1981, West London Audi Dealership
"DCI Hunt, please be reasonable. Shouting at me is not going to change the fact that the Audi Quattro hasn't yet been released in right-hand drive."
"Then why is there one in yer storeroom in right-'and drive?"
The young man at the desk mopped his brow with an already damp handkerchief, glancing up through his eyelashes to see the formidable figure of DCI Gene Hunt sitting in front of him, the Northern copper who'd recently transferred down here to London and rammed fear down the throats of many a Southerner already. They'd been going round in circles for the last twenty minutes, with DCI Hunt insisting he wanted the Audi Quattro and the young salesman trying to explain that it wasn't yet released for British roads.
"The car in the storeroom is a prototype, DCI Hunt. Not yet finished, and, in all probability, not technologically sound."
"Then when'll it be available?"
"I don't know, DCI Hunt."
The formidable glare fell onto the salesman again, who ducked and tried to avoid it by rearranging his pens on the desk. Hearing a crackle, he looked up, seeing DCI Hunt with a cigarette in his mouth, taking a long drag on it.
"Listen."
DCI Hunt leaned forwards, flicking the cigarette onto the floor and crushing it with his boot. The man at the desk cringed backwards before looking up to meet the man's stare.
"I 'aven't got a car. My DI, Sam Tyler, died in my car. So I don't want ter buy another Ford. VWs are fer poofters. I've 'ad a look at the rest o' yer cars, an' they're all shit. The Quattro is cuttin'-edge, yer said so yerself. So is it really so impossible fer me ter 'ave that prototype Quattro?"
The salesman looked up.
"You want to buy the prototype?"
"No, I want ter bum Tom Robinson. Of course I want ter buy the prototype!"
The salesman edged slightly away from DCI Hunt, beginning to wonder if it would be wise to run and leave his colleagues to deal with the formidable figure in front of him.
"I'll, er... I'll have to consult with my superiors, DCI Hunt. The prototype isn't technically for sale..."
DCI Hunt pulled a black leather wallet out of his pocket and held it out. A warrant card, with his name and face on it.
"See this? Policeman. So I 'ave ter catch scum. I don' know if yer've seen the cars the Met provides us with, but ter a car they're 'eaps of shit. The scum 'ave decent cars, ones that go fast. So therefore I need a car that's more than decent ter keep up. An' that Quattro is the best car London offers without me buyin' some bloody supercar an' lookin' like a first-class nonce. Yer sellin' 'em in Europe, so why not 'ere? I'll pay whatever it takes. Otherwise, I'm 'igh an' dry, an' London is a more dangerous place fer it."
The young salesman sighed. DCI Hunt put up a good fight, and really, he didn't like the sight of the Quattro whenever he went into that storeroom; he was a great believer in subtlety in cars, smooth curves and gently-purring engines, and the Quattro was an offence to the senses, with its strong lines and brutal styling, a classy machine but advertising that to the world far too much. If this man was going to pay top dollar for it, why not? His manager might even be pleased; he would be getting the first ever Quattro sale in Britain.
"I'll go and talk with my manager. Just wait here, DCI Hunt."
The manager was not happy to be summoned away from his game of darts in his office, but when the man explained that there was a rather irritated and very determined DCI waiting outside and wanting to buy the Quattro his attitude changed somewhat. Ordering his mechanics to get the Quattro ready for purchase and ignoring their grumbling, he sauntered through to grasp Hunt's hand and inform him that they would accept a payment for the Quattro.
A price was agreed, the hands were shaken again, and DCI Gene Hunt walked out of the Audi dealership with a lighter heart and the prospect of a magnificent car becoming his in a couple of days.
As he walked towards the road, a brown Ford Cortina flashed past him.
Gene stopped dead, staring at the car as it became a golden-brown blur joining the traffic in the distance. Unbidden, a wealth of memories rose to fruition in his head: arguing with a man with short hair and a dark leather jacket as they sat in a car so similar to the one that had just hurried past, sheltering behind the car as a bomb exploded in front of his eyes, showering him and the vehicle with fragments of glass, and then that car upside down in the river, wheels in the air, a turtle in the bleak sun.
Bile rising in his throat, he hurried away, drawing his coat around him, thinking hard about new cases to try and stop the stinging behind his eyelids.
A/N: This probably has no fact in it at all, but since the Quattro is the famous anachronism of A2A, I thought I'd offer a way it could be in its time... I hope you liked it, anyway! Thanks for reading, and please remember to review. Happy New Year! Jazzola :D