Scrap 12

PART 12
‘Make a big show of saying goodbye then wait five minutes and meet me out front,’ says Frank. Rosa does as he asks and waves as he leaves by the side door to the car park.
Rosa watches as the detectives rush out and bundle into Staples’ car. Frank’s van goes roaring up the road, followed at some distance by the excited detectives.
Frank beckons from the doorway and Rosa follows him to her car. ‘Give us a lift home will you? I’ve had a bit too much to drink.’ They squeeze into the car and Rosa heads towards the caravan site.
‘Fucking idiots,’ Frank giggles, ‘haven’t got a clue.’ He lights a cigarette and coughs loudly. ‘They’ll be giving Scotty a pull any time now.’ Rosa glances at his beaming face. ‘You set them up?’
‘Course I did. They were asking for it.’ Rosa shakes her head. ‘They won’t be too happy with you.’
‘Fuck ‘em.’
Rosa’s little car bumps along the track leading up to Frank’s caravan. The light from the headlamps leaps about, disturbing sleepy rooks that grumble and flutter high up in their nests. She pulls the car up alongside the caravan, only just missing a big black car tucked up against the hedgerow.
‘Is that yours?’ She asks, flicking the lights to main beam for a few seconds before turning them off. ‘Yep.’ Frank heaves his bulk from the tiny seat and the Renault creaks back to its normal height. ‘Bought it this afternoon.’
As their eyes adjust to the moonlight she can make out the shape of the handsome shiny bodywork with its gleaming chromium embellishments. ‘Very nice,’ she says.
‘She’s a 4litre R,’ says Frank, unlocking the front passenger door. He reaches over to open the driver’s door and Rosa gets in beside him. ‘Leather seats, walnut trim and fold down picnic tables,’ Frank points out proudly, ‘It’s even got a Rolls Royce engine.’
‘I thought you had your heart set on the flash Yankee motor,’ says Rosa. ‘Changed my mind when I saw this little beauty. I just had to have it.’
‘So Scotty’s got your old van?’ That must have been the joke. The cops thought it was Frank they were following and at the very least they could do him for driving over the drink limit. ‘I’d have loved to see their faces when Scotty wound down the window, sober as a judge.’
Rosa peers at the dashboard clock. ‘I’d better be getting home.’ Frank walks her to her car and opens the door. ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he says, ‘see you in the week?’ ‘Give me a call.’
They say goodnight, Rosa turns the little car round and waves as she drives off. The exhaust must have hit a rut: it’s blowing. As she reaches the road she glances back through the hedgerow, sees the light in Frank’s caravan go out and sighs. ‘Nice bloke, Frank.’