It’s a huge two-door Chrysler Cordoba, creamy white and a matching vinyl top.
Intimidating parked next to any of the current satellite-tracked and climate-controlled livery, it floats there like The Enterprise next to the mailbox where Kev parked it. Pointed uphill, its rear end lifted in a slight California slant on bead-blasted mags, it sits level. When Kev leaves tonight, the pie-plate headlights will come on slowly, like they take time to warm up. In new, stock condition, it would have been a knockout on a showroom floor in 1975. Low, block-long and jeweled opulence rivaling the Caddies, Lincolns and Monte Carlos of the day—its hood-to-trunk ratio is three-to-one. Monster V-eight, dual exhaust, race-proven torque-flight transmission, door-post carriage lights and a trunk that could hold three disagreeable guys from New Jersey. Ricardo Montalban (“The plane, the plane!”) gave television voice to the Cordoba experience pointing out one unique feature: “…soft Corinthian leather.”