"GMAC," he said. "The floor plan auditor. They're coming Wednesday morning at eight." He swallowed. "Every new car on our lot belongs to General Motors Acceptance Corporation until we sell it. When we sell one, we're supposed to pay GMAC back within a couple days. That's the floor plan. That's how every dealer works." He put his hand flat on the Corvette's roof, as if to steady himself or it. "Every so often they send a man out to walk the lot with a clipboard and make sure every car they've paid for is there, or the money for it is. My father's been slow paying them back since last fall. Sales have been bad. The mill layoffs, the Ford plant. People aren't buying new Chevys in Lorain County. He's been using the money from what sells to make payroll and keep the lights on, and paying GMAC late, and hoping it turns around." He laughed, short and humorless. "That's called selling out of trust. It's a very polite name."
Nobody said anything.
"The auditor came in June and gave him a warning. Wednesday's the second visit. If every car's not there and in sellable shape, or the money's not there, they can pull the floor plan. If they pull the floor plan, we can't stock cars. If we can't stock cars, we're done. Forty-one people work at Conway Chevrolet." He looked down at his hands. "Thirty-nine. He laid off two in May. One of them was our detail man."
I thought of the five-dollar bill floating toward the drain.
"Yesterday," Win said, "a man from Akron was coming at two o'clock to look at the Corvette. Cash buyer. Wanted a convertible for his wife's birthday. That sale would have covered the last car we're short on. My father sent me out to get it washed, because we don't have anybody to wash it anymore, and he gave me three dollars, and he said, don't take it through the machine at the Sohio, the brushes'll swirl the paint." He finally looked up at me. "So I went to the church."
"You cut the line," I said. It came out before I could stop it.
"I cut the line," he agreed. "Because the man from Akron was coming at two. And because—" He stopped. He started again. "Because I pulled into that lot and there were people there I knew. Mrs. Prochazka plays bridge with my grandmother. The woman from the bakery does our cakes at Christmas. And there you were, Haydu, and I knew your mom had come by and looked at the Dart, because I was the one who walked her around the lot."
I stared at him.