![]() ![]() ![]() Now, there is only one vehicle on the strip. The risks might be huge, but so is the allure. Ten or 15 minutes later, though, he returns. So after he makes sure the Valiant isn’t following him, Robinson drives off to buy fuel. More red lights, more screeching as they chased him until he got to his sister’s place and ran inside. The light went green and he sped off to Holden Hill police station. He jammed his foot hard onto the brake as they pushed him into the city intersection. He pulled up at a traffic light and heard their jeers of “faggot” and “poofter”. One time, four people followed his Torana out of here. Robinson checks the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t being followed.īashers are common at beats, but they’ve never got Robinson. Alarm bells ring in his head, so he pulls away and the guy leaning on the boot turns to watch him go. Bit of all right.īut then a head pops up in the back seat. His arms are folded and a cigarette dangles from his lips. The driver has got out and is now leaning on the boot, his blond mullet illuminated in the Torana’s headlights. Then slowly towards the Valiant, pulling in behind. The next pick-up is always just a glance away.Īnd so Robinson, with his cropped hair and short moustache, cruises back past the Mercedes. Or the car full of yobbos hurling invective. They’ll watch the married men come in and have a laugh at the desperation of it all, have a dig at their own sluttiness, slipping into the darkness when the cops come rolling through to harass them. He’ll see some mates over near the toilets and end up just chatting. Robinson drives to the end of the track, past two more cars, and does a U-turn at the car park of the Adelaide Pavilion restaurant. Before he reaches the Merc, however, he glides past a Valiant with fat tyres, mag wheels and doors painted a different colour to the body. ![]()
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