“Not today, you old bitch,” he muttered, coaxing the car into the Midas parking lot just off the Moorebank Avenue exit. It wasn’t even 8 a.m., and already the Liverpool summer was hammering down.
Dez grabbed a flashlight and peered into the radiator cap. He grimaced. “Yep. That’s not coolant, mate. That’s iced coffee. Thick, rusty, chunky iced coffee. You need a full radiator flush—Moorebank style.” radiator flush moorebank
For the next two hours, Tony stood in the bay as Dez drained what looked like liquid clay from the petcock. He ran a garden hose through the system until brown water turned clear, then hooked up a chemical flush kit that frothed and bubbled like a science fair volcano. “Not today, you old bitch,” he muttered, coaxing
That night, Tony parked in his driveway in Moorebank, left the engine running, and listened. No tick. No knock. Just the quiet hum of a cooling system working exactly as it should. He grimaced
He didn’t say thanks. He just revved once at the Midas bay doors. Dez gave a lazy wave, already moving on to the next car.
“Dead. Cooked. Kaput,” Tony said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I think she’s sludged up. She’s been running hot for weeks. I just… kept adding water.”
“Radiator flush, Moorebank,” he said to the dark. “Worth every cent.”