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Thad Gunter knew exactly what he wanted when he walked into the dealership; the salesman was just there as a formality.  The means to an end.  A man of Gunter’s impeccable taste didn’t need the input of some two-bit car salesman, or Automotive Consultant, as it said on the card.  

“Take this down and don’t make me repeat it.  I’m a busy man and have places I need to be.”  Gunter spoke in quick, choppy sentences, machine gun firing details that the salesman struggled to keep up with.  “Get this right, and when the car comes in, if it’s exactly like I ordered it, there’s a Benjamin in it for you, on top of whatever other commission this dump pays you.”

He ordered a brand new Pontimercrosoto DeLuxe Coupe’.  While most people hadn’t even seen one yet, Thad Gunter had all the options and specifications down to the smallest detail.  “I want the 507 cubic inch Multiport Twin-Turbo motor, with the optional dress up package under the hood.  If it can be chromed, it needs to be.  If it can’t be chromed, it needs to be powder-sugar coated in Raven Black with pinstripe accents in Deep Devil’s Blood Red.”

The Automotive Consultant was writing as quickly as he could, checking boxes on the form, and breaking out into a sweat like anyone might who was working on the biggest sale of his career.

“Give me the optional Seven Speed semi-automatic transaxle, two of which are in reverse, with the Ruger-grip shifter.  Kevlar belted radial B.F. Dealrich wide whitewall rubber all the way around with hydrogen-filled shocks.  I want a suspension so smooth my date won’t know when I’m finished.”  The salesman grinned to himself.  “Make sure I get the Titanium clad exhaust system.  The only thing I want people to smell when I pull away from the curb is my after shave and their own envy.”

The salesman was listing options he didn’t even know Pontimercrosoto offered, and Gunter was rattling them off like phone numbers from his little black book.

“For the exterior, I want the Burnt Umber Wonder-Flake Metallic Paint.”  Gunter pulled out a pack of Luckies, tapped the bottom of the pack on the face of his Hamiltex watch crystal, pulled out a cigarette with his perfect pearly whites and lit it using his gold plated Flash-O-Matic lighter.  The salesman was just about caught up.  “I know it’s extra.  Don’t care,” Thad said.

Taking a long drag from the unfiltered Lucky, then blowing out the smoke from the side of his mouth, Gunter took a moment.  The salesman would later tell colleagues, “It was sexy, I don’t care who you are.  I mean, I like girls, but that man was cooler than the other side of the pillow.”  Gunter took another long drag before he went on.

“I want the optional Lizard-Patterned Poly Di-Noc roof covering.  Mocha Butter Brown with contrasting Angel Hair Stitching in Flaxen Cream.  Make sure those stitches are with the ‘good side’ out.  Let me know when you’re ready to start on the interior.”

The salesman felt like he needed a drink, but couldn’t put the pen down.

“I want the Coiled-Cobra interior package, including the four place bucket seats with Mylar and tungsten-metallic threaded faux leatherette upholstery.  I want that in the Charlatan Caramel.”  The salesman looked up at him, surprised.  “You didn’t think I was going to go with the Dark Dictator Brown, did you?  That’s just tacky.”

A crowd of associates seemed to be gathering around the salesman’s desk, at a distance of course.

“Make sure I get the Imitation Nubian Blackwood inserts on the dash and door panels.  All the metallic surfaces should be brushed oil-rubbed brass.”  Gunter lit a new Lucky off what was left of the one clinched in his teeth.  “And this might be the most important part of the whole car . . . .”  The salesman leaned in close, as though the next thing he heard was going to be the secret to immortality.  “I want the AM / FM / LP Album Signal Seeking Interstate Intercom Stereo.”  There was a noticeable gasp in the small crowd hovering in the showroom.  Nobody had ever paid the ridiculous amount for the optional stereo that included a turntable sliding out from the glove compartment, able to play full LP albums and automatically flip them over for Side B.  The charge for that option, and the 24 speakers hidden behind camouflaged acoustically-mastered gold-toned grilles throughout the cabin was more than the 507 cubic inch motor.  “And don’t forget the Witch’s Teat Air Conditioning with Sensor-Touch Thermostatic Control.  Comfort is a top priority.”

The crowd quickly figured out that this would be the most expensive Pontimercrosoto the dealership had ever sold.

When they were done, the heavily perspiring salesman mopped his brow with the monogrammed handkerchief Gunter handed him.  “Keep it,” Gunter said when the salesman attempted to hand it back. “As a souvenir.”

“Of course, with a car this expensive and specialized, we’re going to require a significant deposit,” the salesman said nervously. 

“Screw your deposit.  I’ll write a check for the entire thing right now.”  Thad Gunter took the eel skinned leather checkbook out of the breast pocket of his Botany 737 sport coat.  In a move that the salesman attempted but failed to replicate later, he wrote and signed the check while at the same time lighting the third and final Lucky Strike.  He slowly released the smoke from his lips and sucked it up through his slightly flared nostrils while he signed the check.  Glancing down at it, the salesman saw how the ‘G’ in ‘Gunter’ looked like a small cannon the way he signed his name, a small cannonball sailing over the ‘t’.

The salesman paper-clipped the check to the order and began to get up out of his chair.  Hunter looked up at him.  “If the car isn’t exactly as I’ve ordered it when I come to pick it up,” he said slowly, “I will remove your spleen anally with my bare hand and feed it to my Rottweiler while you watch.”  The salesman stayed late that night dotting the ‘I’s and crossing the ‘T’s, making sure the order was perfect.  He lost 17 pounds in the weeks before the car arrived, worrying about the biggest commission the dealership had ever paid an Automotive Consultant.

When Thad Gunter got the call from Deviant Motors that the car he’d special ordered had been delivered and was ready to pick-up, he yelled to his secretary, Madge Majora, that she’d need to take him to the dealership. She wasn’t aware that it would require a flight from their downtown office to the valley where Deviant Motors was located.    Nonetheless, she kept a bag packed for just occasions and they were on their way to the airfield within minutes.  

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Madge had given up her career in lingerie modeling and the Swedish Massage Arts in order to work for Thad Gunter two years prior.  Her memory was photographic.  Her attention to detail impeccable.  Her breasts were round, yet firm and her legs made an ass of themselves.  Those qualifications earned her a six-figure annual salary.  A salary like that for a single woman of the time period would have made her the envy of her peers, if she’d had any.

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When their flight landed at the airfield in the valley, the rental car Madge had arranged was waiting just outside the gate, a Salmon two-seat Lincillac Thundercloud convertible.  Madge tossed their bags into the trunk, got behind the wheel and glanced over at her boss in the passenger seat.  She pulled the top all the way down, turned on the radio, and started the 335 V-7 engine, leaving the folding canvas convertible top up to shield her fair skin from the sun.  They were at Deviant Motors in less than an hour. After a quick but firm embrace, Madge was quickly on her way back to the airfield in the Thundercloud. Thad Gunter was admiring his latest acquisition.

The Pontimercrosoto DeLuxe Coupe’ was everything Gunter thought it would be.  The crowning touch was one he hadn’t even been aware of when studying the car in automotive magazines.  In the crystal center hub of the steering wheel, cast in a gold and radium alloy, was the Pontimercrosoto mascot, a buffalo-skin clad Indian War Chief wearing a winged golden Spanish Explorer’s helmet covered in turquoise feathers.  On his outstretched arm was an eagle with a beaver clinched in its beak, Mount Rushmore in the background.  The steering wheel itself was worth what Gunter had paid for the car, he thought.

“Where’s the Rottweiler?” the salesman asked nervously as Gunter admired his new motorcar.

“Are you calling Miss Majora a dog?” Gunter asked.

Before he had an opportunity to respond, clarify, or apologize, Thad Gunter had slid the platinum plated key into the ignition of his new Pontimercrosoto DeLuxe Coupe’, slid the gear shift into ‘D’ for “Damn this thing is fast”, and was pointed straight towards Fort Stockton, Texas.

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