April Evil
“Dil had a friend in there with him. Even though somebody was beating out a fender in the adjoining service garage, Mooney could hear the juicy ripeness of Dil Parks’ laughter. Mooney moved to a place on the showroom floor where he could not see Parks and where he could hear him less. He reflected that he would dearly love to bust Parks firmly in the nose.
Mooney was a restless man, an itinerant auto salesman. He had broken in on the used car lots of Dayton and Cleveland and Columbus. He was forty and looked thirty. He was restless, unattached, world-wise. He knew he was no good on the long-term contract sales. He had no stomach for clubs, or golf games, or cocktail-party chatter. He knew he was the best floor man and best lot man he had ever seen. He could club the drifters. He felt alive when he was jamming the sale down their throats, making it taste sweet to them. He’d sharpened his weapons in Los Angeles, in Detroit, in the Bronx. He’d drifted down to Florida right after Christmas.
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