When we last left them in Las Vegas, Carl had lost the title to The Whale in a high stakes poker game to a little white-haired old lady. Then Emma saved the day by winning a new Ford Bronco on the Big Bertha slot machine. Somehow, they managed to wangle The Whale out of the little old lady , mostly due to cleverness on the part of Emma.

At this point, Carl was ecstatic and figured they'd just sell the Bronco and party-hearty with the extra money. But Emma had other ideas. We join them now, as their little "discussion" takes place:

Carl was very red in the face, but kept his voice low and even. "Emma, now you listen up. Howzit gonna look if we're wanderin' all over the place, and I'm drivin' The Whale and you're behind me in a - dare I say it? - a Ford Bronco?"

Emma clicked her purse shut rather firmly. "Simple. It'll look like a Ford and a Chevy, rolling down the road. I think it happens all the time in this country, and very few riots are caused by the sight. Now, quit fuming and let's get over to that Ford dealer so I can pick out my new Bronco."

Twenty minutes later, Carl pulled The Whale into the dealer-ship parking lot. A broad-smiled salesman came out of the office and ambled over. "Hideedoo there. I see you folks are here to take advantage of our Beater Truck Deal."

Carl looked puzzled. "Beater Deal? What's that?"

"Why, that's where we give you a thousand bucks for any Beater Truck that you bring in. Push it in, drag it in, drive it in. We don't care how it gets here, but we'll give you a cool thou-sand dollars for it when you buy a new Ford truck. Boy, that sure is one strange looking GMC."

Carl clenched his fists and his nostrils flared. "GMC? Why, you pinhead, this here's a Chevy!"

The salesman smiled even broader. " Hey, big guy. 'Scuse me. I stand corrected. That is one strange looking Chevy. But no matter. We'll still give you the Beater Truck Big Bucks Deal."

Carl took a deep breath and a large vein started to throb in his neck. Wisely, Emma cut in. "Oh, no. We're not here to sell our Suburban; we're the winners of the new Ford Bronco from the Whacky Cactus Casino. We're here to pick it up."

The salesman kept his smile locked in place. "Hey, great. Let me take you folks over to new truck sales, and you can have your choice. But when you get your new Bronco, you sure won't want that old pile any more. Lemme take a look at it, and see if we can give you close to low Blue Book on it. What year is it, anyway? A '74 or '75?"

Carl's eyes widened. "What! It's a 1986 model! And it's in perfect shape!"

The salesman smiled even wider. Emma thought his face was going to crack in half. "Perfect? Well, let's take a look. We just love to have good solid trade-ins. There's always a market for used trucks and sports-utility rigs, even if they're not Fords."

The salesman walked around The Whale, kicked the tires and peered inside. "Hmmm. Not too bad. Lottsa junk hanging all over it, but that can be taken off. Mileage is in the ball park, and all that camping stuff inside might appeal to someone who can't afford a VW Westphalia. So if we take those big dumb tires off, put some stock rubber on, we might be able to move it. Tell you what... I can let you have $4400, tops. That cash on the spot, big fella. And I'd be taking a beating on the deal, but we do this kind of stuff just to keep our customers happy. So, whad-daya say?"

Carl just stood there like a statue, virtually stunned into immobility. His jaw hung open and a fly landed on his lip. Emma sighed. "Carl, close your mouth. You're drawing flies. Now let's follow this nice man to where the new Broncos are. If want to sell your funky old Suburban, you can do it later on, after I get my Bronco."

Carl followed Emma and the ever-smiling salesman to the new truck showroom with all the enthusiasm of a man going to the electric chair with wet shorts on.

The showroom was massive, and a triple line of new trucks and sports utilities were there to dazzle and titillate customers. Emma walked around the Broncos like a child in a toy store, eyes gleaming, hands trailing over fenders and hoods.

"Ooooh! I think I'll take this blue one. No, that metallic green one looks even better! No, wait a minute, that black one with the dark blue trim is gorgeous! Wait, I changed my mind!!! I just have to sit inside that tan-colored beauty over there."

The salesman dropped his smile about two notches. "Uhh, that tan one is an Eddie Bauer model, which is our top of the line unit, and unfortunately, those are not part of the casino prize deal. All of the XL models, and there are ten of them here, well, you can have any one of those."

Emma opened the door of the tan Eddie Bauer model and clam-bered up inside. "My oh my. This interior is positively magnifi-cent! It's positively obscene! I love it!!! How much differ-ence would it cost to get an Eddie Bauer model instead of the regular one?"

The smile on the salesman widened up four notches. Well, now. Let's whip out the old calculator and see what we can come up with, shall we?"

With that, the salesman punched buttons madly for a minute, with his brow furrowed, then brightened and showed the display on the hand-held calculator to Emma. "Howzat, little lady? Think we can make a deal here?"

Emma peered closely at the numbers on the calculator, then shook her head sadly from side to side. "No, our bank account will take a pounding just from paying the taxes on the Bronco, and I don't think we can afford to pay that much difference. I guess I'll just have to settle for a regular model instead of the nicer model."

Carl snorted. "Hells-fire, woman. It don't make no never mind. I can't see a nickels worth of difference between that Teddy Bear model and the regular one. Just get a color you like and let's get out of here."

Emma sighed audibly. "It's Eddie Bauer, Carl. Not Teddy Bear."

The salesman nearly frowned for a moment, then brightened like a light bulb just went on over his head. "Uhhh, miss... I just might have the answer to your problems. I think we have one Eddie Bauer model Bronco that we might be able to let you have, at no additional cost. Let me check with the manager first. By the way, the color is not a real important thing, is it? I'll be back in just a minute."

He scuttled off, and Carl relaxed a bit. "Well, Emma. It looks like you just might get your way here. They probably got some hard-to-move color Bronco, but my advice to you is to just grab it, and get it painted later on."

The salesman was back in less than five minutes. During that time, Carl amused himself by spitting little brown wads of tobac-co on the windshields of several of the new trucks.

"Miss, if you'll just follow me out back, we'll show you your new 1992 Bronco Eddie Bauer model."

The trio rounded the rear corner of the building, and Emma let out a gasp. Carl started laughing, and the salesman pretended he was brushing some lint off his jacket sleeve.

Carl roared. "Hey, Emma. Lookit that! The damned thing is pink. Hooeee! I never in my whole life ever seen a pink truck before. No wonder these geeks couldn't get rid of it. And look! The inside is all pink, too. Pink carpeting. Pink floormats. Pink seat covers. Wow, what a goofy-looking rig. Hey, how'd you guys ever get a pink truck?"

The salesman looked embarrassed. "Well, the wife of the owner ordered it while he was out of town. She called the factory and had a special order unit. I have to admit it is a bit differ-ent."

Carl hooted. "Different? I'll say it's different! Why don't you just hang a ballet skirt on the roof, and maybe put some doilies on the dash? Hoo hah! And maybe you can hang some frilly curtains around the windows. Hee hee."

Emma spun around faster than Carl thought possible and fixed Carl with a genuinely mean stare. "Laugh all you want, Carl, but I'm getting this truck. And I'm not going to change the color. In fact, I love the color."

With that, Emma got up inside the bright pink Bronco and wig-gled the steering wheel from side to side, making 'vroom-vroom' sounds.

She leaned out of the window with a bigger smile than the salesman. "Carl? Guess what? I've even got a name for my new Bronco, and I think I'll have it lettered on both sides before we leave Las Vegas. I'm naming my new Bronco "The Pink Flamingo". Isn't that wonderful, Carl? We can drive down the roads and the off-roads of life together, with you in The Whale and me in the Pink Flamingo. Carl? Carl? Will you quit banging your head on that new Explorer?"

Whoa! What's this? Dueling sport utilities? It sure looks like it. How will Carl and Emma handle wandering with two rigs, when they could barely cope with one? Strange times ahead!