Tick

“We’re sorry but we’re closed while conducting private viewings.”

This was the sign on the Ferrari dealership downtown. Somebody was keen to shun any contact with the plebs. Or just practicing social distancing in these hard times. Not that there were many people in a Ferrari showroom on any ordinary day, must be the prancing horse scaring people away.

Whoever was banging on the metal shutters wasn’t scared though. The incessant banging reverberated inside the posh halls and the special customer was distinctly disturbed.

A sales assistant with a precise haircut and polished shoes slipped out the back door and accosted the rowdy customer.

’Hello! Heelloooo!’ He yelled at the bloke banging the door. ’I’m sorry, we’re closed. It says so right here. Private viewings.’ He tapped on the sign. ’Having trouble reading perhaps?’

’No, not really. But I learned in my position that signs don’t matter.’ Retorted the guy who was thumping on the door.

The sales assistant glanced at his black suit, peaked cap and the limo parked a few yards away.

‘Looks like you’re a chauffeur. You think signs don’t matter for a driver?’

‘I’m not just any driver, I’m Mr. Pillmore’s chauffeur.’ Stated the chap.

‘Is that something worth mentioning?’ Sniggered the sales guy. ‘Never heard of him.’

‘There was no need for you to hear of him. Until now that is. Now you need to know. He must get in this dealership right now.’

‘I’m sorry, that can’t be done. I have to point out the sign again, we’re closed.’

‘Mr. Pillmore will get in right now. He will buy seven Ferraris today.’

‘Seven?! No, no, we’re closed.’ Answered the sales bloke, but he was less assured now. ‘Seven Ferraris? Why does he wish to acquire seven cars?’

‘During these rough times other businesses are providing home workers with laptops and headsets but he provides them with Ferraris. That’s why he demands to get in now.’

‘Really? He only has seven employees?’

‘No, he has hundreds of them. But only seven of them are receiving Ferraris.’

‘I understand. The relevant ones.’

‘Indeed. The rest of them are having Porsches. But you must open the door right now.’ 

‘Erm, I can’t really do that. I tell you what, can you plead with your boss to linger a couple of hours? I’m sure we’ll finish by then.’

‘Tut tut tut.’ The chauffeur shook his head. ‘I can suggest but it’s not going to work.’ He stepped to the car and without opening the door just spoke at it.

‘Porcurero endogonare. Coxem cookham dopo gom.’ 

The sales assistant was a few strides further away then the driver, so all he picked up was a muffled response. Not that he spoke this language, he only spoke English, the only language one ever needs. The driver must have picked up the reply as he was nodding approvingly.

‘What did he say?’ The assistant asked.

‘He’s calling in the army.’

‘What?! What army?’

‘I dunno.’ The driver shrugged.

‘What? What do you mean you don’t know? What did he say?’ Demanded the sales guy.

‘He mentioned he’s calling in the army.’

‘What army? WHAT ARMY for God’s sake?’ Freaked out the geezer.

‘I dunno. I’m just a chauffeur. I informed him you are not willing to sell him six Ferraris and he replied that he’s calling in the army.’

‘No, no, no, I’m willing, I’m willing, just not able. These are two different concepts.’

‘Well, maybe for you. But not for my boss. For sure not for him.’ The driver didn’t say more, just casually leaned back on the limo. It seemed he saw this happen before and the army arriving didn’t bother him in the slightest.

But it did perturb the sales assistant. He scurried back through the back door but returned almost immediately.

‘Six Ferraris? I thought you claimed he needs to buy seven?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘But just now you said six?’

‘I did not.’ Argued the driver. ‘Seven, definitely seven.’

The clerk ran back, once inside, he sought to signal to his manager as discretely as feasible. The manager didn’t appreciate the interruption but promptly he got alarmed too. Straightened his tie to muster some strength and tiptoed to the man looking at Ferraris in the showroom.

‘Mr. Clooney, could we step out to my office for a moment please?’

‘What for?’ The client demanded.

’A coffee perhaps?’ Advised the tentative manager.

’Got anything else?’ Countered the actor.

’Certainly, certainly.’ Bobbed the manager’s head.

’Don’t you mean „Certo, certo”?’ Quipped Mr. Clooney trying to diffuse the situation.

As soon as they left the hall the sales assistant rushed to the main door and ripped it open. 

‘You can tell your employer he can come in now.’ He instructed the chauffeur.

‘We will. As soon as you open the shutter.’

‘Shutter? What shutter.’

‘The one on the side.’ Stated the driver calmly.

‘I’m afraid we can’t open that for customers. Can’t you ask your boss to come through this entrance?’

‘I could.’ Sighed the driver. ‘But I’ll be wasting my breath.’ He walked to the limo with the hopeful assistant in tow.

‘Porcurare catonale. Whitom beeckho gopo bom.’ Another muffled response. The driver shook his head.

‘Is he calling in the army?’ Enquired the frightful sales guy.

‘Nope, he’s calling in the navy.’

‘Oh, good Lord!’ Exclaimed the guy and dashed away, slamming the door.

The metal clang of the shutter opening could be heard soon. The chauffeur backed the limo in. The sales assistant bowed in front of the side door. He paused there, pondering if he should open the door of the limo or should stand by for the door to open from the inside.

Before he could reach a decision the door opened. On the other side. A small, bald head emerged. This head ran up to a Ferrari displayed nearby, then he swung by another one on his way back to the limousine. All this punctuated by an irritating scratching sound. The perplexed sales agent couldn’t really pinpoint what this clamor was, sounded like metal scraping metal. The next sound he did recognize, it was the screeching of wheels as the limo shot out the door in a puff of smoke leaving behind a gobsmacked assistant and two badly scratched Ferraris.

The little kid in the backseat was whizzing and hacking up blood yet still beaming.

‘That … was … awesome!’ He squeezed out a few words.

‘Yes, it was. Must admit, this was the most peculiar bucket list request we ever had.’ Declared the charity worker driving the hired limo. ‘Not sure it was the right thing to do, but seeing this was the only request you had we had to make it happen.’

‘I only… regret… that I didn’t… have… time… to etch… lamb… lamb… Lamborghini rules.’ Coughed the child still clasping the cork opener with red paint at the tip.

‘There, there.’ Answered the charity worker. ‘You shouldn’t strain yourself in your condition.’

‘That’s o… o… ok. Life is… good.’ Suggested the child with a terminal disease.

Since I can’t compel you to stay as there are laws against it why don’t you do it on your own? Stick around and read more of my short stories. All of them are amazing. Well, most of them are. OK, honestly, some of them are. Why don’t you decide for yourself? Take a look around –> Here’s a map!

Or, if you’re really adventurous, get off the beaten track and read a random story!