Kidnapped Gold Paint

The Hilux pulls up in Mandurah, at 2 Dolphin Drive.

Café Moka, says Sprocket. They do vegan options.

You a vegan? asks Elodie.

Nup, says Sprocket. Just saying. Bet you are.

They choose an outdoor table, for the view of the water.

Boats clink, and the sun shines on pristine ripples. Seagulls loiter.

This is pleasant, says Gaius. He looks at the menu. Hmm. Breakfasts are available until 3 pm. I'll have the organic toast.

I'm starved, says Elodie. I'll have the pearl couscous salad with poached egg.

Sprocket orders a steak sandwich with beetroot relish, horseradish and aioli.

They drink tap water, while they wait for the food.

Oop! Better get my wallet, says Elodie. It's in the back.

I'll come with you, says Sprocket.

They walk back to the HiLux together.

Ker-click. Baby Pierre takes a photo of the table.

No food yet, says Gaius. Why the photo?

It shows where we are, says Baby Pierre.

At an empty table, says Gaius. Could be anywhere.

Let me have the camera, says Mouldy.

He takes a photo of the marina, through a glass bottle.

Let's see, says First Dirty. That's good that is. Arty.

Sprocket's the one who's supposed to be arty, says Gaius. Ah, here comes my toast.

Here also come Elodie and Sprocket. They are talking.

Elodie: You should ring her.

Sprocket: She'll make me come back.

Elodie: Maybe you should.

Sprocket: No. I might want to use it.

What's this? asks Gaius. Trouble?

A tin of gold paint, says Elodie. It's in the back of the HiLux. It was meant for an art exhibition at PICA.

Gold paint, says Gaius. They'll be wondering where it's got to.

It's only a spare, says Sprocket. This guy paints himself with it. It's the body as a form of social sculpture or something.

Wow! says Baby Pierre.

Wow! echoes Mouldy. It's not clear if he's equally impressed or making fun of his rival.

For he sees Baby Pierre as a rival.

Look at this photo, says Mouldy. And this photo. Which one is best?

Sprocket looks at the photo of the empty table, and the photo of the marina though the glass bottle.

Then his steak sandwich arrives, an excuse for not making a judgement.

Because who cares anyway, thinks Sprocket, as beetroot relish dribbles down this chin. An arty idea is forming in the right hemisphere of his brain, involving the kidnapped gold paint. Or is it the left side? All he needs is a paintbrush. And probably a screwdriver to lever the lid off..... or a knife, yeah.....

He pockets a knife.