by Nick Hawkes
Benjamin broke in, “But with a drag coefficient of point two eight, it’s moderately economical.” He smiled. “Let’s take her for a run. I want to see how she handles slow rush hour traffic and then do a fairly long run on the open road.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ve got all morning.” He handed Benjamin the keys.
Affecting a bravado he did not feel, Benjamin got into the car and listened as Mercurio took him through the features he needed to know to drive the car.
It was a relief to discover that the car was kinder to drive than it looked. It was an automatic which helped greatly.
Benjamin was nosing his way through the morning traffic, past the docklands and on toward the M1, when Mercurio’s phone rang. Benjamin listened to the one-sided conversation.
“The Corvette? Sure, it’s still for sale although I’m actually with another potential buyer at the moment. Sure, sure…I’ve got your number, and I’ll get back to you shortly. No worries. Cheers.” He turned to Ben. “Mr. Benjamin…by the way, what is your first name?”
“Mr. Benjamin is fine.”
“Mr. Benjamin, the price has just gone up by five thousand dollars.” Mercurio had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Well, we’ll just have to see if she’s worth it, won’t we?”
Benjamin threaded his way onto the M1 and began driving toward Werribee.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Mercurio.
“I’d want to tighten the suspension a fraction.”
“What!”
“Please be quiet and let me listen to the engine.”
Benjamin flew along the M1 as far as Seabrook, where he took the exit and began driving toward the coast. “I’ve always wanted to see what was down this road.” He smiled. “And I think I can say, Nick, that we have a sale.”
“That’s great. Let’s stop and we’ll do the paperwork. I’ve brought the Notice of Disposal.”
“Yes, let’s do it.” Benjamin pointed ahead of him. “I’ll head down to the park at the end.” Benjamin drove past bleak, salty marshland until he arrived at a small parking area. It was a desolate place.
Archie was there. He got up from the park bench and lounged against the back of it, ostensibly staring at Benjamin’s white ute parked nearby.
Benjamin lowered both windows with the electric switch and turned off the engine. He faced his passenger and said evenly, “Mr. Mercurio, this car is being repossessed. You will be receiving a check for half the value of the car…less the costs we have incurred in repossessing it. You can expect the money to be in the mail within two days. Any prevarication on your part will add to the cost and will be deducted from the amount you receive. I am to instruct you that you are not to contact your ex-wife, or you will lose a good deal more. I understand she is considering placing a restraining order on you because of a violent attack. The actual amount of money you receive will be entirely at her discretion. Currently, she is willing to give you half the sale price.”
Mercurio’s mouth dropped open in surprise, then he bellowed in rage. “What the hell! Don’t tell me the bitch has got you to steal this car? You can’t do that! I’m a lawyer…and I’ll take you to court for…”
“Shut up, Mercurio, and listen.”
Mercurio twisted in his seat. “I’ll knock the crap out of you, you little shit.” He began to undo his seat belt.
“May I advise against violence, Mr. Mercurio. Do you see that man over there?” He pointed out the window. Archie was now facing them. He was chewing a matchstick and had his hands pushed into the pockets of a camouflage jacket. He looked downright intimidating. “That man is one of the most violent men I know. That’s why he’s here. Now, please give me your phone.”
“You’re not bloody well going to steal my phone as well, you bastard!”
Benjamin put his hand out of the window and beckoned.
Archie heaved himself off the back of the park bench and began striding forward.
“No, no,” screamed Mercurio.
Benjamin held up his hand.
Archie stopped, paused briefly, then continued to head toward them at an amble. He sat on the Corvette’s bonnet—directly in front of Mercurio.
The car sagged pleasingly.
Mercurio gulped.
“Your phone, Mr. Mercurio.”
Mercurio fumbled in his jacket pocket and handed across his phone.
Benjamin took it, opened it up, and scrolled through until he saw the number of the last person who had rung. He reached into his jacket pocket for a pen and wrote the number down on his hand.
Then he reached behind his back and pulled from his waistband a new washing-up cloth and a plastic bag containing a padded envelope. He showed the envelope to his bewildered passenger. “This envelope has your home address on it. I’m going to post your phone back to you via the nearest letterbox. You should receive it in a day or so.”
Benjamin wiped the phone with the cloth and dropped it in the envelope.
“There. All done. Now…please sign the Notice of Disposal and get out of the car.”
Mercurio did so with ill grace. He signed with an untidy flourish, threw the form down on Benjamin’s lap, and hissed, “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
“Be very careful, Mr. Mercurio—very, very careful. The wrath of hell will descend on you if you cause your ex-wife or me any anxiety. If you act foolishly, I promise you, your life will never be the same again.” Benjamin forced a smile and pointed up the road. “Laverton is about three kilometers away. You’ll be able to catch a bus from there back to the city.”
Archie opened the car door to expedite Mercurio’s departure.
As Mercurio stood up, Archie faced him from a distance of a few inches and murmured, “I’d like the chance to meet you one day, Nick, so you can show me just how you hit your wife.” His pale eyes bored into Mercurio’s terrified face.
Benjamin shivered. It was chilling.
Archie walked back toward the ute. He got in and drove it past Mercurio, in the direction of the highway. Benjamin followed in the Corvette.
Two kilometers up the road, Benjamin flashed his lights, causing Archie to pull off into a lay-by and get out of the car. Archie strode back to Benjamin and sat himself in the front passenger seat. “We should be heading home, young Benjamin.”
“I know, Archie. I just thought we might have a chance of tying things up a bit tighter.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to go fishing this afternoon?”
“It shouldn’t take too long.”
“So, what’s on your mind?”
Benjamin told him.
When he had finished, Archie stroked his beard. “I can’t see much risk in that.” He looked up and grinned. “I think it’s worth a go. Make the call.”
Benjamin took out Mercurio’s phone and dialed the number he had written on his hand. After a long delay, it was answered.
“Pershore.”
“Hello Mr. Pershore. You called earlier about the Corvette…Yes, yes…You’re playing golf? Well, I’m sorry to interrupt your game, but I have two people interested in buying the car—you and someone else. I’m about to head out of town to see the other potential buyer but he’s quite a distance away. In fairness to you, being the first who called, I think you should have the first chance to buy it. If you pay the advertised price, it’s yours. Would you be available?...Yes, yes…Well, if you can have a bank check ready for the amount specified in the ad that would be fine. Please make it payable to Felicity Mercurio…nee Anderson, as she goes by both names.” Benjamin laughed. “It’s more her car than mine. She’s going to use the money for some building renovations. Oh, and Mr. Pershore, for your own peace of mind, may I suggest that you do a Vehicle Security Register investigation…Oh, right, you’ve already done it…Your address? Fine, I’ve got it. I’ll see you in two hours. Eleven o’clock.”
Benjamin rang off, leaned his head against the steering wheel, and began to let his adrenaline level subside.
“Phew!” he said. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”
“I dunno. You seem pretty good at it to me.” Archie scratched his stubble. “But the trouble is, young Benjamin, we’ve got a slightly hot car, and two hours to parade it under the noses of any passing policemen. Where are we going to meet this geezer?”
“Toorak.” Benjamin told him the address.
Archie removed the matchstick and smiled. “Well, that’s easy then. My home is just a few minutes north from there. We’ll pop it in the garage and wait an hour or so.”
“I thought you’d leased your house.”
“I have—to my brother. Don’t worry, I outrank him. Chances are, he and his wife will both be out at work. No one will know.”
“Then…lead on, kindly light.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Let’s get going.”
Two hours later, Benjamin parked outside a white, double-story house in Toorak. It had shuttered windows, a formal garden, and electronic gates. He revved the car unnecessarily loudly before he switched it off.
It had the intended effect. A florid man, still in his golfing garb, came down the driveway to meet him.
“Get in. I’ll drive,” he said without preamble. He was a man used to authority.
Twenty minutes later, Benjamin had a check for one hundred and ten thousand dollars.
Chapter 7
“You look terrible,” said Gabrielle. She was wearing a long green dress with an embroidered bib. Her ginger hair was again piled up on her head and kept in place with what Felicity could only assume were chopsticks.
Felicity rubbed her eyes. They ached and felt gritty. “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome. What have you been up to?”
“Late night.”
“With whom?”
“On my own.”
“Hmm…even worse.”
The sunshine had made a late start in warming the day, but it was enough to persuade Felicity and Gabrielle to sit at a table on the pavement outside the café. Two cappuccinos and a dissected muffin sat in front of them.
“You must be pleased now that your windows have been put in. Replacing the garage door with that old shop window has transformed the front.”
Felicity nodded. With all the excitement over the Atlantis stone, she hadn’t really been able to think about her renovation project. “The council insists that the place be in keeping with the old shops in the area. It’s zoned both residential and commercial.”
“Well, the old shop window looks great.” She grinned. “Mind you, the rest of the building looks bloody awful.”
“You’re meant to be cheering me up.”
Gabrielle cocked her head sideways. “No, I don’t think I need to. Although you look knackered, you’ve got an energy about you today. What’s cheered you up?”
Felicity was unsure how to answer. She bought herself some thinking time by reaching for her half of the muffin.
Two magpies strutted on the ground in front of her as she nibbled at it. She dropped a piece on the ground. The magpies ran toward it then paused, torn between fear and greed. One fixed her with a beady stare and darted forward to stab at the piece of muffin with its cruel beak. Its less brave companion lifted its head and warbled a song of entreaty.
How could Felicity explain the agony and ecstasy of the last forty-eight hours? What needed to be kept secret…and what could be shared to fuel a budding friendship?
“I have to sell my car…”
“That’s bad.”
“…to pay for some builders to clad my house in weatherboard and construct a bull-nosed veranda.”
“That’s good.”
“…but they’re not really builders.”
“That’s bad.”
“…but one of them is…pretty special.”
“Ooh, that’s good!” Gabrielle leaned back and grinned.
“But he hasn’t given any indication of…well…you know.”
“No lingering looks?”
“Nope.”
“No extra generous smiles?”
“Nope.”
“No contrived meetings?”
“None.”
Gabrielle put her hand on top of Felicity’s. “Then, methinks you are scattering the seeds of your affection on stony ground.” She squeezed her hand. “Guard your heart, Flick.”
“Hmm.”
“That doesn’t convince me at all. Don’t tell me you’ve already lost it.”
“Certainly not,” said Felicity, turning away.
Gabrielle reached out, turned Felicity’s head back and tried to look into her eyes—but Felicity twisted away again. Gabrielle leaned back and sighed, “Ah, love…it is a madness, full of woes.”
Felicity laughed despite herself. “Who said that?”
“I did. I often quote myself. It adds spice to the conversation.”
“Well, nothing’s happening. Seriously. He’s just rather…unusual.” Felicity threw her hair back and asked brightly, “How are your sculptures going?”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“I’ll show you if you like.” Gabrielle took out her phone, dialed up her photo gallery, and passed the phone over.
Felicity scrolled slowly through the images. She was surprised by what she saw. Gabrielle’s work was very good. Driftwood, rusted pieces of iron, fencing wire, and carved natural timber came together to suggest feelings, moods and possibilities. Her work in stone was particularly powerful and evocative. “How on earth do you get those fluid lines in the rock? It must take extraordinary patience to carve them.”
“Do you like them?”
“I love them,” said Felicity as she handed back the phone. “I really do. I didn’t expect to see things so creative or so beautiful. How do you see the potential in such ordinary objects?”
“Well, that’s it, darling. Everything’s got potential.”
“I hope I’ve been right in seeing potential in my old car garage. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s all worth it.”
“Hmm, the merry-go-round of capitalism does seem to invite you to walk a scary tightrope. It’s probably the reason I opted out to become an artist. Certainly, I’ve been a disappointment to my parents. They sent me to a good school so I could learn the art of mindless consumerism.” Gabrielle grinned. “I can’t quite work this house-owning thing. The only benefit of owning your own home is that you get to choose which way around to hang the toilet roll.”
Felicity moved her head slightly in order to line up two telephone poles down the street. Her mind was a long way away, teasing out the beginnings of an idea.
“Gabs, would it be possible to turn my shop front into an art gallery—a place to sell your work? It’s in a fabulous location…plenty of foot traffic.”
“Really?”
“Is it worth exploring?”
“You’d need to exhibit plenty of stuff other than mine.”
“Hmm, I know. I’ve got some ideas about that.”
“What ideas?”
“Well, as it happens, I know this wood-turner…”
That afternoon, Felicity took herself off for a walk. She needed to clear her head and do some serious thinking. Her arm ached but luckily there was no sign of infection. It did, however, give her an excuse not to do any physical work at the building site.
She walked along the Moyne River, pausing briefly to watch a fishing boat growl its way upstream. Its wash caused the water to slurp and gurgle on the rocks beside her. Turning south, she strolled beside the lagoon along a path that wound its way through the low-lying vegetation. She made her way to the southernmost point of Griffiths Island and sat down on a tussock of grass. Waves crashed and surged around the rocks in a confusion of swirls.
It was a fair representation of her mental state.
Feeling the need for calmer waters, Felicity got up and headed over to the beach behind the headland. When she got there, she took off her shoes and walked along the sand, allowin
g the last of the waves to run up the beach and cover her feet. The foam-streaked water sucked at her ankles as it swept back into the sea.
She walked the length of the beach, then turned and began retracing her steps. Seagulls skittered across the sand in front of her, some lifting their wings in readiness to fly—undecided, like her.
The idea of making the bottom of her house into a gallery would certainly fit in with the local council regulations, but she wasn’t so sure of her motives for doing it. Gabrielle had been enthusiastic, but what about Benjamin? How would he feel? Would he want to be linked with her in a commercial venture?
Felicity reached the end of the beach and stood in the shallows, watching the turquoise patterns of light shimmy and dance around her feet. Everything was so uncertain.
The noise of barking dogs told her that she was no longer alone. She looked over her shoulder and saw two Labradors, each holding the ends of the same stick. They were prancing around their owner, a gray-haired woman. However, Felicity’s attention quickly turned to the man walking past them who was dressed in a wetsuit. Despite the cool wind, he had unzipped the front of his top. She recognized him immediately. Benjamin had looped his snorkel and fins over an arm and was carrying a bucket. In his other hand, he held an aluminum fishing spear. She watched his easy, languid gait.
When he came closer, she saw that his eyes were looking tired. They were no less dangerous for that; their dark depths interrogated her. She lowered her gaze. Beads of water were hanging between the muscles of his chest. Safer to look at the bucket. She pointed to it. “Hello. Any luck?”
“Two flathead, two strongfish, and a magpie perch. How’s your arm?”
“Fine. No infection.”
The silence shouted between them.
He smiled. “That’s good.”
The sight of his smile warmed her more than she wanted him to know. She fought for normal conversation. “The flatties should taste terrific. But I’ve never eaten a strongfish…or a magpie perch, for that matter.”
