Melville Passmore wanted to buy the ugly old TriPacer so badly he could taste it. The farm boy had save up a huge roll of cash that was now burning a hole in his pocket. I figured he was ready to hand over the $20,000 asking price to the slippery salesman, Skid Sicamore.

Darcy, our aircraft mechanic, had declared the airplane almost airworthy. He had suggested that Melville offer $10,000 and go as high as 12.

I asked Melville to wait in the hangar while I tried to soften up the deal for him.

I found Skid Sicamore inside the flying school office leaning against the flight desk, talking on the telephone. He looked like a sleazy aircraft salesman. His balding pointed head and skinny neck stuck out of his wrinkled trench coat. I indicated that I wanted to talk to him. He looked the other way.

I waited close by until he was done.

"Hi there," he said. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, here."

"I have a customer interested in your TriPacer," I said.

"Great, send him around," Skid said and moved to leave.

"I'd like to establish a finder's fee," I said. "I can see this situation coming up more than once."

I intended to pass whatever fee I could negotiate on to Melville. It was my way of getting the price down.

Sicamore touched my shoulder and continued to move away. "Good idea," he said. "If I sell anything to your guys, it's fifty bucks in your pocket, guaranteed."

"Five per cent," I said.

He stopped moving for a moment, thrust his hands into his trench coat pockets and looked at the floor.

"Let me give you a quick lesson on aircraft sales," he said firmly. "I'm lucky if I make five per cent and you want me to do all the work, take all the risk and give you all my profit? No thanks." He turned again.

"I have a customer here now," I said quickly. "He wants that TriPacer. He loves that TriPacer and is willing to pay cash. I'm not going to introduce him to you for fifty dollars."

That stopped him.

"One hundred bucks," he said.

"We're getting closer," I replied. "Five per cent."

"One fifty. It's my final offer."

"Five per cent or we go look for another TriPacer."

"He's here now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, hotshot. Three per cent.”

“Four per cent.”

“He’s ready to buy?”

“Affirmative.”

“Four per cent , if and only if he buys that airplane today."

"Deal," I said and stuck out my hand.

He gave it a quick pump. "Where is he?"

"Talking to Darcy."

Sicamore rolled his eyes.

"Well you get him away from that jerk and I'll meet you at the tie-downs."

I felt better. At least I could give Melville the commission back but I wasn't finished. I was prepared to continue my hard-nosed negotiations for the shy farm boy. I went back into the hangar.

"Darcy, where's Melville?"

"Outside drooling over the TriPacer."

Illustration by Francois Bogie

I hotfooted through the hangar door and headed for the tie-down area. I was in time to see Skid shaking hands with Melville beside the TriPacer. When I was within earshot, I could hear Skid say, "Deals like this don't come around very often, sonny. This is the perfect airplane for a young fella like you."

"I see you two have met," I said as I jogged up to them.

They ignored me. Melville stood with his hands in his pockets scuffing the ground with his boot. Skid was animated. He waved his arms at the TriPacer.

"Yup, she's a beauty. Twenty thousand and she's yours. Of course," he said with a chuckle, "that includes air in the tires."

I was about to tell Skid that Melville would give him ten thousand dollars when the farm boy pulled a stubby hand from his pocket. He was holding the monster roll of cash. Sicamore started to lick his lips. He lifted his arm to take the money but Melville held it back.

"Mr. Sicamore, I'll give you $10,000 cash for that airplane right now."

Skid used his extended arm to wave him off.

"Not a chance," he said and turned as if to walk away.

Melville peeled five one hundred-dollar bills off the roll and put them back in his pocket. He held the remaining cash out to Sicamore. "Now I’m offering nine thousand five hundred," he said calmly.

Skid shot me a dirty look.

"Look son," he said to Melville, "if you're serious about buying this airplane, I'd like to see you own it. I'm willing to come down a little. Nineteen thousand. It's a good price and it's my final offer."

Melville peeled off five hundred more dollars and put them away.

"Nine thousand even," he said, holding it out to Skid.

"No, I can't do it."

Melville put all the money in his pocket.

"There are two other TriPacers for sale not far away," he said. "I'll look at them." He turned as if to walk away.

"Look," Skid said, touching Melville's arm, "you seem like a nice young fellow. Eighteen thousand five hundred and I'll include a free Certificate of Airworthiness annual inspection."

Melville pulled out the roll of bills and held it out. "I'll get my own mechanic to do the inspection, thank you. Nine thousand."

"Save your money," Skid said sarcastically. "Come back and see me when you can afford the whole airplane."

Skid sounded exasperated. He started to walk away. Melville looked at the ground but he didn't move. Skid made it half way to the fence. He came back.

"Talk some sense into this kid, will you?" he said to me. "I'll go as low as eighteen thousand dollars, as is, where is. You can't buy an airplane, any airplane for eighteen thousand dollars. Take it or leave it!"

"You're right, Skid," I said, "it's a good price for most airplanes but this isn't most airplanes. Look at it. Melville's doing you a big favor."

Skid turned to the young farmer. "Seventeen thousand-five hundred; have you got seventeen thousand five hundred kid?"

I was enjoying this. The shy farmer was getting the better of the sly salesman and we all knew it. Melville pulled the roll of bills from his pocket. "Nine thousand," he said.

"Forget it," Skid said. He spun around in his tracks and stomped away.

I was proud of Melville for letting the deal go. I knew that if he bought it, I would be flying with him. I didn't relish the comments on the radio that it would solicit. We could find another TriPacer.

Melville didn't move. We stood beside the airplane saying nothing. Skid made it through the fence gate and half way to his car. He stopped and turned. He put his hands on his hips and then marched back with his trench coat flapping behind him. He went straight to Melville.

"How much money do you really have, kid?"

Melville pulled out the same roll. He held it out to Skid. "Nine thousand," he said.

"Come on," Skid said pointing to the other pocket. "How much all together?"

Melville reached into his other front pocket. "Ten thousand."

"It's not enough," Skid said but his hand was hovering. "You'll have to do better than that."

"How much better?" Melville asked. He kept his voice low and non-committal. He continued to hold out the handfuls of money.

Skid squirmed, looked at me, looked the airplane and then at Melville.

"Sixteen thousand. If you can come up with $16,000 cash, she's yours." He didn't look happy.

Melville slowly put the two wads of money together in one hand and reached into his back pocket with the other. He pulled out another roll of one hundreds.

"Eleven thousand dollars," he said. “That’s all I’ve got.”

Skid reached for it. Melville let him have it.

"As is, where is," Skid declared. "You can put your own air in the tires."

He turned to me and shook the money in my face. "And don't even think about a finder's fee. This guy's a thief, not a customer."

I wanted to speak. The dumb little farmer had demonstrated more salesmanship, control and respect in one stubby finger than Sicamore had in his whole body. I wanted to tell him that, but it was Melville's moment. I said nothing.

"We have a deal, Mr. Sicamore," Melville said. He held out his hand.

Skid hesitated as if he wasn't going to lower himself to shake the grubby paw. He grabbed it and gave it a quick pump. "I'll get the paperwork from the car," he said.

"Do you have the keys, Skid?" I asked.

As he turned to go, he reached into his trench coat pocket, pulled them out and threw them at me. I caught them and handed them to Melville. He carefully unlocked the right front door, opened it and climbed in. He slid over to the left seat. I held the door open and looked inside. It was musty but the upholstery and instrument panel appeared to be in good shape. Melville gripped the control wheel in his left hand and peered through the dirt-streaked windshield.

"Well, Melville, what do you think?"

He didn't reply right away. I looked at him. There were tears welling up in his eyes.

"It's mine," was all he said.