Authors: Jason Nahrung
'You got a couch or something?' the cop asked.
'Up at the house.'
'On the floor, then. C'mon, we're running out of time.'
They manoeuvred the injured man through the internal door into the servo and eased him down on
the lino between the racks of fan belts and fuel additives. The man made the quietest of groans.
His mate leaned over him, shouting into his face. 'Dave? Can you hear me? Dave, you still with
me, mate?' He swore when he got no response from the lolling face, Dave's mouth open and slack, his
eyes showing white through the slit lids.
'What happened?' Kevin asked.
'Is there a hospital? Shit, there isn't, is there.'
'Charleville's the nearest.'
The cop shook his head. 'C'mon, then.'
Kevin followed him to the rear of the four-wheel-drive.
The cop paused to take a long, hard look at the road, the paddocks, then fumbled with a padlock
as big as his hand before working a steel bar to open the door. A body lay there, dark in the gloom.
The dogs went mental; the cop shouted at Kevin to shut them up and Kevin shouted at them to shut
up and eventually they retreated, growling their concern.
The guy in the back was dark-skinned, dressed in jeans and T-shirt and leather jacket. Matted
hair curled about his shoulders.
'He ain't gonna cart himself in,' the cop said, and grabbed the body under the armpits, leaving
Kevin with the feet. Biker boots, cracked and dusty. He took the man by the knees, as though he was
driving a wheelbarrow. The biker's jacket fell open, hanging down from his shoulders like limp
wings. Something glinted on his chest, but Kevin couldn't get a good look as they jostled him inside
and plonked him down beside the wounded copper.
The cop felt his mate's neck. 'Hang in there, Dave.' He looked up at Kevin, his sweaty brow
tinted pink with blood and dirt. 'You got something we can tie this bastard down with?'
'We got some chain,' Kevin said. 'Some fencing wire.'
'Bring it here, quick.'
Kevin went into the garage, aware of the curious scrutiny of Bill and Ben, wishing they could do
more than just stare and whine - like go fetch his dad; that'd be bloody handy right about now. He
grabbed a length of chain, a coil of wire and a pair of pliers.
The cop considered the chain, then said, 'Cut me some of that wire. A good couple of feet's
worth. Then cut the same for yourself and wrap it tight around his ankles. Real tight. I don't want
the bastard to be able to so much as scratch, you got it?'
'You wanna tell me what's going on?'
'Just get a move on.'
Kevin did what he was told, making sure the biker wouldn't be able to move. Not that that seemed
like a problem - the guy hadn't so much as twitched since they'd dragged him in. Kevin wasn't sure
he was even alive.
When he was finished, he handed the pliers and a length of wire to the cop, who used the pliers
to pull the wires around the biker's wrists as tight as he could. Kevin's respect for the cop went
up a notch - he wouldn't have expected many city slickers to know a Cobb & Co. twitch.
The cop added a pair of handcuffs that looked solid enough to bind a gorilla.
'Jesus,' Kevin muttered.
'Yeah, he's a bad one, this one. All right, stand back.'
Kevin watched as the cop checked the wire around the biker's ankles and gave a satisfied nod,
then hefted the pliers. They were a big pair with a bull nose. He stood over the biker's chest and
Kevin could see clearly what had caused the glint
- the man had a piece of half-inch steel protruding from his chest.
'Jesus,' he said. 'Why did we bother tying him up? He's gotta be dead.'
'You'd think so, wouldn't you?' There was no humour in the cop's voice as he grabbed the end of
the steel and pulled. For a moment, nothing happened, then the metal gave, slowly inching out of the
biker's chest with a low, wet sucking sound.
The biker coughed, groaned.
The cop pulled a big-arse knife, a Bowie or something like that, from under his jacket as he told
Kevin, 'Get me a bucket or a glass, anything that's clean. Hurry!'
Kevin brought the first thing he could find - an oversized souvenir mug from a stand near the
front door. It bore a picture of a fish and rod with a logo reading, 'Welcome to Barlow's Siding,
yellowbelly country'. He wiped a swatch of dust off on his sleeve and handed the mug to the cop.
The guy paid it the barest of glances, just said, 'Hold it for a minute' before crouching over
the biker.
'You know what I want, Taipan. Give it up.'
'Go fuck yourself.'
The cop seized the man's jaw. 'I can take your head right here. Your only hope is to stay useful
to me.'
'Until we get to Brissie and I lose it anyway. No time like the present, eh?'
Dave's breath rattled wetly.
'I don't have time for your games, Taipan.' The cop plunged his knife into the biker's shoulder.
Taipan barely reacted. 'It don't hurt, y'know.'
'If Dave dies, you're next, and I swear to God, it
will
hurt.'
'Swear to whoever you like. I ain't doin' nothin' for you, Hunter.'
'Push his sleeve up,' Hunter told Kevin. 'Don't worry, he can't hurt you. Just don't look in his
eyes. You never know what mojo they're packin'.'
'You wanna tell me what the fuck's going on? My dad's gonna be here any minute.'
Hunter's eyes were two massive pupils of glowing red ringed with bands of gun metal grey - an
animal in the headlights. 'Just hold this bastard's sleeve up for me. Do it, or my partner's gonna
die here on your floor, and you can tell your old man you let it happen.'
Kevin did as he was told. The biker's skin felt cool and smooth, tight with corded muscle.
'What's your name, fella?' he asked Kevin. The guy acted so relaxed, sprawled there as though on
a sun lounge waiting for his cocktail to be served, but there was a hint of cold in his dark brown
eyes. A touch of snake, watchful and deadly. 'Handy under the bonnet, are ya?'
'Don't look at him,' Hunter snapped, and Kevin jerked his eyes from the biker's and watched,
fascinated and confused, as the cop ran his knife down Taipan's forearm. The skin parted, showing as
red as a steak done rare. Blood trickled from the cut. Hunter punched the wound. 'Let it down, you
bastard!'
The biker stared hate at him.
Kevin backed away. 'Jesus Christ, what kind of cop
are
you?'
'He ain't no cop,' Taipan said, his voice filled with disgust.
'Hold him steady, damn you!' Hunter turned back to the biker. 'Sun's up, creep. You choose.'
Taipan smiled, teeth very white. Blood ran in a thick burgundy stream from the wound in his arm.
Hunter manoeuvred the mug to catch the pitter-patter.
Kevin backed into a shelf, rattling containers of oil and coolant. 'What the hell are you doing?'
Hunter didn't answer. When the mug was brimming, he crawled to his partner and raised the man's
head onto his knees. 'Here, Dave, this'll put you right.'
The dogs yapped and the door buzzer sounded and, for one frozen moment, no-one moved at all.
Kevin's father stood in the aisle looking confused indeed. He raised his hands -
one clutching a lunch bag, a peace offering from Kevin's mother, no doubt.
The cop had somehow managed to put down the mug and draw a squat pistol in the time it had taken
Kevin to say, 'Dad, something's seriously fucked up here.'
'Special Branch,' Hunter said. 'Let me be and I'll explain.'
'Explain why you got two injured men on my service station floor, or why you're holding a gun on
me?'
'Both. But I gotta do this or my partner's a goner.'
Kevin's father dropped the bag on the nearest shelf and folded his arms across his chest, his
lips tight with restrained anger. 'Well, be quick about it. I could have customers any minute.'
'Yeah, it's peak hour out there.' The cop left the pistol close at hand as he picked up the mug
again. He dipped a finger in the brew, pulled it out dripping and said, 'Still warm.'
Bile burned in Kevin's throat as Hunter forced Dave to swallow the blood. Twin streams trickled
from the sides of the injured cop's mouth. Hunter let Dave's head down gently, then tore away his
shirt to allow him to pour the remnants of the mug's contents onto a puckered wound on his
chest.
Hunter reached for his belt, swore, then asked Kevin, 'You got a hammer?'
'Huh?'
He nudged the spike. 'This isn't gonna put itself back in.'
'Cunt,' Taipan snarled.
Hunter holstered his gun, stood and fished a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. 'You get me a
hammer, boy, and you - what's your name?'
'Thomas Matheson. This is my service station, and that's my son you're pointing that gun at.'
'Well, Tom, I'm gonna need a vehicle. The faster the better. What've you got?'
'I got a car. Up at the house.'
'So, the kid here gets me that hammer so I can secure my prisoner, and you get me the wheels.
I'll see you're compensated.'
Kevin's father frowned then nodded for him to do as the cop said. 'I'll watch you
secure
your prisoner, and then I'll get you your wheels.'
Kevin ran into the garage - a lighter sparked behind him, sounding like a knife being sharpened -
and returned with the first mallet he found. 'You really gonna hammer that thing back into him?'
'Fucking oath.' Hunter took a deep drag on his cigarette.
Taipan pulled himself into a sitting position. His sleeve slid back down.
Kevin stared at the man's arm, wishing he could see through the cloth. He'd glimpsed a thin blood
trail, but he hadn't seen the gash. It was almost as if… But that couldn't be.
Hunter flicked ash and put his cigarette back in his mouth before gesturing to Kevin to hand over
the mallet.
'Hear that?' Taipan said. 'That's your death comin'. Alla youse.'
'I don't hear nothin',' Kevin said.
Hunter cocked his head. 'Good set of ears, this bastard.' He nodded to himself. The dogs whined
outside. 'It won't do you any good, Taipan.' He poised the stake over the biker's chest, then gave
it an almighty whack.
Taipan jerked as the spike sank an inch into his chest. He spat blood across the cop's face.
Hunter ignored it and brought the mallet down again. The biker spasmed once more, then lay still,
eyes staring, a trickle of blood worming bright and viscous from the corner of his mouth. Hunter sat
back, wiped his face with a handkerchief and tucked it back in his pants pocket. 'I need that car,
sport. Kid, keep an eye on Dave for me.'
'Jesus,' Kevin said. 'Look at that.'
The injured cop was breathing regularly. Even had a bit of colour in his cheeks.
Kevin's father stepped closer to look and said, 'Just what in the hell is going on here?'
'Ah, crap.' Hunter walked over to the window.
'What's that noise?' Kevin said, hearing a low rumble. 'Bikes?'
Hunter motioned with the pistol for Kevin's father to move. 'The car, sport, quick now.'
'How about an explanation first?'
Kevin got a folded tarp and put it under the injured cop's head. The man seemed to be breathing
okay, shallow but regular. The wound in his chest, he reached to move the sodden shirt out of the
way, looked as if-
The roar of bikes filled the room. Shapes moved outside the window. The dogs barked furiously.
'Shit.' The cop ground out his cigarette on the floor and drew his pistol. 'Get down; away from
the windows.' He ran to the nearest, cuddled up to the wall and peeked out. 'How many doors?'
Kevin's father pointed them out: 'Front, rear office, garage. Is there a risk - to the house, I
mean?'
'They got no reason to go up there. What they want is here.' He stretched to kick the biker, the
man's foot wobbling unconsciously under the impact. Fresh sweat glistened on the cop's forehead. 'We
need that front door locked and those garage doors down. Right now.' He looked at Kevin.
Kevin took a moment, then ran for the garage.
'I've got the office,' his father said.
Kevin tried to call the dogs in but they were out near the bowsers, barking at people across the
road. Four or five bikes sat under the power pole. Leather-clad shapes huddled around them, like a
flock of crows picking over road kill. Kevin rolled the doors down, then ran back inside to lock the
servo door. It and the top half of the front wall were all glass; he didn't see that locking up
would help. It was just the three of them at the servo and his mother up at the house. No-one
between here and town, twenty minutes down the track, and only the one cop, Smithy, on duty, anyway.
'We're cut off from the house but they seem to be leaving it alone,' his father said, re-entering
from the office. He pointed a shotgun at the cop.
'I'm not the enemy here, sport,' Hunter said. 'Trust me
- your missus will be safe enough if she keeps her head down. Unless they try for a hostage trade,
of course.'
'You better start talking, or I might just be willing to do a trade of my own.'
Hunter stared out at the bikes making idle circles on the road. 'Is that the only gun you got?'
Kevin's father braced, the gun firm into his shoulder, the barrel locked on Hunter. 'You aren't
Special Branch; there isn't one, not any more, not for years. And your prisoner isn't exactly human,
is he? So you tell me, right now, what's going on here?'
'Jesus, Dad.' Kevin, feeling useless as the shit got ever deeper, looked for a weapon. Nothing
but the pliers and the mallet discarded on the floor.
Great.
'Just stay back, son, his father said. 'We'll get out of this.'
'No you won't,' Hunter said. 'Not if you don't help me. You've got no idea what's going on
here.'
'Just hand him over. You caught him once. You can catch him again.'
'That lot won't be happy with that. They want blood, you can bet on it.' He checked his watch.
'I'd give my left nut for the chopper right about now.'