Penguin Books Australia

The police have just knocked on our front door. I saw them from the window as they pulled up in their divvy van. One of them, the younger one, is rocking on the balls of his feet.

I reckon they're here about the car.

My nonno went to his regular card game at the Italian Club where he gets taken three days a week, and instead of waiting for his usual lift home he's come home with a Porsche. A brand new shiny red Porsche Carrera. My nonno doesn't have a driver's licence any more. My nonno doesn't own a car. Mum doesn't know about the Porsche . . . yet.

When I asked my grandfather why he'd come home with a Porsche he told me it's because Porches are fast and he had to get home before it started to rain.

I can understand that. The man's in his seventies and he suffers from all sorts of ailments, most of which Mum says are imaginary. But hey, Nonno is an old man and catching a cold at his age could be serious. And besides, him and me share a room and the last time he caught a cold his sniffling and coughing kept me awake for a week. I went to school looking like something the Mafia had buried for a month and forgotten about, until it came floating up out of the sewers into one of Melbourne's main streets.

Problem with Nonno's story is, it hasn't rained in Melbourne for about a month. I reckon it's going to be a long dry summer once school gets out for the Christmas break in a few weeks. Who can wait!

'What's happened? What's wrong?' Mum asks, all tetchy nervy now that I've decided to open the door and she can see the two policemen standing there.

I see Mum's eyes roll in her head. It happens to her when she gets nervy, especially when the police come to the door – which isn't often. I should tell you. She does it even when the Mormons or the Jehovahs come knocking. I think it's just something to do with unexpected knocks at the door. Like when the police came to tell us about Dad.

'We don't have a stolen car,' I say because I can see right away Mum is a bit stunned.

'I'm afraid this is the address we've been given by the party concerned,' the police officer informs us in a voice he's obviously borrowed from a gravel pit. 'Do you have any objection to us coming in for a few moments?'

'No, no, of course not. Come in.' Mum steps clear of the doorway and the two officers follow her down the hall to the kitchen.

'I have my own car. Fully paid for,' Mum offers. 'And my son Paul, well, he's almost fifteen, so . . .'

Mum! Don't you know anything about police procedure, about the law? You never offer information.

The younger police officer grins and takes out a notepad, flips it open and then blinks something from his eye.

'Is anyone else at home?' the older officer asks.

'My father, but he's asleep right now.' Mum is wiping her hands on her jeans and I can tell the younger officer is pretty impressed. Mum still has a good figure for her age.

'Could you wake him, please?' It isn't a question. The officer isn't smiling.

Nonno is a light sleeper, but is still takes him ages to get started again once he's down. I think the officers think he's done a runner when Mum comes back and tells them he'll be a few minutes and would they like a drink. A snack, maybe? What about a piece of fresh watermelon on such a warm afternoon?

If he was on his own the younger officer would have taken the lot: drink, snack and watermelon. As it is, the older cop suggests Mum please go and hurry Nonno along as they have a full board of calls to make.

'So, a lot of cars get nicked today then, eh? I try, but the older cop gives me a freezing stare. I see the young constable's mouth turn up in a weak smile.

'Ever been in trouble with the law?' the older officer asks suddenly.

'Nup.'

'Ever done drugs?'

Is this bloke for real? I shake my head.

I give the older cop a look as if to say, you reckon I'd still be standing here if I had? My Mum would turn me inside out if I even went near a Panadol without written permission.

'Just checking,' the older cop adds and nods in a meaningful way at the younger cop who raises his eyebrows and forces his mouth into a tight line.

So much for positive public relations.

I'm glad when a few moments later I hear Mum and Nonno come down the hallway.

'Papa, these police want to talk to you,' Mum says as though she is just then breaking the news to Nonno.

Nonno clucks and leans into his walking-stick. It's a sturdy, gnarled length of red gum. He made it himself years before and he topped it with the carving of a wild boar's head. Nonno says it reminds him of when he was young and he would roam the woods around Monte Sereno, his little village in southern Italy, chasing wild boars in the snow.

It's strange how Nonno can remember even the smallest details about how he would stalk a boar for hours and hours on his own, but he can't tell me who won the footy last week.

The older officer points Nonno to a sofa, then sits down in the chair closest to him.

Nonno rubs the end of his nose.

'Does he speak English?' the older officer asks Mum over Nonno's shoulder.

Nonno looks back at Mum and purses his lips. 'You tell to him I speak the Inglish much more better than wot he speaks the Italian,' Nonno says deadpan, then turns back to the officer.

'Do you know anything about a missing Porsche?' the older cop asks. 'A red Porsche?'

'A Porsche!' Mum exclaims. 'What Porsche?'

Mum looks directly at me as though I would know. I do, but I don't say anything. I was hoping no one would notice.

'It wos look like him come to rain,' Nonno says slowly. 'I wos go play cards and it was clean sky. No cloud. When I start home I see it many clouds.' Nonno raises a wobbly hand towards the window, encouraging the police officer in front of him to turn and look for himself.

'I not want to get wet,' Nonno continues. 'Best way not get wet is hiave own car.'

'Didn't you get a lift as usual today?' Mum cuts in with real surprise. She looks at me. 'Paul, didn't your nonno come home on the bus with the others?'

I swallow but don't commit to anything.

The older cop coughs and looks at me and Mum in turn. He leans closer to Nonno. Nonno leans in towards the older cop. 'I'll ask you again. Did you take a red Porsche from the . . .' He consults his notepad. 'The . . .' He obviously can't pronounce the name so he just says, ' . . . the Italian Club here in Brunswick?'

Nonno rubs his chin, chews his gums and sits back on the sofa. 'Porsche is good car for young peoples,' he says. 'Too fast for the old mans.'

'So you admit to driving a Porsche from the Club?' the older cop presses.

'But you can't drive, Papa,' Mum says.

'I not say enniting about me drive,' Nonno answers, waving away Mum's concern. 'I joust says I wos tink him comes rain and car is good for not get wet.'

Mum rubs her forehead. Her eyes narrow. I cover my mouth with my hand. This should be good.

'Porsche she is fast car,' Nonno goes on. 'Fast car can get me to home quicker than slow car.' He smiles and shrugs. 'I old but I not completely stupid.' He turns and looks at me and grins 'True or no?' he asks me. I nod.

'So you admit to taking the car?' The older cop's voice is straining a little now.

Mum steps up and puts a hand on Nonno's shoulder. 'He 's an old man,' she snaps, and I can see she is a bit lost at this point. 'What would an old man want with a Porsche?' Then a moment later adds, 'How could my father steal a car? He can't drive!'

'Where's the car now?' The older cop ignores Mum. The younger cop smiles at her. I give him a dirty, then tap Nonno on the shoulder.

'You don't have to say anything,' I cut in, then to the older policeman. 'Unless you're under arrest for something.' I watch enough cop shows on TV to know that everyone has the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will . . .

Nonno touches the side of his nose. It's the code sign we use to each other when playing cards as a team, to signal that we have a good hand.

'In my room,' he says softly through a cheery grin. 'On the wardrobe.'