Into the River (25 page)

There was the huge blare of the truck’s hooter and Rebel opened his eyes. At the same moment they flashed through the intersection, just clearing the front of the braking Kenworth truck, and then shot through to the glorious empty road beyond.

For a moment it happened: a lightness, like he was floating, like he was a million miles away, watching himself in a movie. Every thought, every little worry, the countless strings that held him down were snipped and nothing mattered. It was all a game.

“Sheee it! That was close.” It was Rebel.

Devon felt himself settling gently back into his old skin again.

“I had it covered.” He could smell the salty tang of his own sweat.

“Still …”

“You told me to take him. I took him.”

“Yeah,” Rebel said with a sigh. “Yeah, you did.”

And that was it.

They slowed down to the crawl that was ninety ks. They were nearly at the motorway by the time Mitch closed in behind them. He flashed the rack of spots on the roll bar. It was like being on the stage … being called for a bow.

When they arrived at Parnell, Rebel directed him to a little street where the houses and apartments gave way to office buildings.

“There it is.”

On one side there was a big apartment building, on the other, a construction site. The house had been left, waiting for the right
offer to come along so they could tear it down and throw up a high rise. The yard was wall-to-wall cars, some fully intact, others partly dismembered, some stacked, some on their sides: there must have been twenty or more. Nearly all of them were Subarus.

“Shit, what a lot of cars!”

Lights flashed at the corner and Rebel glanced back. “Here comes Baldy Brown.”

He threw his arm across Devon’s shoulders and marched him along to where the others were still clambering out of the cab.

“Did you see my boy here? So who’s got balls, huh? Who’s got them?”

Mitch came dancing up to him.

“What were you doing, man? Were you mad? That tanker … far out. Talk about close.”

They all wandered down to the door of the little house. Martin fumbled for the keys, then threw the door open with a flourish.

“Mi casa es su casa.”

“Back at ya, Martin.” Rebel turned to the others as they went in. “He thinks if he says it in wog we’ll all be impressed.”

“It’s all wog to you, Rebel.” Gail had had enough of him.

“Spicks and sprouts, wogs and frogs, they’re all slimy cunts … make crap cars. Cars for poofs.”

Gail just shook her head and ignored him.

Somewhere in the house Martin kicked the sound system into action. There was a table in the kitchen but otherwise just one chair and a broken stool, and mattresses on the floor in the lounge. Dirty plates and glasses filled the sink, and takeaway containers spewed out from a black garbage sack in the kitchen. Breaker passed Devon a joint and from then on everything took on a different perspective, like he was trapped in somebody else’s dream and he felt slightly panicky. He followed Mitch into the lounge.

There was a coffee table and a big TV, and the walls were covered in drawings. Dragons and motor bikes, skulls and angels, flames and blood. The music became impossibly strong and rich
and the dope made the images seem to pulse and slither around on the wall.

“Who did that?”

“Gail. She’s an artist.

“They’re cool,” he gasped.

“Hey, Gail,” Mitch sang out, “Devon likes your art.”

Devon felt immediately exposed. Wished he’d never asked. Gail wandered in from the other room and looked at Devon as if for the first time.

“So you like art, Devon?”

“Well, I like yours, I guess.”

“You’d be easy. You’ve got a classical face. Straight off a Greek vase, you are. Mitch, he’s more of the common kiwi.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

She got a piece of charred wood from the fireplace and began to draw. It took a moment to realise what she was doing: the scale of the face was as big as the lid of a rubbish bin. She paced backwards and forwards, creating the outline, carefully positioning the nose, mouth and eyes.

“This is what cave people did. They would go out hunting …” She stopped for a while as she started to work the hair in around the scalp, “Then they’d come back … to their cave … and try to picture what they’d seen.”

She was rapidly detailing the nose and eyes. Devon was astonished to see his resemblance emerging in her deft strokes.

“How can you do that?”

She pulled another stick from the fire and using her fingers toned in the peaks and hollows of his face, blurring out the lines and revealing Devon with startling intensity.

“I can do that …” working in a shadow under the chin “… with you keeping still.”

“Come on you two, I got a donk to load up for Big John.” It was Rebel.

Gail closed in on the detail she was smudging with her thumb
around the corner of the mouth, and said quietly, as if to herself, “Poor Rebel, so easily threatened. You can go now Devon, go join the boys.”

Devon slunk off with a rueful grin on his face.

Out the back, Martin had a motor dangling from a tripod; off to one side was the Legacy wagon it had come from. They lowered the motor onto a trolley and pushed it out to Rebel’s F100. Even with the four of them it was surprisingly heavy. Level with Rebel’s ute, they positioned themselves on all sides of the motor to lift it on. There was a piece of carpet in the back and some ropes to tie it down. Devon and Rebel were on one side, Mitch and Martin on the other. Devon watched the flex and bulge of the musculature in Rebel’s arms. There was a scary power there, the sort that fighters had.

“Scratch the paint work,” said Rebel, as they strained to clear the high sides, “and you’re dead.”

“Where’s Baldy? The one time you need him, he’s not here,” said Martin as they wandered back to clean the grease off their hands.

“This calls for a brew. Come with me, you two.”

“Drink up. I had better be getting you back. Big John will be spinning out.”

By the time they got back to the wrecker’s yard it was nearly three in the morning. Big John came down to the gate to greet them in his dressing gown. He had the dogs on leads and they were leaping all over the place. He struggled to contain them.

“Jeez, that took a long time. You been pulling it out all night?”

“We got side-tracked.” Mitch sounded pretty pleased with himself. “Ended up on Thunder Road.”

Big John didn’t look pleased.

“Figures.” He pulled the gates wide to let the F100 in.

Rebel did a three point turn up near the house so that he could
back in to the big tin shed. Big John tied up the dogs and came and stood next to them.

The shed was full of engines and parts with the name and year scrawled on them in white paint. It seemed to Devon much easier this time when the four of them hefted the boxer motor onto a bench.

“I wanted the turbo two point five: What this?”

“It’s the new non-turbo version. Almost as powerful. Only ten ks on the clock.”

There was a shiny patch on the block which Rebel pointed out. “All ready for you to put your own number onto, then everything’s legit.”

“Big deal. Whatever happened to getting what you paid for?”

“Midnight Autos is not the Warehouse, man. We got a supply chain made up of broken arses from every lock-up in the country. Most of them can hardly read.”

“You’re speaking to one.”

“No offence, BJ.”

“Yeah right!”

Devon saw the uneasiness between them. It seemed that none of Big John’s deals were working out. Either that or it was Rebel’s cocky manner that gave no quarter to Big John’s brusqueness. They all stood around staring at the engine for a while wondering where to go from here. It was like there was unfinished business between Big John and Rebel which wasn’t to be discussed while the two younger guys were there.

“Better be off.” said Rebel, climbing into the cab of the F100. “Good to see ya,” he said to Big John who seemed uninterested.

“Wouldn’t wanna be ya,” chirped Mitch.

Rebel gave his wolf-grin and gunned the ute down the narrow driveway and out the gate. The sound of its revving motor hung in the still night air long after he had disappeared.

“You can stop clapping now, he’s gone.” Big John sneered, “He might seem like the goods to you two but I’ve seen off dozens like
him. They pull a few stunts and they think they’re King Shit until they drop their guard and someone takes them out.” Big John spat in the direction of the departed ute. “His day will come.”

School resumed on Wednesday but Devon returned a day early. His pen was empty, and Steph was still holed up in hospital. He wandered over to the FLS. It was wide open and he could hear the sound of a piano coming from one of the practice rooms. There was something familiar about the piece. A sort of angry grace. It was, of course, Briggs. Devon stood staring at the back of his head through the glass panel in the door. After a moment, Briggs stopped suddenly, his fingers resting on the keys and then he turned.

“What are you doing, Devon? Come in.”

“Hi, Briggsy. I just got back and I was cruising about, seeing who was here.”

“Oh. You mean that you were cruising about looking for Steph?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, he’s not back from the Ascot yet. He’s due tonight some time.”

“I never thought he’d be in that long.”

Briggs shot him a patronising stare. “You’re so naïve. You and Steph, both. You think you’ve got it all sussed but you haven’t. Look at him now. A complete mess. Not so cocky. Everyone says it was stress. I know it was drugs.” Then he added, “Something I bet you know all about too.”

Devon didn’t say anything. He’d tapped into a dammed-up pool of anger and jealousy.

Briggs paused thoughtfully then turned back to Devon. “I remember the day Steph arrived. And you,” he added, almost as an after-thought. “There was something innocent about you. Laughter in your eyes, eh. Anyone could see that. Then Willis comes along and spoils it. Spoils everything. You couldn’t see it; you
were dazzled.”

He resumed playing. “You were too young, all excited by Willie’s attention. I saw through it because he’d …” He stopped for a moment or two, composing himself and then tried again, “Because he …” He dried up. There was something unsayable.

“I don’t blame Steph. Not really,” said Briggs, “He’s only young …”

He began to tinkle the keys at the same time. “I blame Willis. He’s an evil prick and I’m going to take him down.”

Devon tried to think of something to say that seemed sympathetic. “Oh well, I guess I’ll get over it. You seem okay.”

Briggs fixed him with a cold stare and said nothing.

Later that evening Devon was lying in the common room with a few other staybacks when Steph walked in. He was paler and skinnier than before, if that was possible. His eyes seemed to have sunk deep into their dark sockets. Everyone stared at him.

“What’s the matter? You all look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

There was no reply to that. Devon got up and they walked out into the grounds together.

“What happened in hospital?” he asked, feeling a little coy about the past few days.

“You might well ask.” It was Steph’s great aunt voice. Then he broke back to normal. “It was soo boring. But I did get to talk to a shrink.”

“A shrink? Why? You some sort of nutter?”

“Of course I am. Always have been. I didn’t need a shrink to tell me that. I was bent since day one.” Then he smiled and added, “So are you, Devon. That’s why we’re mates.”

Devon shook his head.

“That’s the reason,” Steph insisted. “What else have we got in common?”

There was a nastiness coming out in Steph that had usually been directed at other people. It was startling.

“I’m not bent.”

“You’re not? Oh my God, I must have mistaken you for someone else. What was his name now? Te Arepa! That’s right, Te Arepa, from the little town of Whareiti.”

“What’s got into you, Steph?” Hearing his name spoken by Steph like that, after all this time, was like having icy water thrown in his face. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Where were you?” Steph’s voice rose a little. “What happened to you, Devon? I was sick in hospital. I had no one.”

“I was at Mitch’s place. He invited me and I went. End of story. Get over it.” Devon knew he sounded angry and defensive but he didn’t care.

“Great!” Steph spat the word. “It’s good to know where I stand. When things go wrong for me I don’t see you for dust.”

“I went out west on an impulse, okay? I didn’t know it would stretch out into days. What’s wrong with that?”

They stopped on the steps leading up to the headmaster’s office.

“What’s wrong with that? Let me see.” Steph continued, his voice, an angry whisper. “I stuck my neck out for you, Devon. When Hartnell was making your life hell I got rid of him. You couldn’t do anything. And Mitch was terrified of him.” Then he added, “Wouldn’t have had the brain power, anyway.”

“You got rid of Hartnell?” Devon’s voice was loaded with outrage. “That’s a new one. Hartnell was kicked out for stealing. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. I didn’t see you lift a finger.”

There was a tense silence, then Steph spoke slowly and carefully. “Hartnell never stole anything.” His tone stopped Devon in his tracks.

“What?”

“I stole that box from Simmonds’s office. It was the only way. I can tell you that I had help … and it cost me. Big time.”

“How could you do that, and keep it a secret? Someone always talks in this place. It isn’t possible.”

“Stealing the box wasn’t that hard. Maybe getting the key to Simmonds’s office too; that cost me a few favours. Loading all the cards onto Hartnell’s phone, that was the tricky part.”

“What sort of favours?”

“You don’t want to know.” Steph leaned into his face, “You’d just think I was a bigger sicko than you do now.”

There was no answer to that so Devon stayed silent. After a while Steph seemed to perk up and continued.

“But getting to Hartnell’s phone up in the seniors’ rooms, without being seen. That takes serious Steph skills. Secret agent stuff.”

Devon was relieved to see him returning to type, bathing in his own cleverness.

“You remember the night I made Milo for all the seniors? It took hours.”

“Yeah, what a suck-up. Not even the third formers would do that unless they were seriously beaten-up on.”

“The first person I gave it to was Hartnell. I made it real sweet, to cover up the taste.”

“The taste of what?”

“The taste of the five Donormyl pills I’d crushed up.”

“What do they do?”

“Well, one makes you sleepy, two and you aren’t meant to drive a car. I knew that three would knock out an ox, so I gave him five.”

“Shit! You might have killed him!”

“That was always a chance,” said Steph, adopting an air of cool detachment. “Anyway, he was out cold on the bed before I had even finished the rounds. Uniform still on. Lights on. Snoring like a pig. I was able to grab his phone and load it up with all the phone cards. Hundreds of bucks worth of talk time.”

“What happened to the money?”

“I kept it, except for a couple of twenties I planted in one of his maths books. Still got some of it. I don’t do these things for free
you know. I’m not the Caped Crusader.”

Devon glanced back over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was listening from the top of the steps. It seemed impossible, and yet Steph never told lies. Well, not to him anyway.

“You remember the day he tore your famous HDT jacket? You ended up on the floor with his hands around your throat.”

“Yeah. I remember that you didn’t do much.”

“Do I look like a fighting man to you?” It was a rhetorical question. “I did quite a bit actually, but you didn’t see any of it. I made a resolution.”

“What was that?”

“I resolved that I would get rid of him, and I accomplished it inside my deadline. I would’ve loved to have gloated at the time, or at least shared the pleasure, but as you pointed out, this isn’t a school where a secret can survive.”

“How about these people who helped you? How come they didn’t say anything? I can’t imagine some senior sticking up for you.”

“Briggs was one, and there were others, but none of them knew what I was doing. I had to smokescreen them with other motives. It was complicated, but it came off.”

“Jesus, Steph, you did this for me?”

“Hartnell was never my problem. He was yours mostly.”

“Was Briggs part of this?”

Steph nodded. “That’s why the fallout’s coming now. He thinks I owe him, for the rest of my life probably.”

Devon was dumbstruck. He had thought that what happened to Hartnell had been pure karma. But now it seemed that it wasn’t so, it was a case of Steph intervention. It was hard to credit, looking at him. So pale, his skin had a transparency like watery milk. You could see the blue veins in his thin neck. Then there was his gentle, girlie manner. Not really the avenging angel. Devon had underestimated him. Sold him short. He felt cheap.

“So what have you been up to at Hoon Central?” asked Steph
brightly, as though they had never had their previous talk.

“Nothing much. It was just a chance to get out of here.”

This was not the time for bragging detail.

Steph seemed appeased.

“Let’s go to Willie’s place. Check out the final rehearsal schedules. See what he’s been up to.”

They headed back across the main football field to the road that led to Willie’s flat.

“Do you know how many visitors I had?”

“Nah.”

“Just two. Matron and Briggs.”

“Big fun, huh? Who was the most boring?”

“There was nothing boring about Briggs.” His tone changed. “Have you talked to him recently?”

“Yeah, I was down at the practice rooms this afternoon,” Devon said, suddenly visualising Briggs’s tormented face.

“What did he say?”

“Oh, not much. ‘Willie’s an arsehole. He ruins all the boys, ’specially you, maybe me, and I guess him too.’”

“Yeah? He said much the same to me. But with me he was full of these revenge fantasies. Tying poor Willie up. Driving things up his arse. Yup, he’s turning into a fucked-up sicko, first class. But Briggs is not boring.” Then Steph added, almost as an
afterthought
, “I’m scared of him, actually.”

“It’s just talk,” said Devon. But it wasn’t like Steph to say he was scared. “He’ll get over it. You know what this school is like; the longer the term goes on the worse everyone gets, and by the end everyone is nearly killing each other. Over nothing much, usually. Stir-crazy stuff.”

They had to bang loudly on Willie’s door because he had the stereo up so loud. The door swung open. Willie seemed relieved to see them.

“Jeez, what a racket. I thought I was being busted by the cops.”

He gestured them in and threw himself onto the couch.

“So you’re out, Steph? Like Lazarus, risen from the dead.” Then he added, as an after-thought, “I would’ve visited but I’m paranoid about hospitals.”

“So it’s okay to abandon me? Great. Thanks Willie, I’ll remember that when you need some support. It’s nice to know who your friends are, in your hour of need. In my case, I guess it’s Matron and Briggs.”

“Keep away from that one,” said Willie. “He’s a complete head case. He’s progressed from just being a sad youf … locked in a snot … to someone who’s threatening me with hell and damnation every time he opens his mouth.”

“Why’s that?” asked Devon. “What have you done?”

Willie and Steph exchanged glances but said nothing.

“That bad, huh? Yeah, he’s baying for your blood. I’m just glad he’s not after me.”

“Thanks, Devon, for those re-assuring words.”

Willie fumbled about for his smokes. “I guess that has, in part, led me to my next career move.”

“What’s that?” Steph seemed genuinely interested.

“I have decided to leave. I’m out of here, I’m gone.”

Willie, sensing the boys’ unease, broke into song, in an attempt to lighten things up. “I’m goin’ where the sun shines brightly, I’m goin’ where the skies are blue, I’ve seen it in the movies …”

“What? You’re just going to walk out on us?” Steph spat the words out.

Willie was unabashed. “Steph, if there’s one thing that I have no doubt about it’s this: that no matter what happens, you will survive. You’ll survive at Barwell’s. You’d survive a nuclear holocaust. I reckon you were a hundred years old at birth and you are slowly growing younger.”

Steph turned to Devon. “Another one. What did I do to deserve this? Whatever happened to loyalty?”

Devon looked away, wishing he had stayed in the dorms and
not got involved in this. He was well out of his depth.

“So what’s happening with
Original Sin
, and the choir and all that stuff?”

“That stuff? It seems that
Original Sin
was where it all began to unravel. There’s been a shit-storm from what happened on the island. I think that Dianna was a bit naïve in thinking that it would all float away from a pyre on a rubbish tin lid. Still, as Edith Piaf used to sing, ‘Non, je ne regrette rien.’”

“What’s that in English, Willie? I don’t like the rain?”

“Devon!” said Steph, with fake outrage. “Pah-lease.”

“Anyway, like I was saying, I reckon by the end of the year, I’m gonesville. Till then I’ll just hang in there and try to revert to my low-key, inoffensive self.”

“And then where?”

“A friend of mine’s got this bar at Noosa Heads. He’s been at me to come across since … forever, so … I think it could be a good time for a re-incarnation, this time as the piano man in Queensland.”

Steph clammed up, obviously angry.

Willie sprang to his feet. “Well, I’m off to Newmarket to score a Thai takeaway. You two coming?”

Devon looked at his watch and realized that dinner would be finishing in twenty minutes.

“Steph, we should be going. If we miss dinner, then roll call too, there is going to be all sorts of shit happening. I don’t think it’s a good time to be sticking our heads up at the moment.”

But Steph was already somewhere else.

“You go, I’ve still got stuff to work out here.”

It was asking for trouble but this was no time to argue the point. Devon left directly and jogged all the way back to school, arriving minutes before the kitchen closed and he missed the check-off. It was spaghetti and meatballs, standard back-to-school fare. Wade Royle was queuing for seconds.

“Hey Devon! Come and sit with me.”

Devon could see Briggs circling and so he decided to stick with Wingnut.

Devon was on the receiving end of an endless description of a rugby match when Briggs came and sat next to him. Devon pretended to be fascinated by every detail but eventually Briggs butted in.