WE ARRIVED AT BOG’S yard five minutes later. Bog was sitting on the bonnet of my car drinking beer straight from the carton – no esky in sight – under a spotlight.
He waved and slid off the bonnet when he saw me. Edouardo drove the Subaru up alongside.
I lowered the window. ‘Evening. Got your message.’
Bog didn’t answer but he stepped out of the way so I could see Mona. She was clean as a whistle, shiny orange but . . .
‘What’s that?’ I gasped staring at the black swirls across the bonnet and down the side.
‘Flames,’ said Bog. ‘You said you wanted to race her. Thought I’d throw in an extra for you. Had a set of transfers hangin’ around.’
‘N-i-ce,’ I managed to get out. My car looked like a hell-beast Transformer.
In the seat next to me Edouardo sounded like he was choking.
‘Don’t you think it might attract attention?’ I asked Bog.
‘That’s the idea.’ He tossed the can away and ripped open another. ‘We got a deal though. Remember? You race, I wrench.’
‘But you’re a spray painter,’ I protested.
‘Yeah, only cos . . . well I got my reasons. But I got my trade as well. As good a mechanic as you can find.’
‘Oh,’ I said, stumped. ‘Fair enough. I’ll keep it in mind.’
Bog cocked his head as a truck turned into the street, headlights off. He flicked us a salute. ‘Time you folk went.’
I got a cold, shivery feeling. If Bog was up to something illegal I didn’t want anything to do with it. I’d pushed my luck enough for one night. ‘Sure.’ I glanced at Edouardo. ‘Follow me home. We’ll have that drink at The Cocked Dog.’
Edouardo nodded; a tight jerk of his head that told me he was thinking the same thing as me. It was time to go.
I jumped out of the Subaru and into Mona. The engine fired up sweetly – so sweetly, I swear Bog had tuned her as well. With one slight depression of the accelerator, and a swing of the steering wheel, I flew out of Bog’s yard and headed down the street towards the incoming truck.
A quick glance in the mirror told me Edouardo was sticking tight to my tail.
As we crossed paths – two innocent cars happening to be on the same street as a dirty-great-big unmarked truck – two police cars screamed around the corner, sirens blaring.
Before I took the same corner, I glimpsed the truck being pulled over to the side of the road at the gate of Bog’s yard.
The rest of the trip home was uneventful apart from my thumping heart, clammy hands, and the hoons that tried to drag me at every set of traffic lights.
Flames. My flipping car’s got flipping flames.
How was I going to park it in Lilac Street?
Worse! How would I tell Bok? Bok loathed all things bogan.
By the time I turned off Stirling Highway into the car park of The Cocked Dog, I’d pretty well justified myself to Bok in my mind, by deciding the whole thing was his fault anyway.
Edouardo ended up buying the bottle of vodka and drinking most of it – among other things – and I ended up driving him home. Not before he accidentally tossed a flaming Drambuie over his shoulder (instead of into his mouth) and nearly set fire to the barman’s dreads.
About then the management decided it was time for us to go, and possibly not return for some time.
I saw Edouardo to the door of his ground-floor unit in a salmon-brick apartment block in Graylands.
‘Thanksh, Tarah,’ he slurred. ‘Never hadda night witha girl like that befoe.’
I put his key in the lock and opened the door.
‘Yeah, well,’ I said, feeling guilty. ‘Sorry.’
He threw his arms around me and hugged me tight. ‘Don’ ’pologise. ’S’fun,’ he mumbled in my ear. ‘Scary but fun. Like you.’
I laughed, pushing him away. ‘You’re a cool dude, Edouardo. Take care.’
His face dropped as he grabbed the door jam. ‘Don’ you wanna mess around?’
I leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the cheek. ‘Some other time.’