"Look, you can see the car from here," Chuy said.

Sitting in the back of Michael Lightbourn's four-door pickup, I had to stick my head out the side window and look up. I could barely see the shape of a car wrapped in tarps and parked on a roof, but not a roof like we see in America.

We were in an old neighborhood of Juarez, Mexico, where every building looked like it was made of concrete and there were no yards with grass, just dirt streets devoid of life. The area was not a ghost town, but in the middle of the day I saw no people walking around.

Chuy Gonzalez was our guide. He drove Michael's truck up the street until the flat roof, once very high above us, was at eye level. I stepped out of the pickup and was even with the roof.

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The car has been on this rooftop since the 1980s

Juarez is not a place for the weak of heart. Drug cartels have turned the town into a battle zone. In the last few years the violence has "lessened," but it is still risky.

Two men appeared from out of nowhere talking excitedly in Spanish. A younger person wheeled up in a bicycle to see what was going on. I wondered what they were saying.

Suddenly the street was alive with people. I could feel all eyes on me. I slid my camera around to my side in a vain attempt to hide my photographic intentions. Michael and his friend Chuy had been here before. They knew this man. They were explaining to him what was going on.

The men began lifting heavy cinderblocks then peeling back two tarps, one white and the other green. First I noticed an SS badge on the black rubber bumper cover.

"This is a real SS396," Chuy told me in English. Michael agreed. Chuy had checked out the car previously.

The animated man speaking Spanish, Michael told me, owned the Chevelle. I imagine he felt like he might be getting some dollars this time, and probably from the gringo.

"He wants $3,900," Michael said.

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The interior looked like a storage bin for trim pieces

The car appeared rust-free except for the passenger-side rear quarter. I opened the passenger door. The interior looked like a storage bin for trim pieces, including a doorsill plate for a Ford Ranger pickup. I could see a floor shifter and an SS dash with the glovebox door missing. The trunk also held a plethora of trim pieces, plus a four-barrel carburetor.

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"He said he bought the car in Montana and drove it back," Michael said.

"When?"

"I think in the 1970s, but the car has been on this rooftop, I believe, since sometime in the 1980s."

There was no engine, no transmission, but the 1970 Chevelle was a real SS. Chuy crawled under the car to check out what appeared to be the stock 12-bolt rearend. Disc brakes, larger sway bars, and the SS dash were more indications of a true SS.

"He would take $3,500," Michael said. The price wasn't real cheap, but not bad for a rust-free car. I noticed cuts in the body. I pointed them out to Michael.

"They look like battle scars from Juarez," he said with a laugh. Scars caused by a big sharp knife were what they looked like to me. After 10 minutes and no deal made, I had a feeling the owner would sell for even less.

When no deal was made, the owner told us about the whereabouts of a GTO Judge.

"He'll take us there for $100," Michael said to me.

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They look like battle scars

"Is the GTO for sale?" I asked.

"Don't know. Maybe."

"Nah, I think I'll pass on that. What about this car?"

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For now, we wanted to drive on and look at more cars Chuy had already found. As the owner of Street Toys in Juarez, he got many leads on cars in the city. Michael was one of his customers.

I asked, "In the States, how much would they want for a Chevelle in this condition?"

"Maybe eight or nine grand," Michael guessed.

Chuy and several of the men began putting the tarp and the cinderblocks back on the body. Later, Michael would come back to buy the Chevelle. For now, we pressed on to see more cars in Juarez, living dangerously and loving every minute of it.