Thunder Road (14 page)

THE FOLLOWING morning I noticed that Devon was
looking
as ragged as I was. He had slept with the farmer’s shotgun, loaded, next to his bed.

We agreed it was time we developed a self-defence plan to protect us and give us a chance to escape if we were attacked by anyone in numbers. There were two main prongs to this. The first was the strengthening of all the little house’s doors, windows and locks. This was reasonably straightforward. I nailed trellis onto all the low window frames and screwed a metal strip down the door frame and over the catch. It was a relief to spend the day doing something constructive.

The second prong to our defence was finding somewhere else to park our vehicles, as being followed home was the greatest risk we’d face. There was a big block of council flats down the road: the last link with the rich suburb’s working class roots. I reckoned there was bound to be someone there who didn’t need their car park. We could probably squeeze the car and bike into one space. Devon volunteered to track down a garage.

For the next few days I tried to lose myself in the boring
normality
of work. The people I found really depressing when I first started now seemed reassuringly ordinary. Straight. I craved it.

Devon was different. His dealing with the gangs had left him totally pumped. He worked alone mostly, launching into a frenzy of selling. There was no stopping him; he was coming
and going all hours of the day and night. He was hooked.

In a few days all the bags we had made up with Johnno were gone. Devon still as high as a kite, flying on pure adrenaline, me getting more and more nervous. My thoughts were
doom-laden
. Something had to give. We couldn’t carry on like this without some sort of backlash from someone.

When I came home the following Friday the house was full of the smells of food cooking: Devon had felt like preparing a roast. It was the first time since moving in that we had put the oven to its proper use.

Devon had a trip to make before we ate, though, and he wanted me to go with him. We were heading out to Glen Eden. It wasn’t going to be a social call. Rebel had left three messages on the cellphone and the last one sounded like a summons. Something was up between them but Dev wouldn’t tell me what.

We arrived at the yard just on dusk. It sounded like a party was on. We could hear heavy metal belting out as we opened the gates. Rebel’s big rotty, Boris, made a jump at us but was choked by his chain. I felt the sweat burst out of me a moment later in response, but it didn’t even ruffle Devon’s feathers. The door to the house was wide open and I could see the Taylors sprawled out on the couch, Lion Reds a fixture in their hands. There were others in the front room I’d never seen before: this guy in a suit and two skinheads. It was an odd gathering. On the table there was a slab of cold beers – busted open and half gone. The one thing that really stood out for me, even though it was parked in the corner of the room, was a shotgun. I tried not to let on that I’d seen it but in a way it participated in our conversation.

I could sense the hostility. Something was known. Things had
been said before we arrived, maybe some kind of agreement reached. I knew it was about us. We were given beers, but that was it. No fake hospitality tonight.

I looked at Devon to indicate that I wanted out, but he seemed unworried.

Rebel walked over to us and stood near the table. His voice was cold and sarcastic. ‘What does it take to get you out here, Devon? There was a time when I couldn’t keep you away. A bit different when you want something eh? One-way traffic.’

‘Hear you’ve scored in a big way,’ said the Taylor with the chipped tooth.

All eyes were on Devon, who was drinking, taking his time. ‘That’s what they’re saying?’

‘There’s a lot of talk about you,’ the other Taylor hunched forward. ‘That it’s all done by the block lot.’

‘Sounds like hype to me. Remember the old saying, “Believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear.”’ Devon’s voice had an edge of sarcasm.

‘Is it coming from the gangs?’ the bad-teethTaylor asked.

‘Doesn’t your info go that far?’

Rebel was sitting in the corner listening, as were the other two skinheads. The Taylor looked around the room and spoke again. Every word he uttered seemed loaded, almost pre-
arranged
.

‘It might. So what’ve you got?’

‘I have access to product now.’

‘Wholesale or retail?’ This was the guy in the suit. It was the first time he had spoken.

Devon turned to Rebel. ‘Who’s this? I’m not used to seeing people around here dressed like feds.’

‘Oh Jig excuse me,’ Rebel upped Devon on sarcasm. ‘This
is …
Walter
, he’s from the motor trade. How rude of me.’ This said in a poofy voice. They all laughed. Everyone loosened up for a moment. Then Rebel turned to the two skins.

‘And these two are …
Tom and Jerry.
They’re part of the motor trade too. A different part.’ The bigger one sat forward and grinned. You could see his muscles flex beneath his black T-shirt. He looked like a boxer. The other one was leaner and his wrists were entirely covered with a mesh of tattoos. It was pretty obvious that they were enforcers for the suit.

Rebel continued, beginning to enjoy his new role. ‘
Colleagues
, I’d like to introduce you to Jig and his friend Trace. Two cowboys fresh in Dodge trying to make their way in the big city.’ He paused, waiting for some reaction from Devon. It didn’t come. ‘They used to be active members of the street racing brotherhood but we haven’t seen them for a while.’ Another pause. ‘And they used to live in a boarding house in Sandringham but they haven’t been seen there for a while either.’ He turned directly to Devon. ‘I guess you’ve moved up in the world, and taken your good fortune with you.’

There was a stained old dining table in the middle of the room which looked as if it had been used for everything except eating off. Devon sat down at it, trying to establish a more casual manner. I was planning escape routes.

‘Have you been talking to Mark, Rebel?’

A direct hit registered on Rebel’s face. It was like getting a glimpse of the other guy’s hand during a poker game.

‘He might’ve said something.’

‘Let me tell you my side and you can make up your own mind.’

Devon explained the kiss-off we had been given:
he does his dealing somewhere else.
I could practically feel Mark’s breath and see those face tatts as Devon went through it all again,
explaining where Mark’s ultimatum left us.

Rebel crossed his arms, looking sceptical. ‘I reckon it’s time you reconsidered, Jig. We’ve missed you at Thunder Road. I hear some of the conditions have changed.’

‘Who from?’

‘Ahh, you want to know who from?’ Rebel sensed he’d
regained
control.

‘OK. Forget it then. What conditions?’

‘You can deal on the strip but it’s all done through Mark and Mr Sloane.’

‘
Mr Sloane
,’ Devon mimicked.

The guy in the suit betrayed some annoyance at this gibe, enough for me to see where he was connected.

‘Yeah,
Mr Sloane
’ (this time with emphasis) ‘pushes a lot of business my way. It works out well. I’d recommend it.’

‘It’s the only way to go,’ the suit chipped in. His accent was different from ours, a bit strange.

‘The only way, huh?’ Devon was gaining confidence.

‘There’s our way and the wrong way.’ The suit put his hands behind his head, and leaned back in the chair, as if that settled the matter.

‘That’s what Trace’s dad used to say to him. You want to be our big daddy, huh?’

‘Jig. Not the time to crack wise. I’m part of that deal. You come in with us or it won’t be only Mark you are watching out for.’ Rebel’s voice was cold, the threat plain.

One of the Taylors sniggered. That made Devon twig. ‘You’ve already been on surveillance, haven’t you, Gaz?’

The other, quieter Taylor answered for him. ‘It’s a small world, Devon. Wherever we go, we seem to keep bumping into you.’

The suit, ‘Walter’, spoke again. ‘There are rules. Everyone
buys into their spot. You keep on dealing without us and you’re ripping us off. Simple as that.’

‘Deal us in, Jig and it’s cool. We’ll all be one big happy family again. A brotherhood.’

‘We get to come over for Sunday dinner?’ Devon always went too far. Rebel looked pissed off.

‘He’s a funny man. Time to go.’

‘Come back tomorrow and we’ll work out a way of
operating
,’ said the suit.

‘And if you don’t come back, we’ll come to you.’ The bigger of the two skins grinned, like a skull.

‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ whispered the other, his eyes wide.

As we stood on the steps Rebel added as an afterthought, ‘Oh yeah, Jig. One last thing. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been dealing with the nigger gangs. We don’t deal with those apes. That would be sorta like a betrayal.’

He and Devon stared at each other for a moment without speaking, then we left.

BY THE TIME we got back home, the roast had shrunk to about half its original size but the smell was a relief: sort of
welcoming
. We were both a bit stunned but we divided up the meat as best we could with our blunt knives then sat in the sitting room eating off our laps: neither felt like saying much. After we had eaten, Devon produced a bottle of Jack Daniels, so we repaired to the back deck where we could stare out towards the Domain. Our green screen of contemplation.

Eventually Devon said, ‘So the honeymoon’s over. I’ve been thinking it through from every angle.’ He tilted the bottle to and fro. ‘We have to line up with someone. It has to be either Rebel or the gangs, and I don’t trust my luck with the gangs. They’re tight.’

‘The devil you know.’

‘True. Still it sticks in my throat, that’s for real. Dealing with Rebel has been like, equal up to now. Everything done on contra. Stuff balanced out.’

‘I’ve got a feeling that it isn’t Rebel you’re dealing with now,’ I said, taking the bottle off him.

‘So you think it’s Sloane? Or do you reckon there’s someone pulling his strings?’

I tried to think who else could be involved. ‘Could be. Could be the cops. I don’t trust those bastards, that’s for real. I picked that suit guy for a D. when I saw him. A wild arm of the drug squad. Those guys are so loose … no rules … just do what they want.’

‘So what do you reckon?’

‘I reckon we’ve still got to go in with this bunch. They know you, Devon.’

‘And they’re organised. I reckon the skins were trackers too, just like the Taylors, only from different scenes.’

‘True, they were scary bastards.’

‘I better go back tomorrow, see what sort of deal I can cut.’

He looked sombre. We knew that we had been forced into a corner and part of our dream had been ripped away.

Devon went to bed but I felt restless. I grabbed my helmet and headed out on the bike. A soothing ride through the quiet streets in the evening. Before long I found myself circling the area where Karen lived. I knew I had to see her again. My body ached for her – now more than ever. I ran over various options as I cruised along. Chance it at the front door? Ring up and see if I could lure her outside? I wasn’t smooth enough to pull that off. That was Devon’s territory.

I rode up to the house on spec, just to check out the lie of the land. As I neared the end of the street, her parents’ car passed me, heading off towards town. I could see Raymond crouching over the wheel and peering short-sightedly through the windscreen. For the first time in days luck had dealt me a decent hand.

I parked the bike a few houses past theirs: always a good safety precaution.

I gave a nervous knock at the door. You can never be sure what’s on the other side. I could hear talking. My heart sank a bit, but then I heard Karen call out, ‘Who is it?’ She was by herself.

‘It’s me, Trace.’

What had I been expecting? She wrenched the door open and threw her arms around my neck. Even in my wildest fantasies I hadn’t been given this sort of a welcome. It washed away the events of the afternoon. We stood on the doorstep, kissing. Me in jeans, leather jacket, helmet dangling from my hand. She in a nightie and slippers. She felt light and frail. Birdlike. I could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin cloth. No talking. She pulled me inside. Nothing existed beyond her.

We found ourselves in her bedroom. On her bed. Everything else stayed pushed to some distant part of the universe and the only reality was our lovemaking. We may have talked. We may have paused and taken stock. I have no memory of it. All I can remember was a passion that was stronger than anything I have ever felt. A shared passion. Dimension had no
meaning
. We’d found a private refuge. When we finally emerged we were changed people. We knew each other in a way I had never known anyone.

Nothing could ever be the same.

The first thing I can remember saying was, ‘How long have we got?’

She looked at her watch. ‘Twenty minutes, half an hour at most.’ The news was devastating.

Everything about her had a warm radiance. Her face glowed. No one could fail to notice. This was pure, stronger than any drug. It reached the dark, closed off places I never went to, I was blissed out and complete. My other life seemed, for a
moment
, years away.

Gradually something seeped in. The sad, leaden tick of the clock. Dragging us back from a warm, delicious dream.

‘How did you know? How did you know to come to me?’ she asked.

I shook my head. ‘I just came. I didn’t know anything. One moment I was riding. The next moment I was on your doorstep. When I heard your voice from outside, I thought, “She’s home with someone else”.’

‘It was Angela on the phone. I’d just rung her up. It’s been nightmarish here today. First my parents, then Angela’s father … people yelling … threats … lectures … more yelling. But Mum and Dad had to go to this conference. So I rang Angela. I mentioned your name, then knock knock. You’re there. Magic!’

‘Third time lucky.’

‘It wasn’t magic when I woke the other morning. You gone, Angela crying, her father threatening God knows what, my head full of hot rocks wanting to erupt. I just thought, blown it again. Nothing ever works out for me.’

‘Me too. First time making a complete arse of myself. The second time being strapped to that whole ball scene. And then Devon showing up.’

‘Who?’

‘Devon, the guy I live with.’

‘Diego?’

‘Same. He has a Spanish ancestor he’s pretty proud of … so he plays it up.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Angela is in love.’

‘You were a bit far gone, and anyway, I know better than to mess in other people’s stuff.’

She thought about it and seemed to agree.

‘Do you think I should tell her?’

I shook my head. ‘She won’t thank you for it.’

‘Do you think Diego … Devon will see her again?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. That’s his business … he’s got quite a bit on his plate at the moment.’

‘But you’re here.’ Then she said as if only just remembering, ‘We haven’t got long. Let’s organise something.’ She thought hard, screwing up her hands with the effort. ‘Are you on the net? E-mail?’

I laughed and she blushed. ‘Silly question, I guess.’

‘Are you working?’

She nodded. ‘I am. At Dad’s work, after school. I’m a filer … sort of a clerk person. You can’t really ring me there.’

We both sat, aware of the time vanishing before us.

‘Got some paper?’

We heard the sound of the car in the drive.

She ripped a page from the back of a novel she had next to her bed. I wrote our address and Devon’s cellphone number on it and then we rushed to the front of the house. I could hear the back door opening as we kissed. I jumped off the portico that jutted from the flat front of the house and scrambled down the drive. I could see the lit windows from where my bike waited. Perhaps Karen might need me. I walked halfway up the drive and waited in the dark. But there was nothing. Whatever was happening now didn’t include me so I wandered back to my bike. As I mounted I realised my helmet was still in her
bedroom
. Nothing was ever straightforward.