Chapter 65: I Sent the Engine Out for Boring
“How much did they offer?”
I asked casually, doing my best to appear calm.
“One million two hundred fifty-six thousand dollars for all thirty. Hold on a moment. I’ll send you the breakdown by vehicle.”
Looking over the figures Chuck sent me, I saw that the margin ranged from at least eight thousand dollars per vehicle to more than ten thousand on some.
They really are desperate.
Considering the vehicles’ condition, those were margins that would ordinarily have been difficult to achieve.
In other words, Blackwood was still aggressively sweeping up inventory regardless of condition.
I composed my voice again and spoke calmly.
“One point two five million isn’t bad. But Chuck, the truth is, Sterling Selection’s purchasing team contacted me too. They offered more than that.”
“What? How much did they offer?”
Chuck’s voice became slightly urgent.
That was understandable, since his commission depended on the sale price.
“We’re still negotiating, but it looks like they could go as high as one million three hundred fifty thousand dollars.”
“One point three five million? Is that true? Whew. What in the world is going on?”
Chuck sounded extremely confused.
Even with his long experience, he must have known these were clearly abnormal prices.
But I did not rush.
This was a game in which the anxious side lost.
“Whew... Understood. I’ll speak with them again, so wait a little. They seem very determined to buy these vehicles. Heh.”
“All right. I’d prefer to sell them for a higher price too.”
I remembered Gary and Rafael competing over the Corvette C2 not long ago.
Gary had seemed prepared to bid higher no matter what the other side offered.
Blackwood’s behavior now was remarkably similar.
Sure enough, less than five minutes after we ended the call, Chuck called again.
“Jason, one million four hundred one thousand dollars. What do you think? In my opinion, it’ll be difficult to push them any higher...”
From my experience with him during the previous auction, Chuck’s instincts were quite reliable.
That amount was also slightly higher than I had expected.
“Is that so? Hmm, understood. Then let’s close the deal at that price.”
“Oh! Understood! Thank you! We’ll sign the contract at that figure!”
Chuck’s excited shouting came through the receiver.
The moment I pressed the button to end the call, I dropped heavily into my chair.
After only a few short phone calls, all the strength seemed to drain from my body.
“Whew... The sums involved are incredible.”
The thirty vehicles consigned through Chuck had cost eight hundred thirty-four thousand dollars.
That meant I had just made a profit of five hundred sixty-seven thousand dollars.
Under the contract, I was to receive forty-four thousand dollars, equal to two percent of the purchase amount, just like Lucas, plus an additional one percent of the sales profit.
The percentages might look small at first glance.
But considering that Rafael still held thirty-four vehicles and eight more would be sold through Sterling’s auctions, it was obvious that I was about to earn more than I ever had before.
“Jason, are you okay?”
Noah looked at me with concern from beside me.
Whine—
Dusty had come over as well and was rubbing his soft fur against my limp arm.
“Yeah. More importantly, after we finish today’s work, let’s go to Little Anthony’s and eat hamburgers. We’ll stuff ourselves with Anthony Specials.”
“Really? Yes!”
Early the next morning, I loaded the Super Bee’s engine into the truck and headed to the machine shop Steven had recommended.
Engine boring required specialized machinery, so I had no choice but to outsource it.
{MILLER ENGINE MACHINING}
Like most long-established shops in Arizona, its sign had been weathered by the intense sun and blowing sand.
Well, as long as people can still recognize the sign, it doesn’t really matter.
A place like this did not attract random passersby.
Only people who already knew about it came here.
Clank—
When I opened the door and stepped inside, the familiar smell of oil and the faint scent of metal greeted me first.
The shop was fairly large, yet every inch of space was packed with machinery.
They have a cylinder boring machine, a honing machine, and even a crankshaft grinder.
Even an outsider could tell the machines were not new.
However, the way certain buttons and levers had been worn smooth made it feel more like a veteran’s shop.
“Excuse me!”
Because the grinding sound of metal filled the entire space, I practically had to shout to announce my presence.
Screeeeech—
Only then did the man sitting in front of the boring machine turn his head slightly and look at me through thick glasses.
“What engine?”
“A 1971 Super Bee 318 small-block!”
You can’t even place an order here unless you have a strong voice.
Even after hearing my answer, the man continued operating the machine for quite a while.
Then, with a grunt, he rose from his seat.
That must be Miller.
Without saying another word, he walked past me and headed into the parking lot.
“It’ll take about a week.”
The man spoke after briefly examining the engine block in the truck.
“A week is fine, but I need you to do it according to these specifications.”
Without wasting words, I handed him a note I had prepared in advance.
“Huh?”
He alternated between looking at me and the paper as though wondering what it was, then adjusted his glasses.
[Work Order: Dodge 318]
Target Bore: 3.9400 inches (0.030-inch overbore)
Torque-plate honing required
Deck Height: Square-machine to 9.580 inches
Inspect main-line bore and verify cam-bearing alignment
A brief silence followed.
The man’s eyebrows twitched behind his glasses.
“Whew. Listen, young man. You want me to mount a torque plate just to bore an ordinary 318? The labor will cost more than the engine!”
(Translator’s Note: Torque Plate — A rigid plate bolted to an engine block during honing to simulate the distortion produced when the cylinder head is installed and tightened.)
A torque plate was a thick plate mounted on top of the block to account for minute distortion.
Unless the engine was expensive, most shops skipped it.
“It’s a high-compression Mexican 318. I don’t want even a one-thousandth-of-an-inch error after the heads are torqued down. And I’m using molybdenum rings instead of chrome, so set the crosshatch angle precisely to forty-five degrees.”
“...”
Miller stared at my face for a moment before speaking again.
“Then what about the RA?”
“An RA between fifteen and twenty. I’ll inspect it with a gauge when it’s finished, so please be thorough.”
(Translator’s Note: RA / Roughness Average — A numerical measurement of a machined surface’s microscopic roughness. In engine building, the required finish depends partly on the type of piston rings being used.)
“Ch.”
When I warned him that I intended to inspect the work myself, he clicked his tongue briefly.
At the same time, the way he looked at me changed.
His annoyance shifted into mild curiosity.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a kid who even considers how molybdenum rings will seat. Fine. I’ll do it properly, so inspect it yourself and take it only if you’re satisfied. I don’t want to hear complaints later about tolerances being off.”
“Yes. That will be enough.”
“Well, I’ll be damned...”
Miller carefully folded the note I had given him, slipped it into the pocket of his work clothes, and brought over a forklift to unload the engine from the pallet.
“Move aside!”
Watching him grumble even though he was going to do everything I had asked reminded me of the construction sites where I had once worked.
I could not help smiling.
Rumble, rumble, rrrrrumble—
From a distance, the deep exhaust note unique to a V8 engine cut through the heat rising from the ground.
Before I could even identify who it was, Dusty, who had been napping in the shade beneath the workbench, perked up his ears and ran outside wagging his tail.
“Woof! Woof!”
The vehicle that pulled up in front of the workshop was a yellow Chevrolet El Camino with white stripes.
(Translator’s Note: Chevrolet El Camino — A Chevrolet vehicle combining a passenger-car body with an open pickup-style cargo bed. The first model year was 1959, and General Motors advertised it as “more than a car—more than a truck.”)
Mateo stepped out wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
An El Camino. That suits Mateo.
The Chevrolet El Camino had pioneered a new type of vehicle at the time, with the front half of a sedan and the rear half of a pickup truck.
It even had a big-block V8 under the hood, making it a perfect blend of individuality and practicality inside and out.
“Oh, Dusty! It’s been a long time!”
“¡Dusty! ¡Hace mucho que no te veía!”
Mateo expertly caught Dusty as the puppy rushed toward him, then pulled a small treat from his pocket.
Chomp, chomp—
Meanwhile, Noah, who had been organizing tools inside, came running out with shining eyes.
“Mateo! You really came!”
“Hola, Noah! I brought you some tlayuda!”
After greeting Noah with a fist bump, Mateo pulled a large bag from the vehicle.
It contained the “Mexican pizza” the three of us had enjoyed before.
Although Mateo hated it when anyone called it pizza.
Leaving Dusty engrossed in his treat and Noah delightedly holding the tlayuda, Mateo entered the shop while looking around.
“Whew, Jason. You’re living well.”
“Mateo. Thank you for coming.”
Instead of a fist bump or handshake, Mateo and I greeted each other with a friendly Mexican-style embrace.
Because the Super Bee restoration was on a tight schedule, I had specially asked Mateo to come here.
The plan was for him to remove the interior trim and seats and take them back for restoration, while I sent the remaining body to the paint shop.
“Oh, so this is the car. The Mexican ‘Bee.’ These used to be very common, but now they’re difficult to find even in Mexico. You never disappoint, Jason.”
Mateo spoke as he slowly walked around the exterior.
“The interior may disappoint you.”
At my words, Mateo opened the door and leaned inside.
“Hmm...”
The cheerful mood from moments earlier vanished immediately.
With a stiff expression, he touched the dashboard and seats.
“I see. There are several major problems.”
A short while later, Mateo climbed out and accepted the drink I handed him, speaking gravely.
“First, the dashboard. It must have sat under the sun for a long time, because the whole thing is crumbling. If it were an American model, a Charger dashboard might fit, but not this one. The gauge-cluster rings are also a problem, although I think I can manage those somehow...”
Gulp, gulp—
“Ahh! If you want to preserve the original interior, the door panels are another problem. The door length, handle position, and window frames are all different, so nothing is compatible. If you’re willing to go custom, I can fabricate new ones, but...”
“No. That would reduce the car’s value too much.”
I firmly shook my head when Mateo glanced at me cautiously.
“Whew. I know your style well, Jason. But there’s no solution when the parts simply don’t exist. The most serious problem is the logo emblems used throughout the interior. You’ll hardly ever find things like those even if you search eBay.”
Mateo clicked his tongue in frustration.
Parts for the Mexican-market Super Bee were almost nonexistent.
Their part numbers were not even registered in the American Chrysler-Dodge system, making simply identifying them a challenge.
In other words, the car was a holy grail for collectors and a nightmare for restorers.
That was why I had told Hailey I would handle this car.
“Mateo, I’ll find the parts somehow and send them to you. Write down everything you need and start with whatever work you can do.”
“Well, if you say so, Jason, understood. Then let’s start stripping it!”
Mateo retrieved an old toolbox from the bed of the El Camino.
When he snapped it open, a well-used pry bar, trim-removal tools, and socket wrenches were neatly arranged inside.
Mateo’s almost supernatural “disassembly show” began immediately afterward.
Pop, rattle, snap—
He had said it was his first time seeing this vehicle, yet he located every retaining clip and bolt in an instant, as though he had taken the car apart dozens of times.
“Wow... I’ve never even seen anything like this in a video...”
Noah stood beside him with his mouth hanging open, staring as though entranced.
Exactly one hundred twenty minutes later—
“Whew, that should be everything.”
Mateo straightened his back with a grunt.
In front of him stood the stripped, naked body of the Super Bee.
“We’ll handle the loading.”
Noah and I made Mateo sit in a camping chair for a while as he dripped with sweat.
Then the two of us loaded the removed seats, dashboard, headliner, and other components into the bed of the El Camino.
“I already knew you were skilled, but seeing it in person is astonishing. Once this busy period is over, I’d like to speak with you separately.”
The moment I saw him work today, I became certain.
Mateo and I needed to have a more serious business discussion.
“Hahaha, really? It’s embarrassing to hear you say that!”
While cooling off, Mateo carefully wrote down the required parts on a sheet of paper and handed it to me.
“Then contact me once you’ve obtained the parts. I’ll be going now!”
“Thank you for coming today. Drive safely.”
“Mateo! I’ll enjoy the tlayuda too! See you next time!”
“Whine...”
Vroooom—
With me, Noah, and Dusty, who was saddened by the farewell, seeing him off enthusiastically, Mateo left the workshop like the wind.
“All right. Then let’s hurry and load the car onto the trailer so we can take it to the paint shop.”
“Yes!”
{@PIC:824961}
[1972 Chevrolet El Camino]