‘Of course that’s what I said,’ barked Mrs Hedstrom. ‘What? Are you deaf as well as half asleep?’
‘No,’ said Mick, shaking his head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Well, that’s what I want. Take it or leave it. Or get out of my sight.’ She glared at Mick. ‘Trying to take advantage of an old woman.’
‘No, no,’ Mick said quickly. ‘You’ve got me all wrong. In fact you’re not going to believe this, Mrs Hedstrom. But that’s exactly the price I had in mind.’ Mick whipped out the envelope full of money and riffled it in front of Mrs Hedstrom.
The old woman looked at the money, then tore it out of Mick’s hand. ‘Show me that,’ she said. Mrs Hedstrom might have been old and frail, but her bony fingers knew how to count money. ‘That looks about right,’ she grunted. ‘In fact there’s five hundred over.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Mick. ‘You can have that too.’
Mrs Hedstrom glared at Mick. ‘Have that too? Why do I need all that money?’ she howled. ‘I know how much I want. Do you want me to lose my pension? You stupid idiot,’ she hissed at Mick. ‘I knew there was something about you I didn’t like.’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Mick. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll take the five hundred back.’
Mick went to ease the money out of the envelope when Mrs Hedstrom sprang at him like a tiger.
‘What are you doing with my money?’ she shrieked. ‘Give it back. You thief.’
‘I’m not,’ said Mick, letting go of the money. ‘Here. Keep it. It’s all yours.’
‘Thieving rotten bastard,’ snarled Mrs Hedstrom. ‘Trying to rob an old-age pensioner.’ She raised her walking stick and gave Mick a whack across the leg with it. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘You’re right,’ said Mick, moving back before the old woman could hit him again. ‘Look, Mrs Hedstrom. Why don’t you take the money inside. I’ll get a receipt book from the car. Then we’ll close the deal and I’ll be on my way.’
‘Of course you’ll be on your way,’ snarled Mrs Hedstrom. ‘You don’t think you’re going to hang around here all day do you?’ She put the money in her dressing gown. ‘I’ll see you in the kitchen,’ she said.
‘Okay.’
Mick handed Mrs Hedstrom back the key and switched off the light when they stepped out of the garage, but left the door open. The old lady was about to shuffle across to the house when she stopped and turned to Mick.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked.
Mick looked at her, stunned. ‘Yeah. That’d be nice,’ he replied.
Mick left Mrs Hedstrom and walked back to the van not sure whether he’d robbed her or she’d robbed him. But compatible pressure plates aside,
the old car was a bargain. Mick opened the door of the van and got both his order sheet and receipt book from inside. He put them together then took out his mobile and tapped in a number.
‘Hello,’ grunted a voice at the other end.
‘Jimmy? It’s Mick.’
‘Yeah? What’s the story with the old car?’
‘It’s a 1925 Maxwell.’
Mick gave Jimmy a quick rundown on the car and said he was going to buy it no matter what. When Jimmy asked him how much he was going to pay for it Mick simply replied, ‘Too much.’
‘So you got yourself an old Maxwell,’ said Jimmy. ‘The good Maxwell. Shit, they’re as rare as rocking horse shit.’
‘Fair dinkum?’ said Mick.
‘Oath! And if I’m not mistaken, they were manufactured in Michigan by Chrysler. And they’ve got a self-lubricating clutch release spring. So there’s a good chance the pressure plate should be compatible with your Buick.’
‘Unreal. So when can you come out and pick it up, Jimmy?’
‘When?’ drawled Jimmy. ‘Oh…’ There was a sudden pause at the end of the line. ‘Shit! Is that Neville’s wife just walked in. Christ! It is. I’m on my way now.’
Mick clicked off as the line went dead. He smiled, picked up his receipt book then walked round to the back of the house, knocked on the door and stepped inside. A door led into a poky kitchen with a small fridge and an original Kookaburra stove sitting next to the sink. A dish of smelly, half-eaten cat food sat on the floor. But the carers had kept everything else clean and tidy. Mrs Hedstrom had her back turned, pouring tea into two cups. She heard Mick walk in and half turned around.
‘Do you take milk and sugar?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, please,’ replied Mick. ‘One sugar.’
‘Good. Well, get it your bloody self. I’m not your servant. And bring it out here to the table. Nnngrhh!’
‘Okay.’
Mrs Hedstrom nudged Mick aside with her walking stick as she carried her tea out to a bamboo table and chairs by the back door. Mick found some powdered milk and sugar and got his cup of tea together, then took it out and sat down at the table opposite Mrs Hedstrom. He took a sip and had a quick look around. There were the usual shelves of bric-a-brac, tea sets, old books and other odds and ends you would expect to find in an old person’s house, along
with a few small paintings and one or two photos.
‘This is a nice cup of tea, Mrs Hedstrom,’ Mick commented.
‘Yes. You can’t beat a nice cup of tea,’ replied the old woman.
‘No. You definitely cannot.’ The cup of tea seemed to have a calming effect on Mrs Hedstrom. Mick gave it a few moments more before he opened his receipt book. ‘Okay, Mrs Hedstrom,’ he said. ‘We may as well fix up this receipt and get it out of the road.’
‘Receipt!’ Mrs Hedstrom sprang into life again. ‘I told you I don’t want a receipt. This is all cash. Do you want me to lose my pension? Cash. Can’t you understand? You idiot.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ nodded Mick. ‘You’ve got the cash. And it’s all right.’
Mick was able to calm Mrs Hedstrom down and convince her there was nothing to worry about. But he had to have a receipt because the car was unregistered and there were no number plates. So he was just going to make out two handwritten bills of sale and two receipts. They’d keep one each, the GST was taken care of and she wouldn’t lose her pension. Mrs Hedstrom put on a huge pair of glasses and closely examined the
four documents then paused with the biro before signing them.
‘Just one thing,’ she said, looking directly at Mick.
‘Sure, what’s that, Mrs Hedstrom?’
‘Don’t you tell anybody how much you paid me for the car.’
Mick shook his head. ‘I understand, Mrs Hedstrom. My lips are sealed. I won’t say a word.’
‘Nnngrhh!’
Mick sipped his tea and watched Mrs Hedstrom over the cup. She was a horrible, nasty, argumentative, bad-natured old monster. But something about her aroused Mick’s curiosity. He waited a while and put his cup down. ‘So tell me a bit about yourself, Mrs Hedstrom,’ he said. ‘Have you always lived here?’
‘Mind your own business,’ she snapped back at him.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ smiled Mick.
Mrs Hedstrom studied Mick for a moment. ‘I lived here with my mother before she died twenty years ago,’ she said quietly.
Mick let Mrs Hedstrom speak without interrupting. She rambled on and lost track of things, but it appeared she was born in the house, her parents never married and her father
left when she was a baby. Uncle Lonsdale was her mother’s brother and a bad man. He left the car in the garage one night, warning them to leave it where it was and not to tell anybody. And even though they never heard from him again after he left, her mother still wouldn’t move the car. Apparently Mrs Hedstrom’s mother was a bit mental. Mick thought the fruit generally doesn’t fall far from the tree and this was probably why Mrs Hedstrom’s father left them. But he still sent them money until they were both eligible for the pension. The house was originally owned by another Uncle—William—who signed the house over to them so Mrs Hedstrom could look after her mother. Which she did until her mother died; never working, never marrying, remaining an old spinster. And that was about it.
Mick found Mrs Hedstrom’s tale a little sad. Soon the old lady would be going into a home, there were no relatives so the house would go to the government, and apart from some records at the Department of Social Security, few people would have known Mrs Hedstrom and her mother ever existed. Just another two people society had pushed aside and forgotten.
Mick was down to the last of his tea when the
buzzer sounded, followed by a solid knock on the front door.
‘Who’s this?’ demanded Mrs Hedstrom. ‘It better not be that bloody Bronwyn.’
‘No. That’ll be my mate come to tow the car away,’ said Mick. ‘Stay there, Mrs Hedstrom. I’ll get it.’
‘Bloody people coming round to my house,’ complained the old lady. ‘How’s a woman to get any privacy?’
Mick went to the front door and opened it. Jimmy was standing there in a pair of blue overalls, looking as big and menacing as ever.
‘Come in, Jimmy,’ said Mick. ‘The car’s out in the garage.’
Jimmy stepped inside then stopped and screwed his face up. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he said. ‘What’s that smell? The old sheila hasn’t pissed herself, has she?’
‘No. It’s the cat,’ replied Mick. ‘Come out to the kitchen.’
Mick led Jimmy through to the kitchen and introduced him to Mrs Hedstrom. Mick expected her to be taken back by Jimmy’s size and appearance and to start abusing him. Instead she was all sweetness and light.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Jimmy?’ she asked him.
Jimmy shook his head. ‘No, that’s all right thanks, Mrs Hedstrom. I have to get back to work.’
‘Very well.’
Jimmy turned to Mick. ‘Come on. Let’s get it on the truck.’
‘Righto,’ said Mick.
Mick thanked Mrs Hedstrom for the cup of tea and put his empty cup in the sink. He told her she didn’t have to come out the back, just sit there and take it easy. She grunted something in reply and Mick led Jimmy out to the garage. Mick turned on the light and Jimmy stepped through the door behind him.
‘Holy bloody smoke!’ said Jimmy as soon as he saw the Maxwell. ‘What a ripper of an old car.’
‘Not bad, eh?’ Mick smiled at him.
‘No. Not bad at all, mate.’
Mick stood back while Jimmy ran a professional eye over the old car. He opened the bonnet on the passenger side of the motor and propped it up.
‘Christ! Check the donk,’ smiled Jimmy. He turned to Mick. ‘Hey. You’d better watch yourself if you’re gonna drive this, mate. Those old pots’ll take you from nought to twenty miles an hour in about ten seconds. No trouble at all.’
‘I’ll be extremely careful,’ replied Mick.
‘Shit! Look at that. An old Philco Diamond Grid battery.’ Jimmy stared at the motor then shut the bonnet. ‘US Royal Chord tyres, too,’ he said. ‘And there’s still tread on them.’ Jimmy gave the front tyre a tap with his boot then walked round the back.
‘Hey, Mick,’ said Jimmy. ‘Come here.’
Mick walked over and Jimmy pointed out two holes a metre apart, running down beside the back window. ‘What are these? They look like bullet holes.’
‘Bullet holes?’ Mick poked his finger in one of the holes. ‘Nahh. The old girl’s probably poked them in there with her walking stick. She wields it like a samurai sword.’
‘Whatever,’ shrugged Jimmy. He gave the old Maxwell a last once-over then turned to Mick. ‘Anyway, come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the show on the road.’
Mick took Jimmy over to the roller door that had replaced whatever was there before. Jimmy gripped the plastic knob in his powerful hand, gave it a twist, pushed up and the roller door rattled open in a cloud of dust. Once the door was open, Jimmy backed his tow truck down the driveway, got a CO
2
bottle from the cabin and
pumped the tyres up on the Maxwell. Before long he had the steering wheel secured, a chain under the chassis and the old Maxwell was being dragged up onto the metal tray on the back of the truck. Jimmy lowered the tray and turned to Mick.
‘All right, I’ll see you back at the garage.’
‘Righto.’
Mick watched Jimmy drive off with the old Maxwell sitting grandly on the back of the truck, then walked across to the house. Mrs Hedstrom was still seated in the kitchen looking even more rancorous than before. Before Mick could say anything, she attacked.
‘My God!’ barked the old lady. ‘Could you have made any more noise out there? You’ve scared the tripe out of the cat. I don’t know where it is.’
‘Sorry about that, Mrs Hedstrom,’ apologised Mick. ‘But we couldn’t help it. Would you like me to go and look for her?’
‘No. You’ve done enough damage as it is. Bloody great truck. The whole house was shaking.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mick. ‘Jimmy makes a bit of noise all right.’
‘Nnngrhh!’
‘Anyway, I have to go, Mrs Hedstrom,’ said Mick, picking his things up from the table. ‘Now
will you be all right with all that money? I can drive you down to the bank if you want.’
‘All right?’ snapped Mrs Hedstrom. ‘Well of course I’ll be all right. You don’t think I’d trust you with it, do you?’
‘Sorry,’ Mick apologised again. ‘I was only trying to help.’
‘Trying to help! You already tried to steal it back once. Anyway. The nurse will be along later to bandage my leg,’ grunted Mrs Hedstrom. ‘She’ll take me to the bank.’
‘That’s good.’ Despite the old lady being an absolute beast from hell, Mick still gave her a smile. ‘Well, I’ll be on my way, Mrs Hedstrom,’ he said. ‘It’s been lovely to have met you. And thank you for the car. I’ll…I’ll look after it.’
The old lady gave Mick a sly look. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ she said.
Mick checked his receipt book and looked in his pockets. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘What about these, you idiot?’ Mrs Hedstrom held up two keys attached to a black leather tab. ‘You won’t get far without the keys.’
‘Oh, the car keys.’ Mick snapped his fingers. ‘Gee thanks, Mrs Hedstrom. I forgot all about them.’
‘Stupid bloody fool,’ growled Mrs Hedstrom. ‘You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.’
‘I guess something must have distracted me,’ smiled Mick, taking the keys from the old lady.
‘Nrnngrhh!’
‘Well, goodbye, Mrs Hedstrom,’ said Mick. ‘It’s been nice talking to you.’
‘Nrngrhh!’
Mick turned then went over and let himself out the front door, closing it softly behind him. He walked out to the van, got in and drove off.
After the acrid smell of cat’s piss and Mrs Hedstrom’s non-stop abuse, Mick felt like a drink; a double bourbon with a schooner chaser would have gone down well. Instead, Mick pulled up at a small takeaway food shop two kilometres down the road and got a can of lemonade and the paper. At a plastic table out the front, he found a plastic chair that wasn’t too dirty, sat down and took a long pull on the can until the bubbles hurt his throat and made him belch. Mick had another drink then took the keys to the Maxwell from his pocket. He figured the biggest one would be the ignition key, then turned the leather tab over and found the initials L.O. stamped on the other side in fading silver. Mick smiled as he ruminated on the keys for a moment or two before returning them to his pocket. He sat in the sun and went through
the paper while he finished his can of lemonade then, feeling considerably fresher, got back in the van and continued on to the Nise brothers’ garage in Hamilton.