Authors: Ted Dawe
From behind the wheel I tried to visualise a path out of here. Something that avoided dead dogs and dead cars and cut through to the gate in a hurry. I kept waiting for the bang that never came. It felt wrong to be sitting there, waiting … I was too vulnerable, too exposed to anyone coming from the back.
I wanted to be on my feet, so I eased out of the car carefully and stood by the open door. Still no sign of Devon. How long had it been? Five minutes? What could he be doing? I’d give him five more minutes and then go in.
Time stood still. I had never felt so lonely as I did as I waited by that car. When five minutes had almost passed I slipped slowly around to the front door. Even with my silent footfalls I could still hear no sound in the house. What had happened? I reached the verandah. There was this smell. Meths. Through the red patterned glass of the front door I could see a flicker of light. Then it disappeared as Devon burst out and slammed the door behind him. He was carrying a big polythene bag.
‘In the car, Trace. Quick, move it.’ We ran around the back of the house.
I started up the Holden and then threaded the car around the front and out onto the drive. I paused at the gateway to look back at the house. I could see the hot, red glow in the hall. There was no mistaking it now. I turned to Devon. He was looking too, his face glazed with tears. I gave his arm a nudge but he said nothing. We drove in silence for a full half hour. Just past Orewa he said, ‘Head for Martin and Gail’s.’
A little voice groaned inside me. I thought we were headed home. It was about midnight now and I was hanging out for sleep. As we made the city, Devon pointed to a burger bar so I pulled over, suddenly aware of hunger. It seemed days since we had eaten.
We sat opposite each other, bathed in the sick, flickering light. Devon looked awful. Drained and sad. I waited for him to talk, had waited ever since we left the farm. After his second coffee he lit up a smoke and looked as if he was about to speak. A cleaner, who was probably about 13 years old, asked us to
smoke outside. To Devon he didn’t even exist.
When Devon spoke he did so softly, as if he was a long way away. ‘I kind of hope those guys are still alive in the car, you know, stuck in it all night like in the TV ads, dying slowly and alone. That would give me …’ he stopped, searching for a word. ‘… solace.’
He stopped again.
‘Yes, I would like that.’
‘What was in that house?’
‘I had to torch it, you know. It was the only thing to do.’
‘What had they done?’
He looked up and stared at me, pointing to his forehead. ‘It’s up there, Trace. It will be there till the day I die. Caught somewhere between my eyes and my brain. The image of his face… .’ He trailed off and I asked no more.
I pushed my food tray away. ‘I never picked Rebel as being that smart. Just because he read
Mein Kampf
doesn’t make him Einstein. He’s only a car thief. Little fascist prick,’ I offered.
‘It’s not Rebel. It’s that guy in the suit. Whoever he was. A real ominous bastard. The way they trapped Johnno, no way Rebel could’ve thought of that, let alone the Taylors. Out of their league. The way they lured him like a mouse. It was so clever … it was sick.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, Trace. Let’s go. All we’ve got on our side now is surprise. They won’t know what’s gone down up North yet.’
I drove and Devon rolled a joint. He lit it and passed it to me. ‘Just a little puff to settle your nerves.’ I toked and passed it back: the last thing I wanted was to be stoned at this moment. He took one more draw, put the roach out in the ashtray then slipped it back into his pouch.
‘The demon weed. What has it done to us, eh Trace? You
could still be a shop boy mixing paint, and me a cub reporter making the coffee.’ He looked at me. ‘I bet you wish you still were.’
I shook my head. I tried to think of something stoical to say. ‘Life’s too short for regrets. It’s like driving. What’s around the next corner … that’s all that matters. What was back around the last corner, that’s history.’ It wasn’t entirely true, but I liked it and I hoped it might cheer Devon up.
‘I guess that’s my line too. In the end, you only regret the stuff you don’t do.’ I could tell he was trying to sound brave.
We were on the beginning of the big slope leading up to Titirangi. There were hardly any cars on the road. All honest people were in bed.
‘What’s the game plan?’
Devon thought for a while. It was obvious there wasn’t one.
‘I’m determined to recover our money. Now, more than ever. There’s a good chance that Rebel and the suit already have it.’
‘Do you think Martin’s a back-stabber?’
‘I don’t blame Martin, but did things seem a bit weird to you the other day? Little Martin is
on vacation.
What five or six-
year-old
is on vacation?’
‘Do you think he might have been snatched?’
Devon shook his head. ‘No. He’s probably with the olds in Huntly, but he’s there to be out of the way. Something heavy’s about to go down.’
‘And those cars.’
‘Yeah, that should have clicked right away. A better class of
vehicle
than the stuff Martin deals with. Imports eh? He has gone up in the world. He’s been bought off, that’s why he was looking sheepish. Nothing to do with being caught in the sack.’
‘So it all comes down to Mr Suit?’
‘Appears so.’
We reached the road Gail and Martin lived on so I pulled over and parked well short, bearing in mind the good view from the deck.
‘Well, Trace. This
is
the next corner. Any ideas?’
‘The way I see it there are three ways we can do this. Knock on the door. Bust in the door. Or lure them outside.’
‘Who do you reckon the
them
might be?’
‘I guess that’s a key question.’
Devon pulled the shotgun from the boot of the car and we walked up the street to where the driveway began. I kept
thinking
that this wouldn’t look good to any of the people in the other houses we passed … all it needed was for one person to spot us while they were going for a midnight pee.
The drive was long, about 50 metres, and threaded up a steep slope through overhanging bush. Its heavy foliage would shield us from view. There were no lights on in the house, but that meant nothing. Devon pointed mutely at where the two new Subarus had been earlier that day. Someone had been to collect them since the morning.
When we reached the end of the drive we had to cross open ground to get to the house. There was no way round it. Devon crouched in the shadows and signalled me on with the shotgun. I darted into the mouth of the carport, its gloom swallowing me instantly. As I stood there, my eyes adjusting to the deeper dark, I knew that if anyone was waiting for us, this is where they would be and that I would be completely vulnerable, outlined against the starry sky. I wondered whether Devon knew he was putting me into a situation where I had no defences. Suddenly it seemed as if he had been using me to test the water, while he lurked safely outside. For a moment I was swamped by panic.
Did I really know him? As it happened, the garage was empty but for the red pick-up Devon had given Martin and Gail. I steadied myself against its steel tray, sweating with fear and with my heart pounding. I listened to the floorboards above. No sound. No movement.
There was a scrambling behind me. It was Devon making his dash across the gravel drive. I stepped out into the open so that he wouldn’t pile into me. He was coming in blind too.
‘What’s the story?’ he asked.
‘I reckon we’re clear. This is the place they’d have waited. We would have run straight into them.’
‘Dumb huh?’ Devon brushed it off.
‘A bit. Let’s go in through the ranchslider on the deck.’
‘How do we get up there?’ It was three metres or so from the ground.
‘I’ll give you a boost.’ It was putting him in the same situation I’d been in when I ran into the carport. He knew it too.
He dropped the shotgun and I crouched, holding onto one of the posts. Devon climbed on my shoulders. Skinny though he was, I found it difficult standing from a crouch. We both had to pull on the post in front of us.
‘Come on Trace, mush!’
When I straightened my legs he was able to haul himself onto the outside of the railing.
‘Do you want the gun?’ I asked in a shrill whisper.
‘Cover me!’
I had no idea how I was meant to do that from the ground. He was on his own, once again an exposed outline against the sky. As he disappeared from view I heard a murmur. It was soft and sleepy. I raised the shotgun at the edge of the deck, waiting to blast the first head that appeared over the side. There was
no one. What was going on? I waited, frozen like a toy soldier, aiming at the top edge of the railing. Somewhere there was this ticking sound. I tried to locate its origin. Then I realised. It was coming from my mouth. My teeth were chattering
uncontrollably
. My fear was making itself known.
A head appeared over the edge. Involuntarily, I almost shot it. It was Devon, holding a speaker. He leaned over and I dropped the gun and moved closer. Slowly he lowered the speakers by their cables into my arms. Then he was over the balustrade, waiting for shoulders to ride down on. As I began to crouch, my legs folded and we both fell backwards onto the driveway.
‘Good one, Trace!’ he hissed loudly, rubbing his elbow.
‘Sorry man. Weak legs.’
We gathered the speakers and the gun and headed down the driveway. I kept waiting for Rebel and the Taylors to step out of the bushes. For it to be all over.
We made the street. It was empty, the Holden gleaming white about a hundred metres away. I was dying to ask Devon what had happened, but we walked on silently.
He held his hand out for the keys and then he put everything in the boot. It wasn’t until we were some way down the road that he spoke.
‘They were asleep on the deck.’
‘Shit. Rebel and Co.?’
‘No. Martin and Gail. They had dragged their bed out to sleep under the stars. I had to step right over Gail’s semi-naked body while I was holding the speaker cabinets. It was freaky. What happened to you?’
‘I had an attack of nerves. It came out of nowhere. Teeth chattering, legs like jelly. It’s a wonder I didn’t piss myself.’
‘How come?’
‘Running into the carport. It was fucking stupid, like jumping into a black hole. Trusting your luck.’
‘Sometimes you have to do that. There’s no way round it. Are you a bit pissed off with me?’
‘A bit.’
‘I would have done it, Trace.’
‘Why didn’t you then? Why did you send me in?’ My voice sounded shrill and tense.
He went quiet for a while. ‘If I had gone in there and got caught up with Rebel, what would you have done?’
‘I dunno. Something I guess.’
‘I know what I would have done. I knew it before you went in. I was ready.’
He didn’t say what ‘ready’ meant, but I assumed he meant he would have used the gun. I suddenly recalled him standing over that farmer on the side of the road, with the barrel of the gun halfway down his throat. I knew he was right. I wasn’t as reckless or as desperate as that yet. He was.
WHEN WE WERE well clear of the Titirangi hills, I looked across at Devon.
‘What’s the plan?’
‘It’s home, James, and don’t spare the horses. I reckon we’ve earned a sleep.’
‘You’d be mad wouldn’t you?’ I flashed a look at him. He looked done in.
‘What else can we do, Trace? Where else can we go? We aren’t loaded with options. Anyway, the house is fortified. That’s something.’
I thought about it. How much protection did a couple of cheap locks and a bit of trellis on the windows give? The stakes had risen from the days when we were worried about simple break-ins. Now it was us they would be after.
It must have been near daybreak when we finally reached the council flats where we stored the vehicles. The Norton was there, untouched. That was reassuring.
Devon said to leave all the stuff in the car, as it would be safer there. That was true but it didn’t say much for our ‘fortifications’ as he called them. I noted he took the shotgun.
We approached the little house cautiously. Would we ever be able to go anywhere again without being on guard?
We were right to be jittery. The front door was wide open. Kicked in. We crept inside. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t this. Someone had really been busy. Everything had
been smashed or ripped open: cupboard doors pulled off their hinges, cups and plates shattered. The TV had gone through the sitting room window. The couch had not only been slashed open like a gutted animal, but someone had shat on it as well. Devon pointed out the swastikas on the wall of his room and the word ‘nigga’ written there in tomato sauce squeezes.
He said with a cold laugh, ‘I guess you could say that Rebel and I are no longer friends.’
I was too tired to feel anything. Shock? Sadness? Nothing. The place was still shelter. We heaved the dining room table up against the front door frame and wedged chairs in behind it. It seemed more secure than the lock had ever been. My bed was wet with piss, so we flipped Devon’s mattress over and slept on the unslashed side.
It was odd sleeping together in the same bed. It was crossing a line that had been placed in my mind at puberty. He leaned the gun up against the wall by his head and promptly slipped off to sleep. I tried not to. Someone had to keep watch, so I lay there listening to his easy breathing as I ran escape fantasies through my overcooked brain.
I don’t know how long I kept that resolution alive. I was
awakened
by the fierce yellow sun shining directly onto me and a fly practising take-offs and landings on my lips. Devon was nowhere to be seen. I lay there, slowly replaying the events of the past 24 hours. It seemed like years of life had happened in just one day. I wasn’t old enough to have done everything that I had done.
I knew what I wanted. It wasn’t money, it was Karen. I longed to be lying in her arms again, buried in that state of innocence, that blissful cocoon. But a screen had been torn away since I had last seen her, and now, this ugly world stood revealed.
Where was Devon?
I got up and walked through the house. Some order had been restored: furniture righted, broken crockery kicked into the corners, but the stink from the shit-laden couch still
dominated
the sitting room. Devon was on the back verandah with the speaker cabinets. He had emptied out one and was in the process of unscrewing the other.
‘Sleep well?’ he said with a smile. ‘Man, were you out of it.’
‘I tried to stay awake, I guess I never made it.’
‘Some sentry!’
‘You can talk. Money all there?’
‘So far. I’ve no idea how much there should be anyway. I hadn’t even counted it in block form.’
‘Got any ideas, Devon? I sure haven’t.’
‘Yeah, it came to me last night. Cards on the table time. We know Rebel hates us and wants to kill us. Stumpy little prick. We’ve two choices. We can kill him, or buy him off.’
‘So you’re going to give him the money?’
‘Not exactly. I am going to give him the rest of the dope. I’m sick of dealing, that’s for sure. Don’t think I’m cut out for it.’
‘Johnno?’
‘Don’t….’ He held his hands out as though to ward off a blow.
‘Sorry.’
‘I can’t go there, Trace,’ his voice was suddenly weak. ‘Look, we’ll sort this. Make the most of it. Try to put things right. Can’t turn back the clock, though. We’ll do that trip up North. I reckon then I’ll have a clearer view.’
‘Do you reckon? I’d sort of given the whole idea away. Seemed to me like a yesterday idea. The world’s a bit different this
morning
. Like you said, “can’t turn back the clock”.’
‘We won’t be. I’ll organise it with, what’s her name?’
‘Angela.’
‘Right! Angie baby. You can count on me, Trace. If we can sort out the other shit today, then that’ll be a breeze. You still got my phone?’
I tried to think. ‘I think Karen might have it. I put it in her bag.’
‘No worries. I guess I can afford a new one,’ he said, holding up a wad.
‘What are we going to do about this house?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Just walk away?’
‘Sure. What do you suggest? Settle down? Raise kids? It’s stuffed. Even without Rebel and his mates treating it as a shit house … it’s lost it. It’s fucked, man. We’re out of here.’
‘To where?’
‘Questions, questions.’
He went inside and returned with a pillowcase. ‘I reckon we have to think strategically now, or else we’re finished in this town.’
‘What do you mean, strategically?’
He threw the blocks of money into the bag. ‘We have to align ourselves with one of the big guys. The real players. Someone who Rebel is scared of. Because he sure as hell ain’t scared of us.’
‘Who then?’
‘I reckon it’s got to be Sloane. I mean, who else is there? There’s the suit we met at Rebel’s: the guy who sent those skins to Johnno’s. There’s Wiremu, my man in the gang. Or Sloane through his mate Mark. Now that’s someone Rebel wouldn’t fuck with.’
‘Who’s left? Wes. Yeah, but you’ve pissed him off. Pity. He may be able to pull strings.’
‘Though Wes is a cut above these boys. He’s gone respectable now, did twenty years ago. Yeah, it would’ve been Wes not so
long ago. Now, it’s got to be Sloane.’
‘Yeah, but we had this deal to supply him and we didn’t come through. Don’t forget that.’
‘We will now though, and it will be a sweet one.’
Devon had reconnected with his old confidence. It seemed to be decided. I thought it sounded as risky as hell, thought we should run. But that wasn’t Devon’s style. He still believed he could deal his way out.
We packed all the gear we could into the back of the car. There was no coming back. Before we left I walked through the rooms we had painted when we had first moved in. Such a buzz. No place would ever have the same magic.
‘Come on man!’ Devon said, giving my jacket a yank. ‘Don’t get sentimental. It’s the past now and it’s got Rebel’s shit all over it.’
As if I needed reminding. What I needed was something to look forward to. Something that made me believe in the
possibility
of tomorrow. I’d never felt so down. Try though I might, I couldn’t believe that Devon could pull this truce off. He knew it too. He knew I had lost faith in him.
‘Where does Angela work?’
‘In a travel agent’s, on Broadway.’
‘Well let’s go there and set things up. Hey, we’ve earned this holiday, right?’ Devon said, trying to buoy me up. His words seemed to have a hollow ring to them.
Angela was handling a phone call when we arrived so Devon walked over and sat in front of the prettiest agent’s desk. Seeing all these people at work made me realise it must be a week day. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d checked in at the paint
shop. That job seemed eons ago. The agent quickly cleared away the stuff she had been working on and broke into one of those automatic smiles. Her name tag said Roanne.
‘How can I help?’
‘Roanne, Roanne, I hope you can … but this won’t be easy.’
‘Try me, I like a challenge.’
‘My colleague and I are planning a business trip to the Gold Coast and we don’t have passports, tickets, anything. Can you do all that?’
‘No problem. That’s what I do every day.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘How good are you at filling out forms?’
‘Not good.’
She smiled and stood up. I looked at Angela. She was
watching
us. Devon gave her a facetious little wave. Our lady returned with an intimidating sheaf of forms. ‘You’ll need to fill these out and we can courier them off. Providing you can get a birth certificate, everything else is just a formality.’
‘We don’t have current Auckland addresses. Can we do
everything
from here?’
‘No problem. And what date did you think you would like to fly out on?’
‘We would like open tickets. Business class.’
This created a new level of interest and helpfulness: more so when Devon paid the full amount in cash. Angela watched, intrigued, from the back of the shop, tied as she was to the phone headset.
‘One more big favour.’ Devon had this way of lowering his tone.
‘Of course.’
‘Would it be possible to have Angela help with these?’ He
held up the passport application guff. ‘I’m useless with forms … she’s a bright girl.’
‘You know Angela?’
‘Yes, biblically.’
Her jaw dropped, as though she had just lost a filling. ‘Excuse me?’
‘We used to go to Bible class together.’
‘Oh. Well sure. Why don’t you fill them in at her desk?’
‘That’s wonderful!’ he said, almost purring.
‘What are you guys doing here?’ Angela asked in hushed tones.
‘That’s my boss. Is this some sort of con? Where are you going?’
‘To the sunny beaches of Queensland. But that’s not the reason we came here. I had other motives. I wanted to see you, Angela.’ He spoke more and more softly until his tone was just a breathy whisper. ‘After our night … I’ve hardly slept … I couldn’t get you out of my head … .’
I watched him close in on her as he crouched down, his face near hers. Angela stared back, mesmerised, a possum in the headlights.
‘Angela, look … I’ve been spinning you a line. That whole Diego thing….’ He glanced around the room. ‘Shit, this is hard. It’s like this. There’s Spanish blood in my family, right? But I played the whole thing up to impress you. I know what you’re going to say … it was a crap stunt to pull, but Angela, the
moment
I saw you in that bar, I was history. You just blew me away. I would have done anything to be with you.’
I couldn’t bear it. ‘I’ll just pop out for smokes.’
They didn’t even appear to hear me. I walked down Broadway looking for a dairy but it was wall-to-wall fashion shops and coffee bars. The last time I had been here was the night before the ball. It seemed years ago. I was a different person then. Naive and excited.
Everything in front of me. Now I felt like an old man.
When I returned, Devon was leaning back in his chair
sounding
off to Angela and Roanne. He had that self-satisfied ‘mission accomplished’ look on his face.
‘Ah, Trace. I was beginning to think you’d been gunned down by gangsters. Hahahaha. Look!’ he said, holding up some forms. ‘All done. Just a few things for you to complete.’
I sat down and filled in the bits that Angela pointed to. When we had finished she said, ‘Six o’clock then?’
‘And Karen?’ Devon asked.
She smiled. ‘I can talk Karen around. It’s just daddy-phobia, and I know how to deal with that.’
‘Cool!’
We left.
‘See, Trace,’ he said, giving me a big shove. ‘You thought I couldn’t do it. You thought I was all washed up.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Oh ye of little faith!’
‘So what did you tell her?’
‘Mystery weekend. Starting tomorrow night. She handles the girls’ end, I handle the boys’ end. Sweet as.’
He had pulled it off. The difficult always seemed easy to Devon.
‘So what about the tickets and the passports?’
‘They’ll be there. Waiting. Like our little stashes. All ready for a fast exit.’
‘So where up North?’
‘A mystery, Trace, is something you don’t know the answer to. Just wait and see. Anyway, more importantly, let’s get a new base. I reckon I’ll sleep more easily if we can find a motel to hang at.’