ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE
The Flight of Chloe McMurderess cont.
Well, I found the fucker’s car easily enough.
I just walked around the streets nearby clicking on the remote whenever I saw an Audi. There were dozens of them. Hardly a British made car to be seen anywhere, the streets just full of Japanese, Korean, German, French, and Italian cars with an occasional Ford Focus or Fiesta thrown in the mix.
What the f**k has happened to British manufacturers, didn’t we rule the world in car production one time? Maybe we should have lost the war considering how many Japanese, German, and Italian cars there are.
But I digress.
There it was, parked on Wollaton Road about 500 yards away, a dark blue Audi A4 Avant estate. About two years old judging by the number plate.
Classy motor, the class
