Read Online Dream Guy by A.Z.A; Clarke - Free Book Online Page A

prize draw success.” He drummed his fingers on the mantelpiece.
    “Yes,” said Taylor-West.
    “Because we don’t allow Lamborghinis to be used for that kind of promotion, you see. We don’t need that kind of publicity. There’s a waiting list for a Lamborghini.”
    “Exclusive, you see,” said Taylor-West.
    Still Joe said nothing, just kept his hand clenched around the key.
    “In fact, there’s no record of any Gallardo going out of the showrooms in the UK at all.” Rudy Moss sounded baffled rather than aggressive. But Joe did not relax.
    Taylor-West took over the talking. “We’re planning to take a look at the car, as we’ve discussed with your mother.” Taylor-West began to bluster a little. “But what we’d like to know is how a schoolboy comes to have a Gallardo in his drive when we have no record of any purchase, or even theft, associated with any of our cars.”
    “If you can assist us with our inquiry, Joe, it would be very helpful.” Moss’ voice was not at all flustered, more threatening.
    “I’m afraid I can’t help you, really.”
    “And I believe there’s no key. Is that correct?”
    Joe gave a vague shrug and went “Mmm.” So he wasn’t lying, strictly speaking. After all, there was no way of knowing that the key in his possession was the key for his Lamborghini. And if they really wanted to get the engine running, he assumed they would have some way of bypassing the ignition system, which would be useful to know. Besides, producing the key would only provoke further interrogation, and Joe wanted to get the examination of the car over with.
    Moss and Taylor-West exchanged a dissatisfied glance.
    They moved as one, suggesting that somewhere there was a factory that churned out men like them—bland, uniform and following orders with unquestioning obedience.
    “Okay, let’s take a look at this baby.” Moss walked over to the door and turned. “I assume you’ll want to accompany us, Joe. It is your car, after all.”
    “Yes,” said Joe. Sue Knightley looked grim. He could see that she wasn’t happy that her son had been as good as accused of stealing a car. She wasn’t happy that he even had a car, and she certainly wasn’t happy about watching them gawp at the car in question. Silently, she followed them into the garage.
    The Gallardo appeared as beautiful as ever. It sat in the midst of all the usual clutter of a family of five, almost glowing in the ugly fluorescent lighting, making everything else in the garage—the bikes, the lawn mower, Dad’s array of DIY tools, the chunks of wood and half-built shelves—seem stark, ugly and cheap.
    Silently, thoroughly, Moss and Taylor-West opened up the car. Taylor-West took a smartphone out of an inner pocket and began tapping at it as Moss pulled out a Maglite torch and started an inventory of the car.
    First he walked around the car. “No registration.” Then he climbed into the driver’s seat. “No apparent mileage.” He hauled himself out and examined the doorways of the car. “No chassis number or VIN.” He went to the back of the car where the engine cover was open. He shone the torch all around the engine. “No engine number.” He looked at Taylor-West. “No sign of wear or tear.” They were both looking uneasy.
    “We don’t understand. This has to be a counterfeit. We need to impound this vehicle immediately and subject it to further tests,” said Moss.
    “Impound? I don’t think so. I’m quite happy to ask the police or get my solicitor into this, but I think taking the car away is out of the question just at present.” Sue Knightley spoke quietly but firmly. Joe watched her morph into a figure almost as formidable as Elphick.
    “We’d…um…give you a receipt,” hedged Taylor-West.
    “A receipt? You must be joking!” Mrs. Knightley made it abundantly clear that she was running out of patience with the Lamborghini men. They exchanged a glance. Moss shrugged.
    Taylor-West said, “We