Thunder Road (18 page)

IT WAS AN UNEASY afternoon. We both tried to sleep, to watch TV, and to think of something else to do, but it was no use. The wait couldn’t be masked with any other activity. This was the last act. We both knew it. Make or break.

At about seven we went out for pizza. At least it was going
somewhere
. While we were eating, a bunch of young guys came in: a touring touch rugby team. There was a skull and crossbones and the words
Putaruru Pirates
embroidered on matching
tracksuits
. Me and Devon both stared at them from our booth. They were our age but seemed years younger, laughing and pushing each other, doing stuff that I guess we might have been doing under different circumstances. While the coach was paying at the cash register, a young Māori guy who looked a bit like Devon, sneaked up behind him and yanked his track pants down. All the others laughed as the coach fumbled with his
wallet
and tried to cover his bum at the same time. Me and Devon exchanged looks but didn’t say anything. The same thoughts were in our heads.

As we were leaving, one of the team backed into me, pizza tray in hand. He said, ‘Sorry man,’ as he turned. When he saw us there was this alarmed look on his face, like we were
threatening
him. I caught a glimpse of Devon’s and my own face in the mirror by the door. There was something hard about them. Something a bit ugly. The footballer had seen it. We had become something else.

Back at the motel I showered while Devon organised the stuff for the trip up North. When I came out I was confronted by what was now a familiar scene. On the couch was the money, the floor was covered with ounce bags of dak and the shotgun lay across a chair. There was no glamour in it. The blocks of notes had a grimy malevolent look. Blocks of poison and pain. Nothing like the little wads of notes I used to get in my pay packet at the hardware shop. I was surprised it still worked as money. As for the dak and the shottie, well that just meant jail. No way around it. The scene looked like a police warning poster.

I dried off, watching Devon putting everything away.

‘How much is it, anyway?

‘A lot. More than I thought. Let’s split it now, Trace. In case something happens.’

‘Something like what?’

‘Something unexpected.’

‘Suit yourself.’ I went into the bedroom to put on some clothes and when I returned Devon was just coming in from outside. He pointed to a supermarket bag on the table.

‘There’s your share.’

I looked at it without interest.

‘I have to go out. I’ve got a few arrangements to make before we head to Thunder Road. I’ll be back about eleven. You want to stay here or is there somewhere you want me to drop you?’

Any warmth had gone. There was a distance between us. ‘Arrangements?’ Planning that didn’t involve me. But I was pleased it didn’t.

‘Yeah. Drop me at the flats. I need to get my bike.’

I put on my leather jacket and grabbed the bag off the table. It was weighty, as heavy as a bag of frozen food. We drove off in
silence, Devon biting his lip: miles away. When we were about a hundred metres from our road, he stopped.

‘I’ll let you out here. There could be someone waiting in our street. The last thing we want to get is a tail. See you back at the motel at eleven?’

I nodded coldly. He was about to speak and then didn’t. We parted without saying goodbye.

I approached our old street like it was a war zone. Each parked car contained danger, and who knew what lay behind the blank windows of the old villas that stood shoulder to shoulder from the corner. As I passed the driveway to our little house I had a quick glance down. It was impossible not to. Everything seemed the same but it was poisoned with sadness. With lost innocence.

Down below the flats my old bike stood, awaiting my return. My faithful steed. After all the stuff we had done during the past months, the Atlas was the only thing that was unsullied, even though, to be honest, it was probably stolen. I rammed the bag of money into a gap in the rafters at the back of the carport. You could still see a bit of plastic but what did it matter?

There was still time to get to Karen’s work before she knocked off. I fired up the bike and powered out onto the street. For the first time in days I felt good again. Free from all of it. Able to disconnect. Minutes later I reached Raymond’s surgery. It was located in an old house and the reception was where the front bedroom used to be. I stood outside watching the receptionist endlessly typing into a computer. Karen walked past the window. I waved wildly on her way back and caught her attention. Her face broke out into a dopey grin and then she looked behind her. She showed five fingers to me and I dropped back onto the footpath.

Minutes later she was out, and in my arms. Everything else faded into insignificance: the money and its other self, the dak, my anxiety and guilt, even Devon. It was just Karen and me locked together on the footpath. We parted and sat on a low wall holding hands. For a moment there was nothing to say and then words came bursting out. It was mostly questions. Questions I couldn’t answer.

Where have you been? Why didn’t you call? What have you been doing?

‘Has Angela rung you?’

‘No. At least not today. You’ve been in touch with Angela?’

‘Yeah. Well, Devon has… .’

‘She told you my news?’

‘No.’

There was a pause, some reluctance maybe, then she blurted out, ‘I’m off to the States.’

‘What?’

‘Dad has managed to get me a place at this big med school in Boston. It’s like the best there is for medical science.’

I could see that this was her father’s ultimate trump card. That Raymond had outplayed me. My last little avenue of hope had been closed down with one move. I had that sick feeling in my gut – the sort you get after a good kick in the balls.

‘What about … you know … us?’

‘I’ll take you with me. You can live in my room. I’ll hide you in my cupboard.’ Her eyes were sparkling.

‘Cool.’

She ruffled my hair. ‘Stop looking all miserable. I won’t have it. We’ll work something out. You should be happy for me. The States! It’s unbelievable.’

Despite everything else I enjoyed seeing her smile and laugh.
I got a remote buzz from her joy, even though it had nothing to do with me and a little doubting part of me had always known that something like this was going to happen – that there’d be no fairy-tale endings – only tears. I thought back to the last time I had seen her: how it had felt then that something was already over.

‘When was this all arranged?’ My voice was weak.

She was so excited. ‘Well, Dad claims to have been thinking about it for some time, but I think he went through with the organising after that ball fiasco. I was waiting for the big telling off. The big grounding. But it didn’t come. Instead – this.’

I had underestimated him. The picture of rich doctors that Devon had painted hadn’t included their self-protection, their determination to defend their own.

‘Wow.’ It was all I could manage.

‘I have to respect him for it, I used to think he was you know, sort of, you know, emotionally repressed, disapproved of
everything
… the ambitious father who had my future mapped out for me, but I was wrong.’

I almost squawked, ‘You were? How?’

‘Of course I was. He’s like freeing me, so I can make the most of my potential. He’s trusting me. He’s given me wings.’

I have never felt such savage reversal. I thought of practical jokes. The exploding cigar. The rug pulled out from under the feet. The bucket of water balanced over the door. I went into a kind of daze, then began to notice cars going past on the street. The passage of time. I watched Karen talk without listening to her.

‘So what was it that Angela was going to tell me? Come on. Tell me your news. Don’t be such a clam.’ Her voice finally cut through my mess of self-pity, self absorption.

I had lost my taste for the whole thing. It was all pointless. ‘I’ll let her tell you, Karen, it’s her news. No big deal.’

‘OK. You ring me tonight. On the cellphone. It’s more
private
. I better fly. They’ll miss me in a minute.’ She noticed the look on my face, the sadness I was trying to cover up. ‘Come here. Stop being sulky. Everything changes, we’ve got to change with it.’ I knew she wanted me to play along with her. To pretend that we would somehow get together in the States. To pretend that this wasn’t the end. She pulled me forward and planted a hard kiss on my mouth. More a gesture than a kiss. The slight click of banging teeth. I kept thinking the world had changed so much nothing could get to me. But then she was off … walking away from me with a spring in her step. I was left on the pavement.

There was nothing else to do but ride back to the motel and hang around for Devon. It was going to be a long wait but I couldn’t bear to ring Karen. She had too much power over me and she wielded it like a child. She had the power to injure me with the tiniest gesture. The careless word. The raised eyebrow.

The TV seemed to be wall-to-wall car chases. I had lost my taste for them too. The real thing was so much less
spectacular
. And the real thing was deadly. There was a newspaper on the table. ‘Complimentary,’ the owner had said. It sat there, unopened, unread. I longed to know if there was any mention of Johnno or the guys we shunted off the road but I couldn’t open it. I folded it once and threw it in the bin outside. One backward glance would finish me. The only way was forward.

A car pulled up outside the unit at ten-thirty. The engine noise told me it wasn’t a Holden. I stood by the back door of the unit, wondering when to time my dash. The door unlocked
and Devon strode in, grinning, expansive as ever.

‘Settle man, it’s me.’ He turned back and Angela followed him in through the door.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Look outside.’ He had the smug look of the guy who has just scored. Outside, next to the Norton, was a big BMW. Seven series.

‘Have you bought that?’

He laughed. ‘As if. Never liked them that much. Old people’s cars. It’s Angela’s dad’s. The Captainmobile.’

She laughed. ‘Hi Trace. We borrowed it. Dad hardly uses it anyway.’

‘It’s only got six thousand ks on the clock and it’s nearly two years old.’

‘Where’s the Holden?’

‘At Angela’s. It was a good chance to split the cargo.’

Devon had half a bottle of Jim Beam, so we chilled for a while. I was dying to ask Devon what the hell he was playing at: why the car? Why Angela? He carried on like what he was doing was the most normal thing in the world. At last Angela checked out the toilet, so I put it to him.

It was important, Devon claimed, that we seemed connected, not just two tearaway idiots with a huge stash of ripped-off dope. Like poker, it was all bluff and guesswork: we had to appear to be more than we were.

‘A blonde chick and a BMW does that?’

‘Hope so, Trace,’ he said softly.

‘How’d you persuade her to boost her dad’s car?’

He smiled. ‘I just asked. Hey man, don’t go on the bike, come with us. We’ll test it out on the strip if you like, for old time’s sake. Remember when that stuff used to matter?’

It seemed like years ago.

I shook my head. ‘I’ll go on the bike.’

I didn’t want to travel with them. It was all wrong.

There was something reassuring about the strip, maybe because we had spent time there before all the shit happened. Maybe because the guys who raced had a sort of purity about them, a higher purpose. They were there to drag, to race, to lay rubber. No advertising. No controls. Your car. Your risk. Your life.

Dealing seemed scummy by comparison.

The lines were still forming. It was a bit early for racing but very busy. A few familiar faces seemed puzzled by Devon sitting on the bonnet of a big slab of German metal. He lapped it up. I guess this was the impact he was after. Some time later Sloane’s kraut tank cruised by. Its blacked-out windows could have concealed a dozen guys. From the front, Mark’s tattooed face clocked us.

Then I realised Devon’s thinking behind bringing the BMW. He wanted to match cars with Sloane. To say, I’m as big as you are, as tooled up. It was all on.

The racing had started at this point but by now I was so nervous I hardly noticed. I wanted our own showdown to get underway. It wasn’t so much the right thing to do but maybe the only thing. Devon had run out of options. We had to settle things so we could get on with new lives.

I looked down to where Sloane’s car was holding court. I kept wondering what this Sloane guy was like. What it took to control a scene as loose and wild as this one. There was a massive cloud of smoke settling over the whole strip. It came from the woman burn-out champ showing her paces. How could anyone keep the wheels spinning for such a long time? A tyre blew with a
loud pop and that ended it. Everyone cheered. They knew it took skill to do that.

The white smoke turned the night into a red fog of tail lights. I spotted the huge shadowy silhouette a long way off. It was Mark, and he was headed our way. I nudged Devon who was busy laying a bite on Angela’s neck. Her round eyes rendered vacant by skunk, she was in happy land.

Mark offered me the bro’ handshake without saying a word and then turned to Devon.

‘It’s been a while, man, the boss is pissed. Better come with me now.’

We followed behind him like naughty boys being led to the principal’s office. As we approached the big blue car I saw the Taylor Twins. The one with the chipped tooth grinned but neither said a word. It was like we were the condemned. There was no escaping now, we were in all the way, face to face with the guy we’d been toying with for so long.

Mark knocked twice on the window. The back door opened and he signalled us in. Angela went first, followed by Devon then me. The interior smelled of leather and aftershave. In the front seat was Rebel and next to him was the guy in the suit we’d already met at his place. For some reason it had never occurred to Devon or me that Sloane was a suit. Where were the tattoos? The shaven head? This guy with his suit and tie, his shiny shoes and glass of whisky seemed so out of place.