Ever had a car stolen?
Ever had a car stolen that doesn't run?
Ever had a car stolen that doesn't even have an engine?
Ever found the car yourself and confronted the guy who stole it?
Ever confronted the guy who stole your classic Daimler V8 250 at the end of a dark alley late at night?

This guy has...

I have always had a strong affection for cars. Buying motoring magazines such as Wheels since I was 12 years old. As a by product of this passion I innocently undertook to restore a classic car, with an old friend Trevor.

Between us we had conducted nearly every mechanical and structural repair possible to a modern car in the forlorn hope of keeping our own vehicles mobile. We were therefore full of confidence and misguided enthusiasm when we found a Daimler 250 V8 circa 1962, in disgusting condition, or in car language, "ideal for restoration".

Stage one, finding a suitable project vehicle had therefore proceeded smoothly. Being somewhat ignorant of such things, we thought the car was a fair buy at the time. It had good chrome work and wire wheels, the full interior woodwork, and with the exception of the engine and gearbox, seemed to be a very complete example of the breed.

After transporting the car from its barn resting days at Amberley to the Gold Coast (which was an adventure in itself), we proudly put it in Trevor’s garage and shut the door.

The original plan was to resurrect the bodywork to its former glory, re upholster the interior and sell it after about four months as a partial restoration for a quick profit. It sounded like a good plan; simple, quick and rewarding. However, two or three months quickly passed without a screw being turned on our neglected Daimler. During this time, we (in Australia) entered the "recession we had to have", and Trevor joined me in the forever growing queues of the unemployed. Trevor had also somewhat over generously volunteered us to rebuild another friends car, whilst we were already committed to fixing my fathers work van. Trevor’s house became a virtual workshop, but eventually we finished all the "unplanned" projects, although our pride and joy was still sulking untouched in the garage.

By this time the delights of unemployment were severely biting into our already meagre levels of wealth. Trevor could no longer afford to rent his house and reluctantly moved back into his parents home. With the permission of the landlord we left the car in the garage until the new tenants arrived, for want of a better place to store it. When the new tenants inevitably arrived, they were surprised to find a Daimler lurking in their new garage. Luckily they did not have a car of their own, and generously offered to continue storing it for us.

Time again passed and I returned to the jubilation of studying after refusing to spend any more time in dole queues and being investigated by the Department of Social Security. It was now four months after our initial purchase of the Daimler, by this stage, affectionately known as Edward. We certainly did not have a healthy profit from a quick sale, but Edward had been stripped of all his chrome and woodwork and was eagerly awaiting attention to his body. There were only a few minor impediments to our further progress. I now had limited time to work on the project, neither Trevor nor I had the money to work on it, and we didn’t have anywhere to work on it even if we did have the time and money.

One bright and sunny morning, Trevor received a phone call from the tenants of the house saying that a friend of theirs saw the car in their garage and was interested in buying it. We started to think that there was a God after all and Trevor in my absence (as I was now a devoted student), calmly negotiated a selling price to reap us a modest but most welcome profit.

The buyer, Frank, a name I shall never forget, arranged to pick up the car in a couple of weeks after he has arranged his finance, and Trevor and I began to relax. At the end of the two weeks, Frank called Trevor and informed him that he had been laid off work and couldn’t afford to buy the car immediately. He asked if we would wait a few weeks, and in the meantime he would pay for the storage at its current location. Trevor, after recent events was sympathetic to his situation, and having no where else to keep the car, agreed to wait for him to sort things out.

About five weeks later, we received an urgent phone call from the distressed tenants of the house where Edward was stored. Frank had taken the Daimler from their garage, while they were out. This did not bode well, as we did not have as much as a holding deposit for the car. Phoning Frank, we were greeted by an unfriendly Telstra (Australia's Telecom company) message informing us that the telephone was disconnected. This was not encouraging either. Talking to the tenants again, they gave us Frank’s address and asked us if we visited him, to inquire about several of their possessions that were also absent form their garage.

On the way to Frank’s house we stopped at the local Police station for some friendly advise. The Police unofficially told us that Frank was "known to them", and advised us to recover the car as quickly as possible. This was beginning to feel very discouraging.

When we arrived at Frank’s house I was somewhat intrigued by what sort of man he would be, as up until this point only Trevor had met him. No one was at home when we arrived, and a quick peak into his back yard failed to uncover our lost Edward. Up until this point in my life the concept of a stake out had seemed very exciting and glamorous. I was rudely awakened by the reality of how mind numbing a stake out must be as we sat in my car, a little way down the street from our victim’s house, awaiting his unsuspecting return.

When he finally did arrive home, he seemed somewhat surprised to see two seemingly discontent young men approaching him. We had been given plenty of time to think about our tactics whilst awaiting Frank’s arrival, and it seemed that the recovery of our vehicle was firmly in his hands at this stage, unless we wished to escalate the situation. I was intrigued to hear his explanation of his actions, and so we did our best to remain courteous and diplomatic and resist the temptation to break his legs. Have you ever wondered how to greet someone who has just stolen your car? "Hello. Sorry to arrive unannounced, but I believe you just stole my car."

Frank freely admitted to moving the car, but his explanation was completely unexpected. He elucidated the situation, by explaining that he had reacted to an urgent phone call from the tenants of the house to move the car, as the house was being demolished! When we asked where the car was now, he indicated that it was in a friend’s "lock up" on a local road. Knowing there were about two thousand lock ups on that particluar road we managed to narrow it down to behind a mower shop.

Leaving Frank with the false impression that we were not overly concerned by this situation, we set off to check out his story and to find Edward. Talking to the tenants again, his story not surprisingly turned out to be an intriguing fabrication, so we focused on locating the lock up. Knowing the area well, we located the car quite quickly, by peeking through the window of a securely locked shed, where we had no chance of getting our hands on it.

We returned to the shed frequently to monitor the whereabouts of the car and to hopefully meet the owners of the shed. This technique quickly yielded results and the owners were surprised to learn that Frank was not the owner of the vehicle. On examination Edward was missing his valuable chrome and woodwork. Not knowing the whole story, the proprietors of the shed agreed not to let the car go anywhere unless all the parties were present. We perceived that Frank was no more a friend of theirs, than they were of ours. At least we now knew where the car was and that it was relatively safe, although we couldn’t actually move it without Frank’s "permission". We had another promise of payment from Frank that Friday.

When Friday arrived, unsurprisingly Frank had no money, but would definitely have it on Monday. Talking again to the house tenants, they had an idea that the missing components may be in Frank’s truck. They knew he parked it in the area but did not know exactly where. We drove around the neighbourhood looking for a parked truck and found a tatty looking vehicle in a nearby street.

As far as Frank knew, we did not know where the car was, or that parts were missing. The next time we saw Frank, he again failed to produce any money. We informed him that we had spoken to the lock up owners and that he could not move the car again without our permission. We also firmly "suggested" that he return the missing parts promptly. He agreed to meet us at the shed the next evening with all the missing parts.

The next evening we went to our meeting with an extra friend in tow for moral support. We suspected that Frank would have some friends that you wouldn’t want to meet down a dark alley in the middle of nowhere, which was exactly where we were going. Amazingly, Frank attended the meeting, but of course he did not bring our missing valuables. The owner of the lock up and his son, Frank and his son, Trevor, our friend Michael and myself all stood in a circle in shadowy darkness outside Edward’s resting room, "negotiating".

When Frank made it clear that he had no intentions of paying for the storage that he alone had organized tempers began to strain. The proprietors of the storage shed were less than impressed with the prospect of not being paid, and questioned their obligation to release the vehicle. Meanwhile, Frank became rather aggressive when questioned about the rest of our property.

A measure of sanity prevailed although Frank and his son stormed off into the darkness. Trevor and I paid the shed owners a reduced rate for the storage and towed Edward to safety. We had our car body and the use of all of our limbs. Now all we needed was the rest of our componentry. So off we trekked to see Frank again. Not quite knowing what reception we would receive, I felt not an insignificant amount of trepidation as I knocked upon Frank’s front door.

To my surprise a quiet and somber face greeted me and Frank obligingly emptied his car of all our possessions without any further argument. Apparently his anger was spent, and perhaps, although extremely unlikely, he felt a little remorse or even shame.

Looking back at it now I don’t know why we just didn’t call the Police and leave it all to them, although I’m sure Trevor felt partly responsible for the events and he certainly wanted a personal resolution. I know one thing for sure. I haven’t met another Frank since, but I’ve still got Edward. Anyone interested?

Footnote: The Daimler has since been legitimately sold.
© Doyle Branton 1999 please do not reprint without permission.