Page 57 of Stockman's Stowaway

‘I’ve gotta hand it to the lads, Dex and his brothers did a helluva job restoring it. But we’ll keep it in the family. Bree drives me to the pub on Fridays on account I’ve got no licence for the road. Why pay, I say—’

‘Pop.’ Bree hissed at Charlie. ‘Stop.’

‘What?’ Charlie shrugged.

‘This car’s registration ran out in 1962.’ The policeman held up the paperwork.

‘Now you’ve done it, old man.’ Dex chuckled, leaning back against the workbench covered in tools.

Charlie pulled up his breeches. ‘Now hang on a second. Why should I pay for some smancy registration when we drive it just to blow the dust off, on dirt roads, where there is no traffic. I’m not paying—’

‘I can get you a specialised registration,’ cut in Porter. ‘This car is over sixty years old, so it’d qualify for a historic car classification, and you’ll pay a reduced rate. But it does mean there are restrictions on where and how often you can drive it.’

‘I agree with Porter.’ Bree took a sip from her jug like it was a big beer stein.

‘That’d be a first.’

‘It needs to be registered if we’re going to insure it, Pop.’

‘If you want, I can do a vehicle inspection on it now to start the registration process?’ Porter shrugged. ‘Got the MVR book in the car.’

‘Can you do that here?’ Charlie asked.

‘Unless you want to tow it to the pits all the way in the city, where I hear it’s a five hour wait these days.’

‘Take the inspection, Charlie.’ Dex pushed off the bench and started moving tools and equipment aside. ‘I’ll put it over the pit for Porter to inspect. I’ll even bet a carton that it’ll pass muster, no sweat.’

‘Well, alright then. Obviously, there’s a reason you came out, then.’ Charlie patted Porter’s shoulder. ‘I’ll give Dex a hand.’ He climbed in behind the wheel of the car. The six cylinder wasn’t nearly as loud as the Razorback, as he backed it out of the shed, to do a slow wide circle in the red dust.

‘It’s a nice car.’ Porter’s head tilted as he watched it shine under the sun. ‘I’ve always liked the 1957 FJ Holden. They make good hot rods.’

‘I didn’t know you were a car fanatic,’ Bree commented.

‘I used to race. Started with the fender benders in Speedway, as a kid with my dad.’

‘Did you keep racing?’ Dex asked, moving a large toolbox aside.

‘I got Street Stock Champion just before I moved out here. Now I just use the buggy for bush bashing on my day off, going hunting with my mate, Luke.’

Dex patted the policeman’s shoulder. ‘Remind me to never get into a car chase with you. But if you ever need a passenger or want someone to race on the street, give us a hoy.’

Mia peeked past the truck and farming machinery. Nearby, sat the silent Razorback that commanded attention, parked beside their horse truck and assorted motorbikes. Beyond them the shed stretched out to hold other vehicles.

‘Whose cars are those?’ Mia pointed to the many utes. ‘I know the mustard Tojo is Cap’s. I’m guessing the beat-up Hilux belongs to Dex?’

Porter chuckled. ‘No. That’s Ash’s. The sleek black, V8 ute in the corner is Dex’s ute.’

It looked like a mean street-racing machine. Now she understood why Dex would take on Porter in a road race. ‘Is the black pick-up truck Ryder’s, then?’ It was huge.

Bree nodded.

‘And the sleek Audi?’

‘Harper’s.’

‘What do you drive, Bree?’

‘A bright yellow combi van. I’ve always wondered if it glowed in the dark.’ Porter grinned.

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