Read The Punjabi Pappadum for Free Online Page B

Didn’t miss a beat, the old girl.”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?” asked Travis.
    â€œBehold the Morris Minor, boys,” beamed Ron. “A brilliant feat of British engineering.”
    â€œIt’s prehistoric,” stated Veejay. “We can’t do a stake-out in that thing. It’s … it’s unprofessional.”
    â€œWhat do you suggest then, skateboards? Come on, jump in.”
    Veejay eased himself in next to Ron, leaving Dexter and Travis to get into the back. For a moment they sat completely still, worried that any sudden movements would cause the old girl to collapse. Inside, the car was immaculate. The seats were slippery, brown vinyl with white trim.
    â€œThey don’t make them like this any more, boys,” beamed Ron, slapping his gloved hands together. “Are we strapped in?”
    â€œAffirmative,” replied Travis. “Bag ’em up, Ron.”
    â€œDo you want us to start pedalling or something?” asked Dexter.
    Ron turned and stared them down with serious eyes.
    â€œThat’s all we need, hey Veejay? Comedians in the back seat. Pass me the list in the glove box, will you.”
    From his pocket, Ron unfolded a pair of glasses. Black-rimmed numbers they were, with thick lenses.
    â€œRight, then,” he said, holding the list centimetres from his eyes. “To move the car forward, depress the clutch, move the gear stick to first, release the handbrake and …”
    Before he got to accelerate, Travis and Dexter were unbuckled and going for the doors.
    â€œFellas! I’m kidding.”
    Before long Ron had the Morris Minor parked in a dark alley across from Burger Barn. The spot was perfect. They were hidden by the buildings beside them but had a clear line of sight to the restaurant’s front doors. A conveniently placed streetlight lit the faces of customers as they spilled outside. Stake-out wise, it didn’t get any better.
    â€œSit tight, fellas,” said Ron. “I’ll just get my gear from the boot.”
    Like a geriatric tap dancer, Ron dick-clacked his way over the bluestones to the rear of the car.
    â€œThis is so cool,” said Veejay. “I wonder what kind of surveillance equipment he’s got. High-tech stuff, I hope.”
    â€œProbably,” said Dexter. “You can’t do a stakeout without the right gear.”
    Dexter and Travis propped themselves forward as Ron slid a black duffle bag onto the front seat.
    â€œHope I didn’t forget anything,” said Ron, un-zippmg.
    â€œCome on then, show us!” squealed Veejay excitedly.
    A long metal object, definitely high-tech, emerged from the bag.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Veejay, goggle-eyed.
    â€œOne jumbo-size thermos,” smiled Ron. “Who’s for a cuppa?”
    Back in the bag, his free hand searched for something else. He became frantic, scratching and pawing at its contents.
    â€œSorry lads, we’ll have to call it quits, I’m afraid.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Dexter.
    â€œI’ve left the lamingtons at home.”
    Everyone relaxed into stake-out mode while Veejay familiarised himself with the telescopic camera. From the backseat Dexter watched Ron pour himself a second cup of tea. The whole process was done in slow motion, carefully, like some kind of ritual. He made a big deal of cupping the mug gently in both hands then easing it up and breathing in its leafy aroma.
    â€œAaagh!”
    â€œWhat’s with the tea anyway, Ron?”
    â€œIt’s a long story, Dexter.”
    â€œWell, we’re not going anywhere.”
    Over the whirr and buzz of the telescopic lens, Ron took a healthy slug of tea. He gulped again and again until the mug was at full tilt, then drained it.
    â€œI met her at the Railway Hotel,” he began. “Nancy, her name was. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Her dad owned the place, so Nance worked the bar certain nights.