when Neil arrived. Neil and Ron had known each other since high school, which was not uncommon in Rockford. They’d drifted in and out of each other’s lives, but the two saw each other through their most trying periods, the divorces, Neil’s always present and occasionally severe gambling problem, Ron’s alcoholism. Though they would never truly realize it, each would be the most dependable person in the other’s life. To Neil, Ron was his bowling buddy, one to share some laughs and memories. Ron was a solid bowler, though he didn’t hold a candle to Neil’s accomplishments on the lanes, accomplishments that included four perfect games. While Ron had done a much better job of distancing himself from his demons in recent years, finding God and a good woman whom he would not divorce, Ron looked up to Neil. Here at Don Carter Lanes, Neil was the man.

    “Hey there, old man,” Ron called out to Neil, looking up from the rack.

    “Ready for the big night?” Neil said, alluding to their face off against their only true competition in the league.

    “You know it. Lanes are looking good tonight.”

    “They always are.” Neil never felt more comfortable than when he rolled on these lanes. He knew just where the grease let up, the exact point that his ball would break. Though he’d bowled on hundreds of lanes in his life--including his yearly pilgrimage to Reno for the big tournament--all of his perfect games came at Don Carter. This is something that Neil would always have to explain to the casual bowler; all lanes are different. Yes, the measurements are all exactly the same, but the way that they are greased determines what kind of ball he uses, where the ball breaks. He’d never sniff a perfect game in Reno because he didn’t have that intimate knowledge of the grease pattern, and he would consistently fail to even come close to his average. Don Carter would never host a tournament with a promise of a big purse, but it was home, and there, Neil was somebody. 

    “Make any big deals today?” Ron was always curious about Randy’s work, despite his own job at the aerospace plant carrying infinitely more prestige and double the money. Really, that was one of the ironies of car sales; no matter how reviled a car salesman is, no matter how badly people have been burned by shady dealership practices, people are forever fascinated by them. 

    “Oh yeah, buddy. Some hot shot kid came in on a used Benz. Tore his head off. Kid had money to burn though. Makes a killing selling this weight loss supplement. Pulled in 300 grand this year.”

    “No kiddin’,” 

    “Oh yeah. Hell, I’m thinking about doing some work for him, myself.”

    “Don’t tell me it’s one of those pyramid schemes.”

    “More or less, but Ronny, you shoulda seen this kid. Livin’ the dream.”

    “Yeah, well let’s see where that kid is in a few years after a new fad hits the street and he can’t find anymore suckers.”

    Neil knew that Ron had a point, but Ron wasn’t a salesman. He had the fear. You don’t last long in sales if you have the fear. People with the fear are too busy looking for reasons why something won’t work out. The dealership brings in new guys at a three per month clip, and most of them have the fear. They have every reason why they shouldn’t close the deal, why they shouldn’t try to make as much money as possible. Neil was a salesman. He jumped on opportunities. He took risks. 

    Still, Ron’s words stuck with him. He placed his balls on the rack and walked to the bar to order their usual drinks: a Diet Coke for Ron and a double Jack and Diet Coke for himself. Waiting for the bartender, he couldn’t help but resent Ron’s comment just a little bit. He knew that he had played the part of a sucker in the past. He’d gambled and lost on his own used car shop in Loves Park. He’d grossly miscalculated the viability of a life with his first wife. But that happens. People call you a sucker until you hit it big, and then they don’t say shit. Neil knew there was no guarantee in this NutriSlim game, but there was no denying the potential. 

    Still waiting at the bar, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Opened it up and saw he’d received an email: 

    Hey Neil, it’s Conner. Just wanted to thank you for your help. Meant what I said earlier too. I could use a guy like you on my team if your looking for some cash on the side. I also realized that in the information I sent you, I left something out. I got a promotion right now for our gold package. It’s not something I usually recommend, because it’s a bit too advanced for our new reps to take right off the bat, but I think you can handle it if you’re ready to fuck. Normally the package lists for 2,899, but if you enter the code PerkinsGold then you can get it for 1,599. It comes with all of the training materials of the starter package, but you get some VIP perks and tools that give you a leg up on the other reps. Glenn Gary leads, you know? You also get 5 times as much product. Most importantly, if you’re able to move all of what comes in the package, you’re looking at a take home of 15k dollars. There’s so much markup in this stuff, but people keep buying it. It might take you a month or two, but it’s a pretty massive payoff, right? The best part is that there is no time limit. If you take a week or a year to sell it, it doesn’t matter. It still pays the same. I’ve had guys unload their first gold package in under a month simply by following our social media plan. If you’re interested, all you have to do is submit your order to our website. And you can take as much time as you want, but I do have to let you know that I only have 4 codes to give, and it’s kinda a first come, first serve sort of thing. Wish I could get more, but I don’t make the rules. I’ve offered it to a handful of other people, but I’d really hope you consider, because I think you have a better chance of selling it than them. Anyway, whatever you decide, it was great working with you. Good luck with your bowling league!

    Neil saw through the kid’s tactics, but he didn’t mind. You’ve got to create a sense of urgency to close deals. After closing the email, he checked his balance in his bank account: $1,987.45. He had a little wiggle room if he wanted to pick up the gold package. He wasn’t going to say shit to Ron about the offer.

    He returned with the drinks and saw that the Steves had arrived. Their team of four was ready to roll. The Deadwood Hookers, their competition, were also ready. The teams shook hands, preparing for the start. There was no bad blood between the teams, as they had all, at some point, been teammates in other leagues. Regardless, this was a big match, and there was a healthy competitive spirit between the two teams. Neil, still high off of today’s big deal, was pumped. He carried that momentum into his first game, scoring a game-high 254.

    He’d found his rhythm and was settled in, so he felt confident enough to order another drink. Normally, he’d order a double on his first and then go back to singles so that he wouldn’t lose control. Tonight, he’d get one more double before reverting back to a more conservative drink. Ron didn’t notice, and probably wouldn’t have said anything if he had. It wasn’t unusual for Neil to over-indulge, and when he did, Ron was always willing to drive him home if Sonja was unable. Neil’s second game betrayed no hint of inebriation, coming in at 248. Through two games, Neil’s team, The Turkey Club, had built up a very healthy lead over the Hookers. 

    The teams agreed to take an extended break between the second and third game, allowing them for bathroom and smoke breaks, smokers now being relegated to the outdoor patio since the Illinois Smoking Ban. Neil took the opportunity to do some research on NutriSlim, on the gold package, and even on Connor. The site looked legit, not some fly-by-night operation like the usual pyramid scheme. Through other websites, Neil perused a series of testimonials from both customers and reps, most positive, though some reps expressed disappointment at being unable to move the product that they had paid for. Neil saw these complaints as no different from the many who try and fail to sell cars at the dealership. They have the fear. 

    The most encouraging bit of research came from Connor’s Facebook page. It was littered with pictures of him and his girlfriend in exotic locations, even videos of him speaking at sales conferences before hundreds of people. You can’t fake that, Neil figured. Neil navigated back to the NutriSlim website, where he found the list of products. There they were, just as Connor said. He started doing the math in his head. He needed to write a tuition check before the end of the month so that the school would not withhold transcripts as his daughter began applying to colleges. Fortunately, he had the big deal coming through, not to mention other smaller deals that would be funded before the next payday, only two days away. If he wanted to order the gold package, he would have to live off of a couple hundred bucks for the next two days. No problem, he figured. Knowing there were only a few minutes before the 3rd game, he removed his debit card from his wallet, and entered his information to claim his very own gold package. 

    Neil felt alive. Things could finally start coming together for him. He could get out of credit card debt, maybe even be able to pay for his daughter’s college tuition. He didn’t want to keep grinding away like a sucker, brooming snow off of cars in February, living paycheck to paycheck. This extra income could give him the freedom that he’d once thought he could find in the car business. He ordered another double, ready for the final game.

    The Turkey Club went on to win the match easily, thanks to Neil’s inspiring performance. After the match, seven of the eight men from the two teams made their way over to Shooters to have a few more drinks and shoot some pool. Ron said his goodbyes. He could handle being around the drinking sitting at the lanes, but walking into the bar offered a bit too much temptation tonight. The remaining men talked about their games, recounting the near misses while praising the clinic put on by Neil. Neil considered planting some NutriSlim seeds, but thought better of it. When it came time for the men to settle up their tabs and leave, one of the Steves took on the duty of bringing Neil, now reeling from what became a $115 bar tab, back to his apartment he shared with Sonja. 

    Neil woke up the next morning on the couch, which was often the case when he came home drunk. He knew they didn’t fight, as Sonja, a survivor of many of her own toxic relationships, never minded Randy’s drinking as long as he was nice to her, but she couldn’t handle his snoring when he would fall asleep drunk, so she would tuck him into the couch. On this morning, Neil couldn’t really remember getting home. He began to work backwards through his memory. The last thing he remembered was shooting pool at Shooters. Then he remembered winning the match, and then he remembered placing his order for the gold package. He felt a bit sick to his stomach when he remembered how much money he’d spent, but was still encouraged about what it could mean for his future. 

    Sonja entered the room with a cup of coffee and three Tylenol pills. She, a heavy drinker in her own right, was the greatest hangover nurse Neil had ever known. She never made him feel guilty about his bad decisions, mostly because she would be making her own when her Friday night--which was actually Friday--came. “Musta been a good one. Feeling ok, hun?” she said.

    “Been worse,” Neil mumbled. “Had to celebrate. Real nice deal yesterday.”

    “Oh? Finally gonna be able to take me back to Vegas?”

    “One day. Gotta take care of that tuition check.”

    “Babe, I love you for doin’ right by your kid, but I can’t wait til you don’t have to pay that tuition no more.”

    “I know, baby. Just wait. Things are gonna pop, and then we can go to Vegas, or Fort Meyers, or any of them places you wanna go.”

    “Mmhmm.”

    Randy meant it. As soon as he could take care of his debt, the tuition, and maybe college, he was going to give Sonja the world. He got up and joined her in the kitchen, where she was making a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon, a combination that somehow always felt like a special treat, even though Sonja made it three times a week.

    A few hours later, Sonja left for work. Neil was feeling much better, but still didn’t have much energy to do anything. He was happy staying in the house, maybe watching a movie or two. As he was scanning the channels for something to watch, his phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was work. Fuck. Normally when work called on his day off, that meant a customer he’d worked with showed up unannounced. He would either have to show up within an hour, or the deal would go to someone else, and he would have to split it. He had no intention of coming in, but he still answered the call to make sure they wouldn’t fuck up his deal by giving the customer to a greenpea. 

    “This is Neil,” he answered, as if there would be somebody else answering his cell phone.

    “Hey Neil, it’s Carl. I need you to do me a favor.”

    “I ain’t coming in. I’ll split whatever I’ve got in there, just don’t give ‘em to Jon. Kid can’t hold gross for shit.”

    “Huh? Oh, no, you don’t have anybody coming in. I’m just working on getting all the deals funded, and I need something from your deal yesterday.”

    “The kid?”

    “Yeah, Connor. I kinda fucked up. I forgot to get the kid to put a signature on the credit app.”

    “Credit app? Kid paid cash.”

    “Well, he gave a down payment, but had a change of heart and decided to finance most of it.”

    “Why the fuck would he do that? Kid’s rolling in it.”

    “I mean, I guess.”

    “What do you mean? He pulled 300k last year.”

    “Did he tell you that? Yeah, he was blowing smoke up your ass. Big talker, that one.”

    “The fuck you talking about?”

    “Don’t get me wrong, he does pretty well for himself, but he made a little under ninety thousand this year. I guess he did say that there was some big payday coming or something, but yeah, not exactly Donald Trump.”

    “Fuck.”

    “Oh, no, you’re all good. The deal’s gonna get funded. He’s pretty overextended on credit--couple cards pushed to the limit, but he always pays on time, so I didn’t have any problem getting it done.” 

    “Well that’s good, I guess.”

    “You guess? You’re looking at a monster commission on this one. Don’t worry.”

    “It’s just that… well, never mind.”

    “Alright. Well if you could just have him stop in, that would be great.”

    “Yeah, no problem, Carl.”

    Neil hung up and tossed the phone back on the coffee table. He considered calling the bank to see if he could stop payment on his gold package, but didn’t give in to the fear. Goodfellas was on AMC.