If it were before the stock market crash, a new Ford car would cost more than three hundred dollars, and Ford was one of the cheapest car brands in the world. Cars from other countries could cost four to five thousand, while cheaper ones were seven to eight hundred. Only Ford's Model T was priced at just 360 dollars, selling 15 million units worldwide.
Now, two new Fords cost just three hundred dollars, and second-hand cars have had their prices halved. Car dealerships must have already faced a broken cash flow. Otherwise, why would they desperately lower prices to obtain cash?
"Doesn't Uncle Barland want one?" Niall finished his coffee and didn't intend to refill it.
"Old man just wants to keep the shop; he doesn't go anywhere except the church and the bank," Frederick also put down his cup, looking regretful and helpless. His father really didn't need a car.
Both the church and the bank were in town, and in the past fifty years, the old man had spent most of his time running this inn. There's really no need to buy a car, and even if he did, he wouldn't drive it.
"Why don't you buy one yourself?"
"No rush, I'll wait a couple of days," Frederick snapped his fingers.
Buy early, enjoy it early. Buy later, get a discount. The market collapsed so fast, there was no hope of recovery in the short term. Even though Frederick, unlike Niall, was certain that the economic crisis wouldn't ease until 1935, he still judged that the economy wouldn't improve for another year or two.
"Did you check the motorcycle?" Niall couldn't afford a car, so a motorcycle would have to do.
"I asked about it. Indian and Harley are both dropping in price—forty bucks each. But I think you should wait a few more days," Frederick said.
If memory serves correctly, among the American motorcycle brands, only these two companies survived the Great Depression. The main reason they survived was that Roosevelt's involvement in World War II brought military contracts, which revived these nearly defunct motorcycle companies.
Should he choose Indian or Harley? Harley had a big name in later years, but Niall wasn't a motorcycle enthusiast, so he had no particular feelings for Harley. What mattered to him was durability, affordability, and ease of use. Clearly, Harley wouldn't meet those needs.
On the other hand, Indian motorcycles were very reliable and tested well, with some models even qualifying as racing bikes. If it weren't for the British government imposing a 33% import tariff, Indian motorcycles made in the U.S. would actually be cheaper than British-made ones.
"Let's not wait. I need to take Debbie to school. I won't feel safe if I don't pick her up." Niall waved his hand, realizing how much he needed the motorcycle.
Right, in those days, riding a motorcycle didn't require a license, and some people even built their own motorcycles at home and took them to the streets. The law had clearly not caught up with motorcycles, which was great for Niall—no hassles.
"Okay! Which brand do you want?" Frederick wasn't bothered by the decision. He knew Niall was someone with clear ideas.
"Indian, the one with a back seat," Niall briefly described the model.
A good motorcycle could reach over 60 km/h on good roads. However, those types of bikes were usually one-seaters, and their brakes weren't very reliable, requiring frequent maintenance. They were essentially toys for the rich or idle. Niall preferred the more practical, slower ones, around 30 km/h, more suited for everyday use.
"Then come pick it up in a couple of days," Frederick took Niall's money and began writing in his notebook.
"Bring me a few extra cans of gas," Niall added.
It was clear that there were no gas stations in town—there were barely any cars in the entire county, and a gas station in a small town like Brook would go bankrupt soon enough. Niall would have to ride his motorcycle to a gas station on the highway, or get Frederick to bring some from the big city when he picked up his alcohol.
"Got it."
Before Frederick could finish, an argument broke out in the front of the inn. Frederick rolled up his sleeves, having seen plenty of troublemakers in his time. Since this was his family's business, Niall would help out too—if a fight broke out, they'd go together.
Sure enough, a drunk was causing trouble, and the reason was simple: he thought he drank less than the others but had to pay more. Everyone was poor, and every coin had to be spent wisely.
Barland placed two bottles heavily on the counter. One was the regular product, apple juice mixed with medicinal alcohol, which used to cost 30 cents a bottle, but now had risen to 40 cents. The other bottle, judging by the color, was ginger beer, which was just cheap beer mixed with ginger.
Ginger beer cost 10 cents a bottle—only a quarter of the price of fake alcohol. You'd need four bottles to match the price of one bottle of fake booze. Since the drunk wanted to act rich and drink fake alcohol, there was no need to say more.
Clear pricing, everything explained up front, and now he was trying to argue about the price? Ha, no way.
Even though Barland was over fifty, he went straight for the troublemaker. The other drunks and customers didn't intervene—they were either cheering for the workers in the special profession or drinking ginger beer in the early morning.
There was no need for Frederick or Niall to step in. Barland and a worker quickly subdued the drunk, who begged for mercy. In the end, they emptied his pockets and threw him out like a dead dog, to the amusement of everyone else.
"Is the ginger beer selling well?" Niall, having watched the scene, turned to ask Frederick.
"Very well, very well!" Frederick went to check if his father was hurt—the drunk had punched him twice, though it wasn't clear if he had landed any blows.
"With this, our business is unaffected," Frederick said, relieved when he saw his father was okay.
As expected, despite the continued demand for alcohol and sex, the incredibly cheap ginger beer quickly dominated the market. Its low price earned it widespread consumer approval. It not only kept selling well but even became a favorite among many alcoholics.
It's stimulating, it's strong—that's all they need!
"Good to hear," Niall nodded.
He just wondered if Frederick had already told Meyeranski about this. If the market proved that this stuff worked, then Meyeranski could make a big move now that Al Capone was captured.