Cars

Cars by Chris Green

I wouldn’t expect to see a motor like this parked around here. I’ve not seen one like it before. I do not recognise the badge. It takes a while to match the make and model on my phone. It’s a Duesenberg Sedan. Mid-1930s vintage. An almost icy shade of pink. It is a sleek piece of kit by anybody’s reckoning. Elegant, stylish, expensive. Probably priceless. Probably the only one of its kind. This motor would stand out anywhere. Who can it belong to, and why have they left it unguarded on the Toker’s End estate in broad daylight?

Lenny and I are out on the Reclaim van this morning, delivering recycled furniture to struggling families on the estate. But people are quite generous with their donations and we have some good quality gear on board. But the Duesenberg has stopped us in our tracks. It is such an unlikely sight amongst the squalor of Toker’s End.

‘It is right outside Beirut House, too,’ Lenny says. ‘’The roughest block on the estate, wouldn’t you say, boss?’

‘It’s up there with Karachi House for sure,’ I say. ‘Eight floors and as I understand it the lift’s been out for weeks.’

‘This part of the estate is a no-go area for the Bill in response to 999 calls. ‘Lenny says. ‘At least, that’s what I heard. Jack Sock, I think it was who told me. You know, Sergeant Sock, well, strictly speaking, former Sergeant Sock, I suppose. And most taxis won’t pick up around here.’

‘It’s certainly an odd place to leave a valuable vintage car.’ I say.

‘I wonder if the owner’s insurance company is aware of their recklessness,’ Lenny says. ‘Is it even the sort of car you can insure?’

‘It might simply already be away from home, Lenny, if you know what I mean.’

‘We probably shouldn’t hang around, you know, boss. I don’t like the look of those dudes over there.’

‘I’ll just take a photo of the motor to put on Facebook,’ I say. ‘Then we’ll be off. We’ve got quite a few drops this morning.’

‘Make it quick then, boss. They’re pointing at us. …. They’re heading this way.’

‘One more pic. Look! There we go. On our way, now. ….. Anyway, you have the list, Len. What have we got up next?’

‘It’s that big painted wardrobe. You said to put it on the van last or we wouldn’t be able to get it off again. It’s going to a Rosie Parker in Corporation Street. That part of the estate’s not so bad, is it? I think Geoff Kidd lives in Corporation Street. You know, Geoff, that drinks in The Goat and Bicycle.’

‘I don’t go in the Goat a lot, Lenny. It would be a bit like a busman’s holiday.’

‘The Goat’s OK, these days, boss. They’ve done it out. They now have proper meal options and specials instead of just pickled eggs and crisps, and tables to sit at with lights on the table. And they’ve converted the old skittle alley into a covered smoking area with seating. Quite plush, it is now.’

‘That’ll be it. Why didn’t I think of it? That’s what the Duesenberg driver’s doing around here then, Lenny. Stopping to take in the ambience of Toker’s End, before swinging by the Goat for a leisurely apéritif followed by Chef’s Bœuf Bourguignon? ….. Come on now, Lenny, the Goat and Bicycle could never be plush. I know you’re a kind-hearted fella and you like to see the best in things, but describing the Goat as plush is spinning it a bit.’

‘Well, I sometimes pop in there for a pint or two.’

‘I know, I know. Ignore me. I know we’re doing a good job dropping off around here, but sometimes driving around Toker’s End gets to me. It feels like I haven’t moved on. I grew up on these streets, you see.’

‘But you don’t live here now, do you, boss? You should be thankful. It’s pretty nice in Beaumont Drive where you live.’

‘Here’s Corporation Street, Lenny. What number do we want?’

‘What on earth is that big beast along there, boss?’

‘Good God! I’m not sure what it is, but it’s another lovely motor. What’s it doing here?’

‘Perhaps they’re taking in the ambience on their way to the Goat and Bicycle too, eh. boss?’

‘Okay, okay, Lenny. I’ll just park up and take a photo and look it up on Google Reverse Image! …… H’mmm! Google says it’s a 1949 Delahaye 175 Roadster. The one they’ve got in the photo here looks like it might be the very same car.’

A middle-aged woman in a purple woollen dressing gown shuffles up the street towards the van.

I wind down the window.

‘Have you guys come with my wardrobe?’ she says. ‘I saw the big van stop, like, and I thought, that must be the Reclaim delivery van for me. I hope they haven’t knocked, as I couldn’t hear them over next door’s Drum and Bass. It goes on all the time, you know. Day and night, it is, and if it’s not that, it’s the Bhangra from the Siddiquis at number forty-nine.’

‘Yes, Mrs Parker, we have your wardrobe aboard the van,’ I say. ‘Just give us a minute.’

‘It’s Rosie,’ she says. ‘Call me Rosie. It’s more friendly, ducks.’

‘I wonder if you would be able to tell us who that big yellow car belongs to, Rosie,’ Lenny says.

‘Oh, that old thing. That’s been there for days now. Don’t know who it belongs to, but I wish they’d move it. Proper eyesore, it is.’

Lenny and I exchange puzzled looks. Reason seems to have jumped ship.

‘You’d do better pulling in along there,’ Rosie says. ‘Opposite the Budgen’s trolley with the traffic cone in it.’

‘It’s quite a shiny eyesore, the old car, Rosie, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘It looks as if someone has been looking after it.’

‘I suppose so, but it’s so old and so ugly. It makes the street look shabby.’

In the time it takes to unload the wardrobe, several people walk past, but no one shows any interest in the Delahaye. Well, perhaps a glance, but nothing more. Why? Why is it not attracting attention? In a locality like this, if, as Rosie says, it has been here for ages, why has it not been graffittied or vandalised? I make a mental note to drive back this way later on the way to the warehouse to check if this one and the Duesenberg are still there. Intact. I’m sure Lenny won’t mind the detour. He can always call Tracey to say he’ll be late home for his tea.

We drop off tables, chairs, a divan, a chest of drawers, a fridge, a washing machine, and a microwave to assorted addresses around the estate without further incident and swing by the Co-op car park for our lunchtime sandwiches and a flask of Yorkshire tea with slices of Tracey’s Lemon Drizzle cake. Lennie has a Yorkie bar or two to finish up. They’re smaller these days, he says. We catch bits of the lunchtime news on Boom Radio. The interest rate is set to rise by half a percent, less than some had suggested, but more than businesses could afford. Grooming gangs. Serious sexual assaults. Talk of ministers resigning. Same old. There is an outcry over Channel 5’s plan to screen a new reality TV show called Celebrity Russian Roulette. and our tennis player has lost in straight sets. Heavy showers are forecast overnight.

We are a little behind schedule, but we only have a few light deliveries left, and then we can head back to the warehouse. The Alfa Romeo 8 Cylinder 2300 Viotti Coupe is unexpected. Mid-1930s. It is probably one of the most elegant auto designs ever. This one is blood red. It is parked on the tarmac outside the disused plastics factory in Cromwell Street.

‘You’re going to want to get out to take a photo or two, aren’t you, boss?’ Lenny says. ‘I can tell.’

‘Photo?’ I say. ‘Photo, Lenny? This little beauty warrants a whole movie. But don’t you worry. I’ll get you home for your tea.’

A gangly youth dressed in black comes along with his spray can to tag the factory’s metal protective fencing. He seems to be going over a rival tagger’s tag. This is his sole mission. He doesn’t give the Alfa a second glance. Perhaps beauty on this scale is simply not part of the tagger’s world. To him, the car is invisible. Or perhaps he knows his fellow sentinels are nearby.

Lenny gives me a nudge.

‘What about this, boss!’ he says. ‘Pictures of the three cars here on the We Love Slumpton Facebook page. Bob Dance, who is a regular, has put it up. Bob says that the three luxury motors have been parked in Toker’s End for three days, days now. Several photos a day here and they are date-stamped. He says he has heard from an authoritative source that three days ago, motor museum owner, Hugo Lord put a large bet on with a rival that three of his most prized motors would stay in place in chosen sites in Toker’s End, Slumpton for seventy-two hours without being stolen, broken into or vandalised.

‘And this Bob Dance? He’s reliable, is he?’

‘Bob’s sound. He’s a Top Contributor on We Love Slumpton.’

‘What’s to stop other guy paying someone to do some damage? He’s bound to, isn’t he, man? He wants to win the bet. How could they guard against that? If anything happened, how would they know it was down to him?’

‘Apparently, a Russell Group university is monitoring the three sites. Don’t ask me how, or for that matter, why. It’s an odd research topic.’

‘But Bob’s saying so far, so good, eh? And he’s saying today is the last day? Then Hugo Lord will have won his bet?’

‘Exactly! Hugo argues that iconic buildings and great works of art remain pristine because they command universal reverence. So, by the same logic, the public will also give universal reverence to the most beautiful classic cars.’

‘Nothing to do with the security surrounding iconic buildings and great works of art, I suppose, Lenny?’

‘This is part of what Hugo is testing with his wager, boss. Hugo suggests it will only be a valid claim with the crème de la crème of classic cars. The vehicles he has chosen are platinum-rated among elite petrol-heads.’

‘That’s a hell of a bet! But the cars are still there, Lenny. Cool guy, this Hugo Lord!’

‘Bob is quietly confident Hugo may have made the right call.’

‘Hugo will. of course, have paid those young thugs hanging around to look after the cars. He’s probably got an army of them on it.’

‘Works both ways, though, boss.’

‘I’m rooting for Hugo. The guy has balls. I want to see how this ends.’

‘It’s quite a story, isn’t it, boss?’

‘What time does the bet finish?’

‘If I’ve worked it out correctly from the date-stamps, 16:00 hours. That’s four.’

‘I know what it is, Lenny. Come on! We’d better check the other two cars. We can leave the rest of this old tat on the van for now and drop it off tomorrow.’

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