under a UV lamp during the Melbourne winter or on his annual mid-winter sojourn at his timeshare townhouse at Noosa.
‘You from around here, mate?’ he asked, still walking fast to try and keep pace with the man who remained a potential customer, slightly threatening or not.
‘No.’ The Wild Man bent to examine a late-90s Subaru.
‘Ah, beautiful little car, that. Four cylinders with the power of a six. Very straight body. Low kilometres. Great sound system.’
The Wild Man straightened, his back to Salter, and turned slowly. ‘I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you fuck off and let me look at cars? Okay?’
Salter drew himself up to his full height – about half a metre shorter than the other man. ‘Well, hey, there’s no need to use that sort of language, young man. I happen to own this lot and I’d thank you to remain civil.’
The Wild Man faced him fully now, then looked over to the massive billboard of Salter and the giant pencil. ‘Civil, eh? How ’bout I shove that giant pencil of yours up your arse and then twist it? Would that be civil enough for you?’
‘Now, hey.’ Salter looked around, trying to spot Angelo. ‘There’s just no need for that.’
The Wild Man smirked at him and gestured at a nearby four-wheel drive. ‘How much is the Subaru, big guy?’
‘What?’ Salter stopped in his tracks.
‘How much is the fucking car?’
‘Twenty-seven thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. You want to buy it?’
‘You’re fucking kidding. It’s not worth half that.’
Salter started to chuckle nervously, looking again for Angelo. He was way down the other end of the yard, supervising a kid with a hose, not looking Salter’s way once. Salter fiddled with his tie. ‘Now, look, I really don’t think you understand the car you’re looking at. Maybe I should get one of my senior salesman to come and—’
‘You got the keys? I want a test drive.’
‘Well, the keys are in our reception office. I’ll have a salesman fetch them if you’re serious about the car, but clearly we wouldn’t go below twenty-five thousand.’
‘Listen dickwit. You’re the boss of the lot. You have skeleton keys to fit any car here. Hand over the key for the Subaru. Now.’ The Wild Man loomed over Salter, blocking out the early morning sun.
‘Umm, no, I haven’t got keys like that, certainly not on me.’ Salter’s right hand involuntarily drifted towards his pants pocket. He tried to adopt a firm tone. ‘I think maybe it might be better if you just left, thank you. I don’t think Salter’s Special Auto Stadium actually wants to do business with a man such as yourself. There are plenty of other lots along this road. So move along, please son. Thank you.’
The Wild Man took one fast step forward and ripped a short, sharp left uppercut into Salter’s ample stomach. The salesman didn’t even see it, only found himself trying desperately, unexpectedly, to breathe. His lungs couldn’t find any air as he bent double, arms futilely trying to protect his gut after the damage was done. The Wild Man glanced around, then hit Salter twice in the face: once on the right temple and then flush on the nose. There was a breaking sound from within the nose and blood started to flow instantly. Salter went down, making a low moaning sound, his shoulder sliding against the door of a Corolla station wagon, and the Wild Man kicked him three times in the chest, breaking ribs, before lifting Salter up by the tie and giving him a last, heavy punch to the face. Salter gurgled a little as he sank back onto the bitumen.
The Wild Man crouched, dug into Salter’s right-hand pants pocket and grabbed the substantial bunch of keys he found there. He expertly flicked through them until he found the ones he wanted: a Subaru key and the single Lockwood padlock key on the bunch. Straightening, he walked fast around the bonnet of the Subaru and unlocked the padlock holding the metal chain that acted as a fence for the
‘You from around here, mate?’ he asked, still walking fast to try and keep pace with the man who remained a potential customer, slightly threatening or not.
‘No.’ The Wild Man bent to examine a late-90s Subaru.
‘Ah, beautiful little car, that. Four cylinders with the power of a six. Very straight body. Low kilometres. Great sound system.’
The Wild Man straightened, his back to Salter, and turned slowly. ‘I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you fuck off and let me look at cars? Okay?’
Salter drew himself up to his full height – about half a metre shorter than the other man. ‘Well, hey, there’s no need to use that sort of language, young man. I happen to own this lot and I’d thank you to remain civil.’
The Wild Man faced him fully now, then looked over to the massive billboard of Salter and the giant pencil. ‘Civil, eh? How ’bout I shove that giant pencil of yours up your arse and then twist it? Would that be civil enough for you?’
‘Now, hey.’ Salter looked around, trying to spot Angelo. ‘There’s just no need for that.’
The Wild Man smirked at him and gestured at a nearby four-wheel drive. ‘How much is the Subaru, big guy?’
‘What?’ Salter stopped in his tracks.
‘How much is the fucking car?’
‘Twenty-seven thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. You want to buy it?’
‘You’re fucking kidding. It’s not worth half that.’
Salter started to chuckle nervously, looking again for Angelo. He was way down the other end of the yard, supervising a kid with a hose, not looking Salter’s way once. Salter fiddled with his tie. ‘Now, look, I really don’t think you understand the car you’re looking at. Maybe I should get one of my senior salesman to come and—’
‘You got the keys? I want a test drive.’
‘Well, the keys are in our reception office. I’ll have a salesman fetch them if you’re serious about the car, but clearly we wouldn’t go below twenty-five thousand.’
‘Listen dickwit. You’re the boss of the lot. You have skeleton keys to fit any car here. Hand over the key for the Subaru. Now.’ The Wild Man loomed over Salter, blocking out the early morning sun.
‘Umm, no, I haven’t got keys like that, certainly not on me.’ Salter’s right hand involuntarily drifted towards his pants pocket. He tried to adopt a firm tone. ‘I think maybe it might be better if you just left, thank you. I don’t think Salter’s Special Auto Stadium actually wants to do business with a man such as yourself. There are plenty of other lots along this road. So move along, please son. Thank you.’
The Wild Man took one fast step forward and ripped a short, sharp left uppercut into Salter’s ample stomach. The salesman didn’t even see it, only found himself trying desperately, unexpectedly, to breathe. His lungs couldn’t find any air as he bent double, arms futilely trying to protect his gut after the damage was done. The Wild Man glanced around, then hit Salter twice in the face: once on the right temple and then flush on the nose. There was a breaking sound from within the nose and blood started to flow instantly. Salter went down, making a low moaning sound, his shoulder sliding against the door of a Corolla station wagon, and the Wild Man kicked him three times in the chest, breaking ribs, before lifting Salter up by the tie and giving him a last, heavy punch to the face. Salter gurgled a little as he sank back onto the bitumen.
The Wild Man crouched, dug into Salter’s right-hand pants pocket and grabbed the substantial bunch of keys he found there. He expertly flicked through them until he found the ones he wanted: a Subaru key and the single Lockwood padlock key on the bunch. Straightening, he walked fast around the bonnet of the Subaru and unlocked the padlock holding the metal chain that acted as a fence for the
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