all. The older brothers back in town and hes
decided to sell the Richmond place.
Huh, Axle said.
So, arrange delivery, then you and
I go looking for a another white Prelude.
No worries, Axle said, and he left
Bax there. After a while, Bax turned on Axles sound system and heard the
cassette through to the end, snuffles of laughter escaping from him every few
seconds. Outside the car, a gritty wind was hassling the pedestrians and inside
his head the Mesic problem and the problem of the money he owed his SP bookie
were never far away, but for a time at least, the world didnt feel such a bad
place.
Forty minutes later Axle was there
with the envelope. Three seven fifty, he said.
Good one.
Axle started the car. The motor
backfired once, settling into a surging idle. White Prelude, he said.
Car park at the Prahran market?
Axle shook his head violently. No
way known. Theyve got this lookout tower, some guy on the PA spotting parking
spaces for people. Well try Chaddie.
The drive to Chadstone shopping
centre took them thirty minutes. They searched the immense parking areas for a
further ten minutes until Axle stopped the car and beamed. There.
A young woman had just locked a
white Prelude and now she was snapping on stiletto heels across the asphalt
toward the side entrance of Myer. Bax watched her limbs moving inside the power
dressers pencil-line skirt and padded shoulders. He liked the way her calves
flexed and he looked for the line of her knickers, an image of Stella Mesic
filling his head.
Wakey, wakey, Axle said, passing a
hand across Baxs face.
We wait till shes inside, Bax
said, then we wait another couple of minutes in case shes forgotten
something.
Fair enough.
They saw the woman veer toward an
ANZ automatic teller machine and join the queue. There were four people waiting
and the line moved slowly. Both men sighed simultaneously and settled in their
seats. After a while, Bax, encouraged into intimacy by their shared liking of
the comedy tape, said, They call you Axle because you steal cars, right?
Axle was affronted. Shit no. Its
my real name. Axel. A-x-e-l. Danish.
Bax nodded. Axel, he said,
stressing the second syllable.
You got it.
They waited, and two minutes after
the woman had disappeared into Myer, Axel reached into the back seat and
retrieved a black metal box fitted with switches, a dial and a telescopic
aerial. He extended the aerial and tilted the box toward the womans car. Bax
made no comment. The device was a radio scanner and hed seen Axel use it
before. According to a manufacturers sticker on the rear window, the womans
Prelude had been fitted with a car alarm, and Axel was about to disarm it. His
box of tricks would transmit a signal matching the signal the woman transmitted
from the gadget on her keyring when she wanted to unlock the car.
Bax waited. The scanner ran through
the frequencies, the numbers rapidly dissolving and reforming on the digital
readout. Then it locked and Axel said, Bingo.
They wasted no time after that. Bax
took Axels place behind the wheel of the rustbucket and watched Axel break
into the Prelude. Then he drove out onto Dandenong Road, Axel following in the
stolen car, and headed for Flemington.
From the outside, Mach-One Motors on
Flemington Road was just another suburban lube and service garage. The
paperwork listed a Charles Willis as the proprietor, but Charles Willis was a
name old man Mesic had dreamed up and the petrol pumps and hydraulic hoists
were a front for the real business of the place.
Bax parked, tapped the horn twice,
and watched as a massive steel rolladoor cranked open at the rear of the workshop.
He stood back while Axel drove in, then followed on foot, the rolladoor
rattling down behind him.
He was in a space the size of a
barn. Doors, motors, panels, windscreens and car compliance plates were stacked
in orderly rows around the perimeter of the shed. An obstacle course of rear
axles took up a quarter of the floor
decided to sell the Richmond place.
Huh, Axle said.
So, arrange delivery, then you and
I go looking for a another white Prelude.
No worries, Axle said, and he left
Bax there. After a while, Bax turned on Axles sound system and heard the
cassette through to the end, snuffles of laughter escaping from him every few
seconds. Outside the car, a gritty wind was hassling the pedestrians and inside
his head the Mesic problem and the problem of the money he owed his SP bookie
were never far away, but for a time at least, the world didnt feel such a bad
place.
Forty minutes later Axle was there
with the envelope. Three seven fifty, he said.
Good one.
Axle started the car. The motor
backfired once, settling into a surging idle. White Prelude, he said.
Car park at the Prahran market?
Axle shook his head violently. No
way known. Theyve got this lookout tower, some guy on the PA spotting parking
spaces for people. Well try Chaddie.
The drive to Chadstone shopping
centre took them thirty minutes. They searched the immense parking areas for a
further ten minutes until Axle stopped the car and beamed. There.
A young woman had just locked a
white Prelude and now she was snapping on stiletto heels across the asphalt
toward the side entrance of Myer. Bax watched her limbs moving inside the power
dressers pencil-line skirt and padded shoulders. He liked the way her calves
flexed and he looked for the line of her knickers, an image of Stella Mesic
filling his head.
Wakey, wakey, Axle said, passing a
hand across Baxs face.
We wait till shes inside, Bax
said, then we wait another couple of minutes in case shes forgotten
something.
Fair enough.
They saw the woman veer toward an
ANZ automatic teller machine and join the queue. There were four people waiting
and the line moved slowly. Both men sighed simultaneously and settled in their
seats. After a while, Bax, encouraged into intimacy by their shared liking of
the comedy tape, said, They call you Axle because you steal cars, right?
Axle was affronted. Shit no. Its
my real name. Axel. A-x-e-l. Danish.
Bax nodded. Axel, he said,
stressing the second syllable.
You got it.
They waited, and two minutes after
the woman had disappeared into Myer, Axel reached into the back seat and
retrieved a black metal box fitted with switches, a dial and a telescopic
aerial. He extended the aerial and tilted the box toward the womans car. Bax
made no comment. The device was a radio scanner and hed seen Axel use it
before. According to a manufacturers sticker on the rear window, the womans
Prelude had been fitted with a car alarm, and Axel was about to disarm it. His
box of tricks would transmit a signal matching the signal the woman transmitted
from the gadget on her keyring when she wanted to unlock the car.
Bax waited. The scanner ran through
the frequencies, the numbers rapidly dissolving and reforming on the digital
readout. Then it locked and Axel said, Bingo.
They wasted no time after that. Bax
took Axels place behind the wheel of the rustbucket and watched Axel break
into the Prelude. Then he drove out onto Dandenong Road, Axel following in the
stolen car, and headed for Flemington.
From the outside, Mach-One Motors on
Flemington Road was just another suburban lube and service garage. The
paperwork listed a Charles Willis as the proprietor, but Charles Willis was a
name old man Mesic had dreamed up and the petrol pumps and hydraulic hoists
were a front for the real business of the place.
Bax parked, tapped the horn twice,
and watched as a massive steel rolladoor cranked open at the rear of the workshop.
He stood back while Axel drove in, then followed on foot, the rolladoor
rattling down behind him.
He was in a space the size of a
barn. Doors, motors, panels, windscreens and car compliance plates were stacked
in orderly rows around the perimeter of the shed. An obstacle course of rear
axles took up a quarter of the floor
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