Chapter 8: Asking For Help Couldn't Hurt

For a car I've already given the best fuel, I now needed to find her the best mechanic.

But how to find him?

Of course — the Internet!

I looked up the local Porsche Car Club and got the telephone number of its president. If anybody would know...

"Hello. I'm a new owner of a 2002 911..."

"You've got the 'Sally car', don't you?" came the excited reply.

"Yes," I replied cautiously.

"Oh my God! We've been waiting for you to call. Everyone in the club has seen you around town, but no one has been able to find you. We've had a couple members try to trick up a car like that one from the movie, but you have so totally nailed it man..."

That went on for a couple more minutes until I could get a question in edgewise.

"I need a mechanic. A good mechanic. The best mechanic."

"What's wrong?" He was as immediately and genuinely concerned as I was. Clearly he loves his car too.

"I don't know. I'm just sure there's something — call it a feeling — and that's why I need the best mechanic to help me find it."

"Well, the best mechanic is Günter. His shop is about seventy-five miles from here, and everyone whose anyone in LA drives out, or is towed out, to have him work on their cars. If he doesn't know you already, you might be able to get an appointment in two or three months."

"I don't have two or three months," I replied. I didn't mention that, according to the Map, Sally only had ten more days before she had to return, or potentially be lost here forever.

"Well..." came the reply. "I might be able to make a call. Would there be any chance that you might drop by our club meeting tomorrow? Everyone is dying to see your machine close up."

We struck the deal, and Chris was as good as his word. Günter would fit me in day after tomorrow.

Well there was a huge amount of oohing and ahhing over Sally when I drove up, and everyone wanted to have their picture taken with her. The warm glow of admiration spread over to me as well and we both basked in it together.

There was also concern about "My Problem" with her. Everyone tried to diagnose it for me, and I was no help at all. They all complimented how nice she sounded, how easily she started up every time, and how pristine she looked. I made sure to always stand next to her so that she could hear it as well.

As for the problem, I just said that I felt something wasn't quite right, and I couldn't put my finger on just what was out of kilter more accurately than that. They nodded in agreement, knowing sometimes you know what you can't easily explain.

I was reluctant to leave afterwards, but if they'd had their way we'd never get away.

When I turned her over to Günter with my lame explanation that something must be wrong, he didn't question me further. It was clear to him that I was clueless here. Instead he rested his hand gently over her engine compartment feeling her exhaust note.

Then he sat inside her for a long time just listening to her idle. One at a time he operated each piece of her optional equipment, a frown appearing as he did so.

Afterwards he took her for a spin around the block, starting off slow, and power-sliding back into his shop afterwards.

Seemingly defeated in his instinctual skills, Günter finally put her up on the rack and rolled out the diagnostic equipment. His frown only grew deeper.

Two hours after I arrived, and after he'ad checked everything down to the screws holding the interior trim in place, his face suddenly broke out in a big smile. I thought he'd found the problem. He hadn't.

"I am very happy," he told me in his German accented English, "to inform you that there is nothing wrong at all with your car. In fact, she ist the most beautiful Porsche I have seen in a very long time."

I could understand his happiness. Cetainly most cars that came in here were ailing in some manner or another.

For a moment his eyes lost focus. I'm sure he was remembering some other perfect car in his life with great fondness.

"That's a relief," I informed him, reaching for my wallet. "I'm sure if you can't find it, then there's nothing to find."

"Why did you think you have problem with her?"

"I just couldn't explain having her in my possession otherwise, if there wasn't some problem needing attention," I said vaguely.

He just nodded, somehow understanding me perfectly.

"How much I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing! It was my honor."

I couldn't change his mind. When I finally drove away I saw him in the rearview mirror fondly looking after us — still smiling.