 I'm a car salesman, not necessarily by choice. It's something that just kind of fell into place. I work at a local dealer near the mall in town, one my dad's been running since before I was born. He loves cars, and he loves to sell them. I guess which sums up about why I work there. It's not a bad gig, and I've been doing it long enough to get pretty good at it. I've had some pretty good sales in the past. Some felt a little scummier than others, but hey, it's the way the trade works. I don't make money if the cars don't sell, so it's in my best interest to do so. I was sitting at my desk when it started. It was a decent but overall a slow day at the lot. The weather was nice, but I didn't get much of a chance to enjoy it, because I hadn't had any sales all day. Not one. No young couple looking for a cheap ride. No bachelor looking for a lifted truck or sports car. No family scouting or replacement minivan. Nothing. So, I spent most of the day at my desk, twiddling my thumbs, listening to the radio, eyeing the lot in case someone happened to wander over. I was ready to get a sale, be productive, instead of sitting around. My dad was out for the day, something about a golf outing with a competitor. He loved that stuff. Since I had the building to myself, I was hoping to put in some decent numbers, but on this particular day, there was no one. I've had a lot on my mind recently, and the business would help clear the chaos in my head. So there I sat, dicking around as the hours crept by. That was until he showed up. I watched him arrive by bus, getting off the shuttle at the stop through the window. I had nothing going on, so I watched him after he showed up. He got off the bus and looked straight at the dealership. A slow limp of a walk, starting as soon as he saw my building. My first thought of him was your stereotypical boomer dad had to be pushing 60. What was left of his wispy hair was gelled and combed across a colossal bald spot. His eyes were shielded by bronze aviator glasses, and his outfit looked like it was ripped straight from an 80s business catalog. Cackies and old leather shorts, a floral print button up that barely contained a large beer belly and a navy member's only jacket to tie it all together. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of the jacket, and he was on a mission. While he drew closer to the dealer, I combed my hair, spit out my gum, and straightened my tie. It was evident he was coming this way, but he was heading straight to the lot, probably to browse. I just took that as my cue to meet him. I pushed through the door and into the sunlight, feeling the breeze for the first time today. He was just standing there now, scanning. He didn't linger on anything very long, I would have to do some digging to get this sail moving. How are we doing today? I asked. The name's Mark, I'll be your liaison today. Something I can help you find? He just stood there, ignoring me for a second, looking at the cars at his own uninterrupted pace. With the aviators and the double chin, he looked like a grumpy frog. There was something unsettling about him from the get-go. I'm looking for a car. He said, can't seem to find it. This is my third dealer today. He said plainly, very to the point. I clapped my hands together, ready to start the routine I'd done a hundred times. Well, this is your lucky day. We currently have an abundance of... I'm not here for the sales pitch, kid. He cut me off, taking slow steps towards the shiny hatchbacks. Ah, well, certainly some way I can help. I know all the makes and models in this lot, we happen to be sitting on quite a bit, and let me tell you, now is a good time to be on the market. I started, turning around to face the luxury sedans. We looking for something sleek, for cruising, maybe something a little sportier, surely an old top like yourself would. I turned back to see he was already walking away. I felt a twinge of frustration. I'd have to work a little harder to get this guy to play ball. I scratched my head and caught up with him, walking quicker so I could lead. The mini SUVs are one of our most popular items. Plenty of room for passengers, cargo in the back, all wheel drive too. I can't recommend that enough. You know how winter can be around here. I said, the guy just looked ahead, chewing his lip a little. The wind blew at his combed strands, but he didn't seem to mind. Heated seats, Bluetooth, some of these even have TVs in them. They make the commute more enjoyable, satisfying. No interest on the first 12 months, if you buy before the fall. We're at the tail end of our summer sale, but there's still time. Even if you need time to think something over, I'll get you taken care of. What do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking? Finally, he looked my direction, but his face was still blank. Almost like stone. I was a car salesman. I'm retired now. He kept walking. Ugh, you gotta be kidding me, I thought to myself. This guy already knew the game, the tactics wouldn't work here. I'd have to follow him around like a lost dog and lap up whatever he fed if I wanted any kind of sale today. We could be here all day and he still might not get anything. I kept the enthusiasm going. You don't say anywhere around here, maybe you know my father. I asked. The man had finally stopped at our little cluster of trade-ins from past transactions. The man looked them over one by one, the sun shining off his sunglasses as he panned slowly like an owl. He came to an old Buick and stopped, fumbling in the pockets of his windbreaker. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a zippo. Oh, sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to put those away. We have a smoke-free premises. I said, but he continued anyway. He leisurely fished a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, taking a big drag before pointing to the Buick. The Le Sabre. Get me the keys. He blew the smoke out at me and I waved it away. I looked at the car, a creeping anxiety washing over me. It was a 98 Buick Le Sabre limited silver with tinted windows. This car of all things, was this a game? Pardon? The trade-in? I assure you we can find something better to suit you. Walk with me. Yet I can show you. What's the deal with the price? 8,000? It blew books for five tops. I know you heard me. Get the keys. He looked at me and took another drag. His tonal shift was alarming. I found myself glancing around. We were still alone. Uh, yes, yes, right away. Let me get those for you. I briskly returned to the office for the key. I was sweating a little, trying to wrap my head around the old man's choice. The Le Sabre of all cars. I thought about calling my dad, but decided against it. He'd flip out, ask too many questions, want to know every little detail about what was going on. When I came back, he was peering through the windows of the car. His cigarette snubbed out on the pavement. I wanted to scowl at it, but I kept cool. I still wanted to get something out of this guy. I just had to figure out how. It looks clean. Really clean. He said as he peered through the driver's side window, they all are. I said, scratching the back of my head as I looked across the lot. The SUVs wouldn't do it. He was too old for a really smart car. I had a feeling the digital stuff would scare him away. Maybe the Lincoln's? The old man was looking at the paper that was taped to the inside of the windshield. The one below the large for sale sign. It displayed the mileage and terms of sale. As is no warranty. Stuff like that. It was a trade-in after all. Well, let's take a look, shall we? He was leaning on the car now, waiting for me to unlock it. Sure thing. I smiled and worked the key, looking inside myself to make sure nothing was amiss. The front seat floors were still covered with paper shields to ward off shoe scuffs and the back seat was nice and clean, just as I hoped. Here she is. I reluctantly held the door for him and he ducked his head in. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. It was those damn sunglasses. You couldn't see anything behind him. He chewed his lip as he looked up and down the dash than his gaze held on the seats. They were tan leather, a clean shine still catching the light. Leather seats, very clean. Back in my day, these used to drive the girls wild. He said under his breath and I started to feel uncomfortable. So many skirts in these back seats. He clicked his tongue and ran a finger down the clean leather. He looked at his fingertip and rubbed it against his thumb as if trying to feel dirt. Oh yeah? Is that so? I played along, wiping sweat from my brow. Yes, of course. He continued, you ever get a dame in the back seat of one of these kids. He asked, a grin forming on his wrinkled, stubbled chin. It gave me the chills. Ha, I'm afraid not. I gave a nervous laugh. Say a few rows down we have the Lincoln Town Car, a few of them actually. Even in silver too. Of course he wasn't listening. With a labored wheeze he leaned in and hit the button for the trunk. There was a soft clink when the trunk popped and he immediately walked around me towards the rear of the car. He stood in front of the trunk with it cracked a little as if he didn't want to open it. He ran his thumb over the paint then over the temporary license plate. When his thumb reached the dealership sticker, he stopped for a moment. The sticker was the silhouette of a diamond. He looked at me, still frowning. There it is, namesake of the business. You know, diamond deals is my dad's idea. I still think it's pretty cheesy if I'm being honest. I said, unable to shake the feeling of nervousness. The old man seemed taken aback. Ah, yeah, there's that. He looked at the sign then lifted the lid of the trunk. As he stared in the trunk, I found myself following in looking as well. The same silent stare. The trunk was empty. And there was a clear view to the little carpet hatch that led to the spare. The old man ran a finger over the carpet. Plenty of room in there, isn't there? He asked. He was looking tired. Perhaps the sun was getting to him. Yeah, I suppose there is. Good going to town car, I guess. Plenty of room for groceries. Or a woman. He spoke. It stood the hair up on the back of my neck. Excuse me? I asked. You heard me. He looked at me, then slammed the trunk shut. It was loud and I jumped a little. Sir, I think it's time I asked you to leave. I stammered, feeling a ball in my throat. I instinctively felt for my phone, and the old man stared and scratched at his stubbled chin. Leave. Who said I was leaving? I'm not finished here. He shoved past me and walked back to the driver's side. He dug in his pocket again, this time pulling a full half pint of whiskey. He twisted the cap and broke the seal before taking a swig. I could only watch in disbelief. Hey, I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but it's time for you to go. I'm calling the police. I pulled out my phone while he screwed the cap back on. Don't worry. I'll call him. He said, pocketing the whiskey and pulling out his own flip phone. What? I asked. I said I'll call him. Don't worry about it, kid. I'll handle it. He flipped his phone open. I mulled over it in my head, sweating more and more as my confusion built. Wait, that's not necessary. We can figure something out, I'm sure. I put mine away and held my hands up. The old grumpy man looked at me, and after a time his phone snapped shut. He ducked out another cigarette and lit it. I scratched my sweaty head and looked around, but it was just us on the lot. When's the last time you drove this kid? He asked. What? The Buick. You ever take her for a spin? After hours when daddy's not looking? He growled, his voice getting lower like he was whispering. What? No, I've never driven this car before. I told him. Huh, that's funny. All these cars in the lot and the only one without dust on the paint is this one. It's still got shine on the tires. Why spray that on there? Why pretty it up? Why do that if it's overpriced? You only pretty up the front liners, kid. He was moving closer. The cigarette smoke dancing on the wind. I told you, I haven't driven this car only around the lot like the others. Another thing, kid. The paper on the window said it's got 130,715 miles. He said, yeah, and I demanded dash says 747. He took another drag. So what? The car fax is off then. It's 32 miles. Who gives a shit? I'll print out a new one. I told you, the cars get moved around. Yeah, maybe a block or so, unless there's a maintenance issue. But you know what? There's a couple of bars in town, only a few miles away. You ever take her out for a spin, kid? Clean her up? Impress the girls. He was taking another drink. My hands were starting to shake. I don't know what you're talking about. I said, sure you don't. Let me tell you a story, kid, real quick. Like I said, I was a salesman, too. I get it. I was there once. I was damn good, too. But I'll tell you what else. I was a total piece of shit, husband, and a worse father. I didn't give a damn about my kid. Not really. They were just things that happened. The cars, on the other hand, I lived for those cars. That's what I loved. When I got divorced a long time ago, me and my wife never talk. My daughter, she must be a little younger than you. He said, anyways, my ex calls me yesterday. We haven't spoken in years, tells me our kid hasn't come home. She thinks she's missing, said she's called the cops. They didn't do shit as far as I know. Yeah? So what? What's that got to do with me, huh? I was getting loud, my voice echoing in the lot. I could feel the anxiety setting in. Thing is, her date picked her up that night. Like a gentleman, car all done up, spick and span. That was the last time she saw her, said she was driving an old silver Buick, said there was a sticker on the bumper, like a symbol. She wasn't sure it was dark out. But as it turns out, on the third dealer, I found it. I looked at the large spinning sign, the glimmering letters, diamond deals. I couldn't breathe. So I think it's time you come clean. He took a last drag and snubbed it out. I don't know what you're talking about. Yeah, I think you do. Maybe your daddy ain't quite figured it out, but he will. Does he know you marked the price up on that car? To keep the eyes off of it. Go to hell, I said. Sure, you only put a couple miles on it. Bar's not that far. But I'll tell you what. You know what else isn't far away? The river. You could be there in ten minutes. So what happened, kid? You pushed too far? She reject you? You're wrong. I said tears welling in my eyes. No, I'm not. This car is probably the cleanest one on the lot. It's been vacuumed at least three times, and the outside's shiny and new. We don't wash the trade ends, kid. They're not worth the effort. How long till daddy finds out? You think he'll like that? You messing up that bad. It was an accident. Brat, like yourself, maybe not used to hearing the word no. She hurt your feelings. Take it down a peg. Big man, like yourself. I told you it was an accident. I felt my knees buckling. Suddenly it was hard to stand. Sure thing, kid. I'm gonna cut to the chase. I'm calling the police either way, either now, or when I'm on the way home on the next bus. They'll take everything I know, and they'll find her wherever she is. It ain't gonna be quick. They'll drag you and your father through the mud through the whole process. You'll be finished. He said, and my legs could no longer hold the weight of the stress and guilt. I started sobbing, burying my face in my hands. What do you want me to do? I can't undo what I've done. At some point, he was standing next to me, getting one last thing from his pockets. Through tears and shame, I could see the pistol, a little 38. I won't tell you I was there for my daughter growing up. I wasn't, and I know that. But she was still my daughter. I'm just doing what's right. It's the least I can do. I'm no killer. You want to know what I want you to do? Atone for your mistake. Make sure it doesn't happen again. It seems like a better alternative to carrying the weight and rotting in prison, don't it? Either way, it's up to you. I did my part. He said, and held the gun out. I took it and cradled it in my trembling hands. The old man sighed, retrieving the whiskey and downed it in a large gulp. He winced behind his glasses, and there was the glimmer of a tear behind the lens. He tossed the bottle into the parking lot and walked away, lighting a cigarette without another word. Through puffy eyes, I watched him go, the same limp taking him to the bus stop he arrived on. Without as much as a look back, he sat on the bench and waited for the next shuttle. I climbed to my feet and went back in the office. I collected my things and locked up for the day, closing the dealership early. When I came back out, he was gone. The bus bench was empty, like he was never even here. The pistol in my pocket and the booze bottle in the parking lot reminded me of his visit, almost assuring me of what had to be done next. I got in the Buick and drove home. It took me some time to process it all, but by the time I got home, I knew what I had to do. I sat down and wrote this, hopefully to clear up any questions for those that come looking for me. I know I'm a piece of shit and I did what I did and there's nothing I can do to fix that now. I'm sorry. Really. I was in denial at first and I tried my best to cover it up because I was scared, scared of what I did and the repercussions that would follow if it was discovered. I've got a bunch of missed calls on my phone now, too many to go through, and to be honest, there's no need. I've made my decision. There's a little bar on the outskirts of town called the Sixth Shot with a little red neon sign. If you head east for eight miles or so, there's a small bridge with a river running underneath. She's under the bridge. I tried to use some rocks to weigh her down. I hope she's still down there. I'm sorry. She deserved much better. Well, that's about all I have to say. I've learned from my mistake. I won't hurt anybody again. I got the pistol on the desk now and once I post this, I'm gonna take the deal the old man gave me. At least that way, I can try and set things right. He did say he was a damn good salesman. Goodbye.