Chapter 67: The Rat with the Long Tail
I’ve been coming to this neighborhood a lot lately.
Scottsdale, one of Arizona’s famous affluent districts.
I thought this as I looked up at Sterling Selection’s headquarters building.
It was a neighborhood I had never once had any reason to visit in my entire life.
After passing through the enormous wooden doors carved in an antique style and entering the lobby, the security guard approached me as usual.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Jason. Are you here to see Director Hailey again today?”
This was already my third visit, following the first auction and the day I delivered the completed Super Bee.
Perhaps because of that, the security guard seemed to have memorized both my face and name.
“Hello. Yes, that’s right.”
Beep. Slide—
Using the visitor pass the security guard gave me, I passed through the security gate, took the elevator, and went up to the fourth floor, where Hailey’s office was located.
Knock, knock—
“Yes!”
When I knocked on the glass office door, a bright voice came from inside.
“Hi, Hailey.”
“Oh? Is it that time already? Sit wherever you like.”
Hailey glanced at the clock on the wall as she spoke.
I had noticed it before, but Hailey’s office was unexpectedly neat.
The desk, chairs, and floor were all a clean white, and the cityscape of Scottsdale spread widely beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Still, her personal tastes subtly showed through in things like the pen topped with a pink pom-pom in the pencil holder and the matching pink neck pillow.
“Looks like you’re still studying hard.”
I spoke while looking at the thick classic-car catalog on her desk.
Its corners had been polished smooth, clearly showing how many times she had flipped through it.
“Of course. I still have a long way to go before I catch up with you or Dad, though...”
“Really? Curating is a different field, so I wouldn’t know, but Lucas and the others seemed to think highly of you.”
“Huh? ...Really? Hehe.”
Hailey lightly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled.
“Anyway, shall we settle the fees first? I have plans this evening.”
That afternoon, I had arranged to meet Jack, Cole, and Steven for drinks at The Rusted Spur Saloon for the first time in a while.
They wanted to celebrate the successful restoration of the Super Bee.
“Okay! Then let’s confirm the contract terms first...”
The two of us sat across from each other at the wide table in the center of the office and exchanged several sheets of documents.
“You receive two percent of the amount spent purchasing the vehicles in Mexico.”
“Right. That’s forty-four thousand one hundred forty dollars.”
Tap, tap—
As I worked the calculator, Hailey wrote the figure into the blank section of the document.
“And then one percent of the profit. That refers not to the final auction profit, but to the profit from the consignment sales. Correct?”
“Right. Twenty-four thousand one hundred seventeen dollars.”
“Hmm... Then the total is sixty-eight thousand two hundred fifty-seven dollars.”
Tap, tap—
“Oh, you got it right. You’re quick at mental arithmetic, Hailey.”
I quickly checked the calculation on the calculator before speaking.
“What? You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“No. Of course not.”
One of the most common misconceptions and prejudices in America was that blonde white women were stupid.
Another was that Asians were good at math.
“Still, the incentive from the profit is much larger than I expected. I didn’t think it would exceed twenty thousand dollars.”
“That surprised me too. This Rafael you consigned the vehicles to must be extremely capable.”
“Yeah. He’s capable and impressive. He’s usually very relaxed, but once he enters business mode, his nerve and experience are incredible.”
Rafael had handled the remaining thirty-four vehicles after excluding the thirty consigned through Chuck.
He had successfully sold them to Blackwood’s purchasing team for the enormous sum of 1.62 million dollars.
“Hahaha! You chose the cars so convincingly that even the dealers around me were clamoring to buy them. They competed among themselves, so I reaped the benefits without lifting a finger!”
That was what Rafael had told me during our phone call that day.
Still, I was certain he had employed a host of advanced techniques during the transaction that were still beyond my reach.
There were no accidents in business.
While I was momentarily lost in thought, Hailey tapped her pen against the table and spoke.
“From where I’m sitting, your nerve in setting up something this large against Blackwood seems pretty impressive too.”
“I only managed it because so many people around me helped.”
Richard, Hailey, Rafael, Lucas, Chuck...
If even one of them had been missing, I would never have dared attempt it in the first place.
“Pfft. Jason, sometimes I don’t think you realize how extraordinary your abilities are. Take your restoration skills, for example. You know what happened with the Super Bee you restored and submitted this time, right?”
Hailey pulled one sheet from the auction documents and slid it toward me.
[1971 Dodge Super Bee]
Final Winning Bid: USD 99,000
“Ah... This. You said it set a new record for the model, right?”
“Don’t say ‘Ah, this’ as though it’s nothing. You seem to think auction records are broken all the time, but they absolutely are not. Not only the directors, but practically everyone in the company knows your name now.”
Ah, so that was why the security guard and front-desk employees had greeted me so warmly in the lobby.
“The auction itself was even more chaotic. A Mexican Super Bee received an A5 grade. I only observed this time, but when they started the engine as part of the presentation, everyone cheered and gasped. It was incredible. Far more than during the M5 auction. Hehehe.”
To be fair, I had also been slightly surprised when I heard the car received an A5 grade.
The restoration did turn out particularly well.
The model itself was rare, I had completely disassembled the engine and replaced all the necessary parts with new ones, and Mateo’s interior restoration was impressive enough to make anyone’s eyes light up.
Those elements seemed to have produced tremendous synergy.
Even so, I had never expected it to reach ninety-nine thousand dollars.
“Didn’t Blackwood auction the same model too?”
“Yeah, theirs... Let’s see. Here it is. It sold for seventy-two thousand dollars.”
“That’s a considerable gap.”
“Exactly. Everything went according to your plan! Anyway, thanks to you, we probably don’t need to worry about this project anymore. The board has fully accepted it. Dad was thrilled. And Doug, the man who appraised your car again this time, seems to have become a complete fan of yours.”
“Doug? Ah... You mean Mr. Douglas.”
Douglas was the veteran inspector who had been with Sterling Selection since its early days and was known as “Sterling’s eyes.”
I had briefly met him when I delivered the completed Super Bee.
His uncompromising appraisal philosophy had left a strong impression on me.
As Hailey and I continued checking the auction records and figures one by one—
A Mercedes-Benz 280SL with an A3 grade?
My gaze stopped at one entry in Blackwood Inventory’s auction results.
“Wait, Hailey. Are you sure this information is accurate? Blackwood’s grades and auction prices, I mean.”
“Huh? Of course. I only compiled auctions that had already ended. If you really doubt it, you can probably check the site yourself.”
“Really? Then lend me your laptop.”
An unpleasant premonition ran coldly down my spine.
Tap, tap—
I opened the laptop Hailey handed me with a confused expression and entered Blackwood Inventory’s official website.
Past auction listings... Is this it?
Click—
[Auction No. 257]
1968 Mercedes-Benz 280SL
Blackwood Appraisal Grade
└ [A3]
Auction Date: XX.XX.XX
Auction Result: Sold
Final Winning Bid: USD 113,000
When I opened the entry for that date, a series of photographs appeared alongside a brief description of the vehicle.
I enlarged the engine-bay photograph and the image showing the open hood.
The degree of fading on the coolant reservoir.
The faint nick near the hinge on the underside of the hood.
This is definitely the car I brought back from Mexico.
No matter how extensively a restorer worked on a vehicle, there were always details unique to the car, like fingerprints, that remained uncovered.
The moment I confirmed it was the vehicle I knew, my heart began pounding even harder.
“Hailey, just in case, do vehicle grades mean different things depending on the company? Sterling and Blackwood, for example.”
“Hmm... They used to, but these days they’re effectively standardized for customer convenience. Even if there’s a difference, it would be one grade at most.”
“Then what exactly does an A3 grade mean? Be specific.”
“An A3 is basically safe to purchase without concern. Even if it has accident history, there shouldn’t have been any welding or cutting. Naturally, the frame must be intact, and the drivetrain, suspension, corrosion, and everything else should all be in good condition. But why are you asking...?”
As I continued firing serious questions at her, Hailey’s face gradually grew anxious.
“Something feels wrong. Then could you track down the person who purchased Blackwood auction number 257, this Mercedes-Benz 280SL? I want to inspect the car myself.”
There was still nothing I could judge prematurely.
Not until I saw the actual vehicle again.
“Number 257, the Mercedes... Ah, I think Walter bought that one. He originally wanted to win one of our vehicles but narrowly missed it. Then he contacted me to say he had bought Blackwood’s instead. He said he wanted to brag a little and hoped I wouldn’t take it badly.”
“Walter? You know him?”
“Yeah. You met him once too. At the M5 auction, he was the middle-aged man with a bit of a belly who narrowly lost to Mrs. Margaret...”
Ah! I remembered.
The man who had competed with a younger bidder until the very end that day.
After the auction, he had asked to shake my hand and said he had fallen completely in love with the sound of the engine starting.
“Then contact him. Don’t tell him anything else. Just ask whether he’d be willing to let us take a look at the car.”
“Okay. But is this something serious?”
“Whew... I don’t know yet. It’s just... possibly?”
Possibly.
It could become one of the greatest scandals in the history of classic-car auctions.
But for now, I swallowed the rest of those words.
Jingle—
“Welcome.”
The Rusted Spur Saloon had not changed at all since my last visit.
There was the bartender calmly polishing glasses and the low country music playing in the background.
As usual, I sat on a barstool.
“What can I get you?”
“Hmm... Do you have a beer you’d recommend? Something other than Bud or Coors.”
“How about SanTan Brewing’s Epicenter Amber Ale? It’s a local Arizona beer.”
(Translator’s Note: SanTan Brewing — An Arizona craft brewery founded in Chandler in 2007. The amber ale mentioned in the chapter is brewed with toasted malt, producing caramel-like and roasted flavors)
The bartender answered quietly while continuing to polish the glass.
“Yes. I’ll take that and a chimichanga.”
(Translator’s Note: Chimichanga — A deep-fried burrito strongly associated with Arizona’s Mexican-American cuisine. El Charro Café, founded in Tucson in 1922, is linked to the best-known accidental-invention story, although the dish’s precise origin remains disputed.)
Thud—
The beer came first.
A quick search told me it was brewed with roasted barley, and true to its name, it had a brilliant amber color.
When I lifted the large pint glass and took a sip, a rich caramel aroma filled my mouth through the soft foam.
“Ahh...”
The refreshing sensation sliding down my throat, followed by the nutty, pleasantly bitter taste of hops.
Time really flies.
It felt like only yesterday that I had come here to celebrate after restoring my first Mustang.
Back then, even a single visit had been a luxury that required serious resolve.
Even now, the cost of an Uber was a little burdensome, though...
“Here you are.”
When the glass was half-empty, the chimichanga I had ordered arrived.
Wow, that smells incredible.
The golden log-shaped burrito, stuffed with meat and cheese and deep-fried whole, gave off a rich, savory aroma.
The name chimichanga made it sound like a dish from South America or Southeast Asia, but surprisingly, it was said to have been created in Arizona.
According to a story passed down like a legend, sometime in the 1920s, a cook in the kitchen of a Mexican restaurant called El Charro in Tucson, Arizona, accidentally dropped a burrito into a vat of boiling oil.
As she began to shout chingada, roughly equivalent to “fuck” in Spanish, she noticed her young nieces nearby and changed it to “chimichanga!” instead.
Whatever the origin of the name, it was a burrito—already delicious—deep-fried whole.
There was no way it could taste bad.
Crunch—
When I cut through the tortilla shell with my knife, beef and cheese spilled from inside.
Just as I speared a large piece with my fork and was about to dip it generously into sour cream—
Jingle—
“Oh, Jason! You got here first.”
Steven and the others entered the saloon.
“Wow, that’s a chimichanga. Looks delicious! Ow, hot! Three Coors, please.”
They crowded onto the stools beside me and shoved pieces of the still-steaming chimichanga into their mouths.
Most Americans would never touch food from someone else’s personal plate.
Some did not even share food with their romantic partners.
“Whew... Two more plates of chimichangas, please.”
I had already grown accustomed to their unusual habit of sharing food, so I simply ordered more.
“Ooooh! The man behind the record-breaking Super Bee certainly has deep pockets!”
“Of course! He’s even been featured in a magazine!”
Jack and Cole threw their arms around each other’s shoulders and swayed beside me.
“What’s wrong? You don’t want any chimichanga?”
“Huh? No! Of course we do! Hahahaha! All right, everyone, cheers to Jason for earning an A5 grade from Sterling with the Super Bee!”
At my remark, Steven shamelessly raised his glass.
“Cheers!”
“Ahh, that’s refreshing. But Jason, you really are incredible. Of the top three companies, Sterling is actually the strictest with its grades. I heard there’s an incredibly demanding old man on their inspection team.”
Cole drained about half his glass in one go and looked at me admiringly.
How do these guys know all of that?
“But tell me something.”
I took another sip of beer, set the glass down, and asked,
“Can those grades really be trusted one hundred percent?”
“Of course!”
Steven’s eyes widened.
“Why do you think people pay such expensive fees to auction companies? Partly to buy rare vehicles, but the core reason is trust. The ‘guarantee’ provided by experts.”
“Right. I saw in a documentary that jewelry and artwork often go through auctions specifically because they need authentication.”
Cole nodded and added his agreement.
“Then what do you think would happen if those grades couldn’t be trusted?”
The three of them stared blankly at me for a moment.
A brief silence passed over the bar.
“...Pfft! What, are you saying someone’s manipulating them?”
Steven was the first to snort and speak.
“No way...”
“What kind of idiot would do something that insane with the company’s name on the line?”
Jack and Cole agreed with him one after another.
Whew... Exactly.
Without saying anything, I drained the rest of my beer.
—————
[Restoration Complete]
Vehicle: 1971 Super Bee A-Body
Proficiency Enhanced
Restoration Value (A): Base Coins 6,000
Contribution (65%): ×0.65
Difficulty (B): ×1.8
Coins Earned: 7,020
Total Coins: 55,115
—————
{@PIC:824962}
[1968 Mercedes-Benz 280SL]
CC BY 2.0, photograph by Steve Glover
{@PIC:824963}
[1968 Mercedes-Benz 280SL]
CC BY 2.0, photograph by Andrew Bone