Will surged through his door, a newsprint advertisement in his hand. “Did you see this?” he shouted toward Mary who sat mending a dress. Will thrust the advertisement under her nose. “That McDougal has cut his prices. He’s offering an oil change and full vehicle inspection for half my cost. He can’t even cover his expenses at that amount.”
“It doesn’t sound like good business to me.” Mary said.
“Not unless you want to drive out the competition. It’s the Chicago way. I’ll bet his inspections will produce more money than an oil change price.”
And it didn’t end there. A stream of advertisements followed offering cut-rate prices on every repair that Will did, prices below Will’s cost of materials and labor.
Then by chance, Will met Brock McDougal coming from Samuels’ Department store. At first he thought he’d ignore him, but when McDougal had the audacity to ask if his business was thriving these days, Will couldn’t hold back. “What are you trying to do McDougal, drive us both out of business?”
“I don’t know what you mean, O’Shaughnessy.” He flashed an easy, confident smile. “My business is doing just fine.”
And to look at him, you’d have believed every word of it. He wore a custom-tailored brown suit with a tight-fitting, narrow-shouldered jacket and a pinstriped trousers. A gold watch fob hung from his vest pocket and his brown shoes reflected the sunlight. He looked more like a banker than a car repairman. But Will knew that McDougal never saw the underside of his customer’s automobiles.
“You can’t afford those prices you’re advertising,” Will said. Are you trying to do drive me out? Are these bloodthirsty practices your Chicago style?”
“I sell Oldsmobiles, or I should say, they sell themselves. I don’t worry about competition. They aren’t writing songs about Fords.” He turned and walked down the street, but not before he smiled in Will’s direction and loudly hummed the chorus of “In Your Merry Oldsmobile.”
Will couldn’t believe the man’s nerve.