‘That’s not your girlfriend’s Alfa, is it, mate?’
Franklin followed Mick Sprague’s finger to a black convertible. He ignored the jibe about the wacko Melburnian being his girlfriend.
Slam went on, ‘Course, I didn’t meet her the other day. But seeing as we don’t get many of the old Alfas around here, I’m guessing…’
The number plate matched.
‘It’s no coincidence. It’s Harvey’s all right.’
‘Can’t wait to meet her. Harty reckons she’s hot.’
‘Are you still going on, Slam?’ Franklin feigned surprise. He accelerated. The gear spread over his partner’s lap tumbled everywhere.
They navigated the Burke Square roundabout while Slam groused.
‘Let’s hover near the school crossing and scare ’em into doing forty clicks,’ Franklin suggested. ‘Lunny’s had complaints from the lollipop lady again.’
