A big, long car deserves a big, long story. This one will take a week to tell, a new installment, a new car every day this week, the final chapter on Sunday.

Perry slept through most of the four and a half hour drive to Amarillo, waking up in just enough time to wipe the sleep out of his eyes as they pulled into Panhandle Packard and parked up near the front door to the dealership.  Once parker, Mr. Holden went directly into the dealership to find the men’s room.  Perry stretched and attempted to smooth the wrinkles from his trousers and his face before he went inside.  The sales manager was out the door and in front of Perry, hand extended, before he was fully ready.

“I recognize this automobile.  Didn’t expect to see it back in Amarillo so soon.  We just delivered it to Fort Stockton three days ago, if memory serves.  One of Packard’s finest.”  The sales manger was a fine looking gentleman who was used to dealing with other fine looking gentleman and was a bit put off at the man-child before him.

“That’s why I’m here,” Perry noted, a smile beaming from his chiseled face.  “It was a gift.  A nice one, to be sure.  Lovely car, it is.  But not exactly my style. I’m here to trade it in.  The only miles on it are getting it back to the dealership.  I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”  The sales manager smiled.  He’d been in the business for nearly three decades selling fine automobiles.  He’d never had a child attempt to return one of the finest.  The mere thought of it would have been extremely off-putting, had the young man’s mother not mentioned that might be something to expect.

As they spoke, Mr. Holden returned from the men’s room and took his place just off the front end of the Packard, standing upright in the shade. He listened closely to the conversation taking place.

“I see,” the sales manager said.  “What is it you’re proposing?”

Perry gestured towards the slate gray Caribbean convertible behind the vast expanse of glass that was the showroom window.  “That one would do quite nicely.”

“Ah, yes.  That is a lovely automobile.  Limited run, although not nearly as limited as yours,” the sales manager replied.

“I’m sure you’re right.  But I’m willing to make it an even swap.  You take the limo, I’ll take the convertible.  We’ll call it good and I’ll be on my way,” Perry said confidently.

“Well,” the sales manager replied, “it’s not quite that simple.  There’s the matter of the price difference.”

“No problem,” Perry said.  “Keep the difference.  For your efforts.”

The sales manager chuckled, as did Mr. Holden.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” the sales manager said.  “You would owe a balance of $600, providing the car you were trading was new.  Yours is not.  It’s been titled and therefore, a used car.  One that had a limited market being as special as it is.  I could offer you $2,000 in trade, bringing the difference you’d owe to about $3,200.”

The forced smile melted off Perry’s chiseled face as if it was wax.  The boy no more had $3,200 in his pocket than the sales manager had any intention of making a deal.  In fact, he had nothing in his pocket whatsoever, other than a $50 from a graduation card he’d grabbed from his dresser on his way out the door.  It dawned on him he wouldn’t have any money other than that in his pocket if he didn’t get to Santa Fe, New Mexico for his first cash distribution between ten on noon tomorrow morning.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, not bothering to shake the sales manager’s hand.

Perry fell into the backseat of the Packard.  Mr. Holden took that as his cue they would be resuming the journey and got in behind the wheel, waiting to be given a destination.  He may have had the slightest of non intentional grins on his face, which Perry picked up on in the rearview mirror.  “You knew how that was going to turn out, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Not the details.  Only the final outcome,” Holden replied.  “I knew your mother had called ahead and given them instructions.”

“Then why didn’t you say something and save us the time?” Perry said.

“You didn’t ask,” Holden said.  “Where to?”

“Head west.  We need to be in Santa Fe for the night so I can be at the bank when they open in the morning.”  Knowing they needed to grab something to eat, Perry had Holden stop the car at the Beef Burger Barrel on Plains Street before they headed west on Route 66.  It was a matter of conserving funds till he got the first $1,000 envelope of cash and wanting to get back on the road quickly. Not being sure just any place they stopped would allow Holden to be served inside.  Perry got them each a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke to go. They ate their food in the car in silence, Perry in the back, Holden still behind the wheel.  

A half hour later they were on Route 66 heading west into the sun, maintaining the silence as though they’d been commanded to keep quiet.  The low purr of the 327 flathead straight-eight was barely heard; the 149 inch wheelbase of the Executive Sedan smoothed out any bumps in the road.   Just like his mother’s money.  At some point, just over the New Mexico border, Perry broke the silence.

“I’m guessing you’re not from Texas, Mr. Holden,” Perry noted from the backseat.

“Just completed my first experience with the Lone Star State about three miles back,” Holden replied.

“How’d my mother find you?” Perry replied.

“Someone who knows someone, who knows someone, who knows me,” Holden told him.  “Your mother is a persistent woman.”

“Don’t I know it,” Perry said.  “Why did you take the job?”

“As I said, your mother is a persistent woman.”  Perry sensed that was as much of an answer as he was going to get at this point.

“How much is she paying you?” Perry asked, genially interested.

“A gentleman generally doesn’t discuss his wages or his women,” Holden said, his eyes remaining on the road ahead.  “Either one can lead to resentment or envy.”

“Must be a lot,” Perry said.

“The wages, or the women?” Holden replied, this time his eyes looking towards the back seat to see a slight smile break out on Perry’s face.

An hour went by before there was any other conversation.

“How long have you been driving?” Perry asked him

“Since just about the time you came into the world, I suspect,” Holden replied.

“And just how old are you?” Perry asked.

“About twice your age.”  Holden said.

Perry had other questions, but figured there’d be plenty of time to ask them if the itinerary ended up being the one his mother had laid out.  And, if he was able to figure out a way to cut the whole thing short and head back to Fort Stockton early, none of the other questions would matter much, anyway.

They were hot and tired and the Packard was dusty when they pulled into the El Rey Motor Court outside Santa Fe that night.  “There better not be an issue at the bank tomorrow morning.  I don’t have enough money to get us back to Texas, much less all the way to Fort Stockton,” Perry said as he paid for two rooms and asked Mr. Holden to get the license number off the Packard for the motel registration paperwork.  

“439-Z12,” Holden replied without even glancing out the window, drawing an odd look from Perry.  “I’m good with numbers,” Holden told him in response.

They picked up the keys to two adjoining rooms, got back in the car, and drove around to the back to where their rooms were.  After pulling the huge sedan up between the two rooms, Holden unlocked the truck, grabbed his small suitcase and headed to the door of his room.  Glancing back, he saw Perry standing next to the car, staring down at his matched leather luggage and looking at him expectantly.  “I’m your driver, not your butler.  I’ll see you at 8:00 for breakfast next door.”