Thunder Road (13 page)

THE CAR PARK turned out to be a scene in itself. There must have been over a hundred people milling about. Delaying final exposure. Angela scored a blast from the daughter of one of the teachers then at last we were able to go in.

In spite of all the fancy frocks, undertaker suits and statement cars, it was no different from the grope-and-stumbles I used to go to when I was at school. It was just a school dance in fancy clothes: everyone struggling to relax, to impress, or just to make it through the night with a smile on their face.

Richard and I spent most of the time sitting together while the girls went off to compare notes with their friends. Every now and then Karen would return and tow me off to meet someone she wanted to impress. New role: the trophy boyfriend. The rough boy.

By eleven I had been thoroughly exhibited so we danced while Richard and Angela waited restlessly at their table. With about half an hour to go Angela wanted out. She had agreed to meet some of the others at a local bar and then go on to an after-ball party. Richard was keen. He would have done anything to escape at this stage, whereas Karen and I were finally getting to chill and enjoy each other.

The pub we went to was the one me and Devon had been
hanging
at. I wasn’t keen to show my face so I sent the others in ahead while I looked for a toilet. Once they were safely inside I
walked around to the bi-fold doors to spy out the scene. There seemed to be no one I knew so I went on in and sat with the others. They were all a bit reluctant to buy drinks, being under age, or, in Richard’s case, tight-fisted. I went to the bar, relieved to be through the night with an unscathed rep. I guess I was halfway across the tightly packed room when I spotted Devon on the far side of the bar.

Why does this happen?

Of all the places he could have been, he had to be here,
tonight
. I felt guilty for the lies and for not including him. Then I felt angry for feeling guilty. There was no end to it.

I snuck back to my seat empty-handed and gave Richard the money to get the drinks. He was pleased to be on his feet, doing something. I guess it had been a long night for him too.

Angela went off to the toilet, so for a while it was just Karen and me, but with Devon around I could feel the distance
between
us. Her world seemed to revolve around her school and home. I had no interest in either. Whatever we tried to talk about fizzled out and returned to something school-based. She was just mimicking her South African Bio teacher’s accent when I saw her eyes light on something over my shoulder. I turned. Angela and Devon were walking towards us.

‘Look what Angela’s found,’ Karen whispered in my ear.

I had this sick feeling in my gut.

‘Guys, I would like you to meet Diego,’ Angela gushed proudly. ‘He’s from Spain originally but he’s stopping here for a while. He’s been sailing around the world.’

Devon had a fake accent to go with his fake gestures. ‘Ima pleased ta meet yous beautiful women. You two are – a lucky guys,’ he said, grabbing my shoulder and pointing at Richard. ‘Let me buy you all a drink, a vino, si?’

He swaggered back to the bar … even his way of walking had changed.

‘God, Angela, where’d you find him? In the women’s toilets?’

She laughed and refused to say. Her whole demeanour had changed. She was flushed with excitement. Joyous. I felt for Richard. He was history. What had seemed a pretty bad night had just got a whole lot worse. He sat at the end of the table, in a space inhabited with silence and rejection.

Devon came back with a bottle of wine and some glasses. He was like a one man party. I didn’t know how to play it, so I did it by his rules.

‘What’s that drink, Luigi?’ I asked.

‘Diego, my friend,’ correcting me: a chilly edge crept into his voice, like a warning. ‘This drink, it is Lambrusco, nectar of the gods.’ He turned the label around. ‘See: frizzante, it means sparkling, bubbly, like – a my friend Angela here.’ He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. Richard stood up and walked towards the toilet. No one even asked where he was going. When he neared the door he looked back briefly, catching my eye, and then left.

When I pointed it out to Karen she seemed unworried. ‘I was surprised he stayed as long as he did. He hoped something might happen between him and Angela. It was never going to.’ She had it sussed. It was a blast of cold air, the way she said that, considering he was a friend of hers. She too was suckered in by Devon in this Spanish incarnation. I looked at her face in repose. Mouth slightly open, ready to laugh, ready to be amused. Ready.

‘Where is Ricardo? He hasn’t left you … how do you say … up the lurch?’

It was all too easy for Devon. No wonder he was so cynical.
Anything was possible. Anyone was available. I wanted to slip off like Richard. My last Devon-free realm was now utterly conquered.

Then I smelt it. The rich smell of decay. Faint but
unmistakable
even in the smoky bar. There was a small backpack hanging off Devon’s chair. It all began to make sense to me. After being stalked by the Taylors I had thought for a moment that Devon might have been stalking me. It was just Devon’s incurable habit of spinning and play-acting. I was relieved – cheered up.

‘Whereabouts in Spain do you come from, Luigi?’ It was about time to put pressure on Devon. This was too easy.

‘Are you familiar with Spain, amigo?’

‘Oh yes, bullfights, tango.’

‘I come from Barcelona. Tis very beautiful, I must take you there.’

‘We could go on your yacht … sail away!’ Angela.
High-pitched
.

‘Yeah,’ I joined in. ‘Let’s go on your yacht.’

‘And you will, my eager young hombre, but first I have a
little
business.’ He turned to Angela, his face close to hers. ‘Will you wait for me?’

She nodded silently, her eyes glazed.

Devon leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead and then sprang up and headed for the door. I followed at a distance to see what he was doing. Outside, sure enough, was Travis standing at the door of his car. Devon climbed in the passenger side and they were off without a word. I watched to see whether anyone was following, but saw nothing.

Back in the bar Angela was looking a bit worse for wear. Her eyelids were drooping and she slid down low in her chair. Karen looked a bit lost too.

‘I think it’s best we push off,’ I said. ‘That Spanish guy has gone off in a car. And I reckon you’re about had it, Angela.’

‘You go. I’m staying.’

‘Let’s get her home, Karen. The party’s over I reckon.’

Karen was keen to get out but Angela became stubborn. ‘I’m waiting for him. You don’t just walk out on guys like Diego.’

It was a line straight out of those afternoon soap operas.

‘Angela, he wasn’t even Spanish, he just had a good tan. He was more likely from Mangere.’

She looked at me a bit cock-eyed. ‘So jealous,’ she said. ‘What a pity.’

The three of us sat there, stalemated and immobile. Other people powered in from the ball. The crowd swelled so much that movement was difficult and standing up meant immediately losing your seat. Three boisterous girls climbed on to one of the tables and began to do the cancan. The crowd went wild. Karen told me they had been the hit of the school’s musical production. Just when they were into their second verse with the full attention of the bar the legs broke off the table they were dancing on and they disappeared among the sea of heads. I turned and discovered that Devon/Diego was back. He was crouched next to Angela with his arm around her. She leaned her head against him.

‘All aboard, my land yacht awaits.’

It was good to see him back again but I knew deep down that things could only get worse. All my efforts to be a straight-up guy in Karen’s eyes were about to be demolished by some act of outrageousness.

Devon had a taxi waiting for us outside and we all trooped out and sank into the cool quiet interior, a sanctuary from the mayhem in the bar. All the way back Devon regaled us with stories
of white-washed buildings and strange local customs. Karen kept dropping off to sleep, with her head against my shoulder.

When we got back to Angela’s place it was lit up, the door still wide open and the stereo belting out the same music. Devon paid off the taxi man and half-dragged/half-carried the giggling Angela upstairs. I guess what was going to happen next was obvious. I was envious and a bit shocked. Sure, the possibility of sex with Karen had been dancing in the distance ever since I first laid eyes on her, but not when she was zombified with booze and exhaustion. I just knew I couldn’t do that.

I sat Karen down on a couch in the sitting room and went off to make coffee. Moments later she was asleep. So much for that. I went upstairs to look for Devon and Angela. Trying to grab back a bit of control. It was all happening too fast. I guess I wasn’t prepared for what I saw when I reached the landing. Angela was lying on her father’s bed half out of her sleek ball dress: the image of a wilted flower. Devon appeared from a side room and began hauling her out of her clothes. He was rough, like he was angry. Gone was the jokey Diego. He saw me in the big mirror against the wall and waved me away.

I went downstairs. Everything I thought I knew was turned on its head. Doing nothing, saying nothing, meant I’d let some door slam. What Devon was doing upstairs meant that Karen’s world was forever off-limits to me. There was a price to be paid for being Devon’s friend. Somehow I had failed.

I was determined to do the right thing by Karen. I pushed the two couches together to make a sort of bed. I lifted her out of the chair and laid her delicately along the length of couch. She was as pliant as a rag doll. Her hair had tumbled from its sculpted elegance into pools of blonde silk around her shoulders. The distant beckoning oasis of sex was now an airy mirage. Any
touching, any advantage taken, would be a violation.

I lay next to her, soaking up the quiet, watching the rise and fall of her chest. It was strangely soothing just to be there beside her: no talk, no effort, just closeness. For all her childishness, her gullibility, her selfishness, there was a core of beauty that made everything OK. An innocence that put her above those faults. She slept soundly now beside me, a slight snuffle from her open mouth, her breath brushed across my face, warm and sweet. Somewhere upstairs there was this sound. A dull, banging noise. It went on and on, following me into a deep sleep.

THIS NOISE. Swelling. Getting closer. The sound of voices. Angry voices. I opened my eyes to the dazzling brightness of mid-morning. It took a moment or two to work out where I was, and who it was lying beside me. The voice was a man’s but I didn’t recognise it. It was answered by Angela’s in a similar, outraged tone. I sat up just as Devon came running into the room. He was naked and carrying all his clothes in his arms.

‘Trace! Trace! Get up man. Alien attack! Alien attack!’

I clambered out of the double couch set-up, immediately aware of the stupid penguin suit I was wearing. Then it all flooded back into my weary brain. Everything that had
happened
last night, Devon’s part in the disaster, and even, at a guess, who was doing the yelling upstairs.

I looked back at Karen. She still slept on soundly, the sleep of a child, careless and deep. Even with smudged mascara,
collapsed
hair and a dribble-stained pillow, her face was angelic. I had this intense feeling of loss – almost grief. It was all over.

Everything seemed to be tumbling around me. I scooped up my casual clothes from the corner where I’d left them before the ball. Oddly though, Devon had calmed down, and was dressing at an almost leisurely pace. He even stopped with his trousers at half mast to light a smoke. It was me who felt panic. The last thing I felt like was a fight with some outraged rich dude
claiming
all sorts of crimes against his daughter and property.

A door upstairs slammed and a red-faced man in a pilot’s uniform stormed into the room. Devon, unperturbed, put
his foot up onto the piano stool to do up his shoelaces while I scrambled around gathering the rest of my things. The captain stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, struggling to contain his anger.

‘You two aren’t going anywhere,’ he said. ‘You’ve a lot of questions to answer!’

I was thinking hard, trying to work out some feasible escape route. He couldn’t hold both of us here. We could rush him. Devon sat casually at the piano like he was about to play a
request
. He seemed amused by the captain, almost pitying.

‘Whoa! Ground control to Captain Haddock, chill captain, chill. This is not your crew you’re talking to. You should be thanking us. We’re knights in shining armour. We rescued your lovely daughter and her sleeping friend here from the creatures of the night.’ He slowed down now, sounding calm and cold. ‘Now you’re back you want to play Big Daddy. Fine, your call, but don’t play it with me or Trace.’

‘Load of codswallop.’

‘Do you know what I reckon, Haddock?’ Devon continued. ‘I reckon you should fix that bed up there. Jesus, do those brass knobs bang when you’re really going to it. I guess you’d know.’ He winked at him, as if they were mates.

The captain looked as though a jumbo jet had just landed on his back lawn. He opened his mouth but no noise came out.

Devon shot me the ‘we’re out of here’ head movement and tossed his smoke onto the Persian carpet. ‘And furthermore, no ash trays. Man, call yourself a host? What kind of hotel are you running here?’

While Angela’s father was retrieving the smouldering butt, we walked to the front door. Panic overtook me then. ‘Run Devon!’ I said, darting down the front steps. He refused. My
desperate need to put distance between us and the captain took 50 metres to work itself out. I waited, chest heaving, for Devon to amble on over. ‘Is he coming?’ I gasped.

‘Course not. He’s not going to do anything, couldn’t you tell?’

No, I couldn’t tell. In fact I felt like a runaway kid. We strolled on down the hill.

‘Jesus, what a night, what a fuck-up!’ I said more to myself than anything.

‘I dunno, I quite enjoyed it.’

‘Oh yeah, what about this morning?’

‘Especially this morning.’

I looked at him. He meant it too.

As we reached the main road the traffic became busier and the day began to take hold. I was thinking how things
between
Karen and me had gone down the toilet again. We were doomed. Devon must have noticed me brooding.

‘Cheer up old sport!’ he said. ‘It’s a big day for us and it’s started well. A good shot of adrenaline to clear the head. Those richies, they got thick skins. I don’t know why you worry so much. All they care about is stuff. Did you see his moral high ground vanish when I threw the ciggie on the carpet? That says it all.’

I guess I didn’t look convinced.

‘Good sex?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Oh oh. Brewer’s droop?’

‘No. I’m not into screwing someone who’s unconscious.’

He grinned at my huffy voice and shook his head. ‘Trace, Trace, Trace. What are we going to do with you?’

He dug into his pocket and said, ‘Catch!’

I fumbled to grasp the heavy, cube-shaped object. It was a wad of 20 dollar notes, as thick as a phone book, all folded in half.

‘This is your legendary block,’ he said. ‘Euphoric Enterprises attracted corporate investment last night.’

‘What corporation?’ I said, trying to guess how much was there.

‘It’s a gang … thug money. Drugs for thugs, Trace. That’s about ten G you’re trying to count … but it won’t get split up, just passed on when the time comes. Intact. Part of another deal. It’s an old block, lots of the notes are pre-plastic. I doubt whether you could even spend them now. Anyway, it’s a
working
day for you and me. We’ve lots to do. That’s why I decided to tag along when I bumped into you last night. It was an
accidental
meeting, Trace. You were fucked by the fickle finger of fate! Lucky eh?’

I just stared at him.

‘Well, you may not think it was so lucky this morning, but you will, I guarantee it.’

He kept tossing me this block of money as we were walking along through the midday crowds of Broadway. Making light of it. Ten grand in gang money. It had probably paid for
people
to be ‘disappeared’. Been used to keep the feds away from plantations. Bought truckloads of pain.

I was out of my depth. I knew it but I couldn’t do anything about it. Stealing the dak was kind of fun – in a scary sort of way – but this stuff, it was just sweat and ulcers.

I was in with Devon now. He called the shots. I didn’t like it but what could I do? You can’t just pick out the parts of a friend you like and ignore all the rest.

After I had returned the clothes to the hire shop we went to a big department store and bought a food processor, several rolls of resealable plastic bags, and some really expensive
kitchen scales. It came to over 300 dollars. The shop assistant, a motherly type, was interested in the sort of cooking we were planning to do.

‘Herbal recipes,’ said Devon proudly.

Eventually, at home, we commenced the slow process of
slicing
, dividing and separating out the various elements of dak. Devon maintained it was not going to be a wholesale operation. There was a new boutique approach to dope that we were
going
to usher in.

‘Remember. Gone are the days …’ he said, sounding like an infomercial ‘… when the euphoria market was covered by just one product: Mary Jane, the Coca Cola of dope. No sir. The marketplace has been invaded from many quarters. The boy scientist approach. So easy to set up your own little meth-lab. Speed. Then there’s smack and coke. All the hard lines. You don’t want to go there, Trace. It’s really ugly.’

He opened a new bag and poured it out onto the carpet. The stink was so strong it made me feel like chucking. He looked up at me with a grin.

‘But wait … there’s more. The humble cannabis plant can offer a complete range of experiences, provided it is divided up and blended judiciously. It alleviates pain, promotes sleep, eases tension, cuts off the damaging peaks and troughs of the bi-polar depressive. Non-addictive, non-polluting, home-grown. In short, it is the drug for all seasons.’

I knew Devon had worked as a journo, but now he was sounding like a fucking medical textbook. Like he’d written one. The guy was a mystery to me. Always would be.

Johnno’s ten black garbage bags jammed the kitchen. As we began to weigh it and bag it I suppose for the first time I had a clear view of how much hooch we had in our possession: right
in the epicentre of the biggest market in New Zealand and less than two kilometres from the city’s police nerve centre.

‘We have to start thinking beyond all this, Trace. We don’t want to stay in this high risk/high return theatre of capitalism. We need to go somewhere where the risks are more moderate, the returns slimmer. We need to use this to creep somewhere respectable.’

‘Yeah, it might lengthen our life spans.’

‘Don’t be dramatic. The only assassins we’ll have to worry about are Mr Cholesterol or his mate Dr Cancer.’

‘How about Wes, Devon? When are you going to see him? Tonight?’

‘No. He was too tetchy. I never picked him for a bossy old prick – just a nosy one. I know what he was doing. He was trying to clear up something he had heard. He was digging. When I didn’t come through, tell him everything, I was threatening his authority. He doesn’t like that. He’s a pompous old git really, behind that cool front. He likes young guys, standing around, listening to him … telling him he’s the man!’

‘I guess. I thought he sounded a bit ominous.’

‘I reckon he was pissed because Joey let us in when he wasn’t home. He wouldn’t have dared do that a year ago.’

‘A servant who knew his place!’

‘Exactly.’

Devon was shaking all the buds we had picked off into the food processor.

I stopped what I was doing for a bit. ‘I thought your
connoisseur
liked his buds intact. So he could hold them up and drool over them.’

‘Your connoisseur might, but we are selling to the fast food generation. By rights we should be rolling it all into joints for
them so they won’t make dorks of themselves in front of their mates.’

‘McDevon’s Takeaways. We should design packaging and maybe toys for the kids.’ I could see it now.

‘Yeah, little bongs shaped like Disney characters.’

‘Suck on Donald Duck.’

We both laughed. It seemed ages since we had laughed. It was nice.

‘So, tell me about the gang guy.’

‘OK. It’s like this. I guess the first thing is, news travels fast. I was expecting to see Travis with some proceeds. And as I’m waiting, right … this is before you lot turn up … I see this Māori guy all in black leathers, pacing up and down in front of the pub like a hungry dog. He was edgy, man.’

‘He was wearing gang patches?’

‘No, he was wearing really styley leathers, like stuff that had been made for him by a tailor or someone. I’m thinking,
What’s up with him?
’cause he was obviously waiting for someone, and he was dripping with nervous energy like he hated being out in the open.’

Devon paused to light up.

‘Then I see Travis arriving and I head over to him. This guy heads for him too. It seems that someone Travis sold to has told a party who told this guy. And this guy is dead keen to score….’

‘When did you find all this stuff out?’

‘Over a few beers. He calmed down but he was still in a real hurry. That’s why,’ he said, pointing to the ten k block on the mantle. ‘I guess he felt a little vulnerable wandering around with this.’

‘What’s the story with him?’

‘He was from down the line originally, a crowd from Gisborne
I think, maybe Wairoa. And anyway his dealer had stood him up, claimed a rip-off, blah blah. Too bad, how sad. So Travis had to drive me home and I was able to dash in and rark up enough quality crop.’

‘What did Travis do? Wait in the car?’

‘I got him to drop me outside the yuppie pub up on the main road. I ran in the front, out the back and then snuck down here.’

I didn’t like it. ‘I have the feeling this hideout’s our only
protection
now. If any of these guys track us, we’re dead meat.’

Devon looked up from the ounce bag he was sealing. ‘Don’t be para’ man. I’m in control.’

‘How much did you give him? Did you work out a per ounce deal or what?’

‘About a kilo. This guy, calls himself Wiremu, looked a bit pissed when I showed him how much he was getting. I thought he was going to break into the block … a bit of a no-no that one … but after he had sampled, he knew he had struck real pay dirt.’

‘It seems real pricey.’

‘Yeah, well, you’ve read the papers. The feds have had a real bumper year with both indoor and outdoor busts. Nothing is better for prices than that. First law of economics: supply and demand.’

We worked late into the night. By the time we had finished we had a mountain of ounce bags. Devon made a fire of all the scraps in the sitting room fireplace so we didn’t end up with a big residue of traceable material. I still felt funny about sleeping with the stuff or leaving it around the house. Too dangerous.

In the short term we put everything into a couple of rubbish
bags and hauled them up into the big puriri tree at the
bottom
of the garden. It was a windy night. The bags made a dark shape, slowly turning. I dreamt about hangings and lynchings all night. The same thing again and again: being strung up, and then waking up feeling breathless and panicky, heart like it was being wrung in someone’s fist.