Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  ‘Do not worry. If I know the doctor he has probably designed a new pair for you already. He is always trying to invent new things.’

  ‘Yeah, he is pretty cool,’ said James, giving a small smile. ‘But completely mad, I reckon.’

  ‘Once he made me a cloud-board.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s like your snowboards but works on clouds instead.’

  Aureole flashed a grin. ‘It was so cool.’ Then she frowned. ‘But Father took it away from me when I told him I was going to ride the Anvil.’

  ‘The Anvil?’

  ‘The very top of Nebulosity. It is shaped like an anvil – totally extreme.’

  ‘Nebulosity sounds like a pretty cool place to grow up.’

  ‘Yeah it is, but it is not all great.’ Aureole rolled her eyes and made a face. ‘School is hard. Having to learn about the four different types of humans and all the subspecies – their histories, cultures, commerce and resource acquisition, not to mention the languages – it is a lot.’ After a short pause she said, ‘I’ve been thinking about who might buy the SAFFIRE.’

  James shot her a surprised look. He hadn’t thought about the SAFFIRE since leaving Cirro. ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, firstly, let us look at the facts. Mr Watanabe wanted to stay here illegally. That means he would not have wanted to draw attention to himself.’

  ‘Okay,’ said James, nodding.

  ‘Also, I doubt Mr Watanabe would have travelled very far to sell it.’

  ‘Right,’ said James, nodding again.

  ‘I am thinking he sold it to some type of store that buys second-hand goods. Somewhere not very far away.’

  ‘You mean like a pawnshop?’

  ‘Is that what you call them?’ said Aureole. ‘What a strange name.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed James. ‘I don’t know why they’re called that, but there’s also Cash Converters, which is a more sensible name because they are converting your stuff into cash.’

  ‘Right,’ said Aureole, giving him a you-are-rambling look. ‘Anyway, I reckon the shop has to be close to the docks.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said James, ‘but what about the black market? I bet you can sell anything there, and no one asks questions. And what about the fact that both Mr Yakuza and Mr Watanabe thought the SAFFIRE was a meteorite?’ James stopped dead, with an amazing idea. ‘Maybe a meteorite collector bought it.’

  Aureole kept walking. ‘I think we should start with the pawnshops,’ she said.

  James threw up his arms. ‘But the black market or a collector . . .’

  ‘Do you know anyone in the black market?’ asked Aureole, glancing back, eyebrows raised. ‘Or a meteorite collector?’

  ‘No, but . . .’ started James, jogging after her.

  ‘The pawnshops will be easier to check out. We will start there.’ Aureole’s tone was firm.

  James sighed. Why did she have to be so bossy? ‘Fine,’ he grumbled, walking by her side again. ‘But I get to tell you “I told you so” when it doesn’t work out.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Aureole, ignoring James’s frown. She reached into her jacket and then groaned.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘My phone,’ she said miserably. ‘It must have fallen out in the river.’

  James let out an expletive. ‘Great. That just makes it ten times harder.’ He thought for a minute. They weren’t far from the city now, maybe another kilometre. He said, ‘Maybe there’s an internet café around.’

  When they reached the city centre, most of the shops were shut and only a few people could be seen out on the streets. By now, James’s clothes were completely dry, another clever design feature he’d discovered. However, he noticed that Aureole’s still looked damp. Clearly, her clothes weren’t made of the same stuff. He wanted to remove his jacket and place it around her shoulders, but she might think he thought she was weak or something, which he didn’t, not at all. ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I am fine.’ She wasn’t shivering, so James let it be.

  As they passed one shop, James spotted his poster pinned up in the window and hurried by, thankful it was late at night and no one was around. A few blocks away, they found a small café, open and with internet access. Luck was on their side.

  Aureole, in bossy mode, ordered James to put up his hood so he couldn’t be recognised, but not to wear his sunglasses, as they would attract too much attention at this time of night – hers, on the other hand, looked cute.

  ‘I did not realise there would be so many second-hand stores in such a small area,’ she said, gazing at the list they had printed out. ‘This is going to take us all day tomorrow. Maybe we should . . .’

  ‘Don’t you say, “split up”,’ said James, pointing his index finger at her.

  ‘No, I was not going to say that,’ said Aureole as she swatted his finger away. ‘I was going to say, maybe we should find a place to stay tonight.’

  James relaxed. ‘Great, but where? Remember, my face is posted all over town.’ Since neither had an answer to that, they walked up the street in silence.

  ‘How about that dumpster?’ said Aureole jokingly as they passed an alley.

  ‘Yeah, as if you’d hop in a dumpster,’ said James.

  ‘I have been in a dumpster before,’ said Aureole. ‘It was surprisingly warm.’

  James snorted. ‘No way. You’ve never slept in a dumpster.’

  ‘It is a long story.’

  ‘We’ve got all night.’

  Aureole shrugged, and then, for the next twenty minutes, while they were walking along the quietest streets, she told James all about the time she slept in a dumpster.

  ‘You’re making that up,’ said James when Aureole had finished.

  ‘You still do not believe me?’ said Aureole.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What gave me away?’

  ‘Gee, I don’t know. Maybe when you started your story with, “When I was a little boy”.’ James raised his eyebrows. ‘Unless, of course, there’s something else you’d like to share with me? Which is totally okay.’

  FORTY-NINE

  Kookaburra Motel, Adelaide, South Australia

  The dusky station wagon turned slowly out of Kookaburra Motel and rolled in a leisurely way down the road. Erebus was at the wheel. He had the window rolled down and his arm leaning on the sill, his head tilted slightly back, sunglasses on, his tanned face taking in the sunshine. In contrast to him in his relaxed state, Wilson and Collins were on the verge of turning purple, as a quick glance in the rear-view mirror told him.

  Wilson’s complaining reached Erebus’s ears. ‘Why . . . isn’t . . . he . . . here . . . doin’ . . . this?’ He was taking short, sharp breaths.

  Erebus heard Collins give a growl in reply.

  Erebus put his head out the window, shouted, ‘Push harder, you two.’

  Wilson let out a long grunt, then yelled, ‘How . . . much . . . longer? You . . . know . . . this . . . isn’t . . . a . . . light . . . car.’

  ‘For goodness sakes, it’s downhill. Surely, you can get it up to five kilometres an hour!’

  ‘How . . . ’bout . . . you . . . come . . . back . . . here . . .

  ’n . . . push?’ gasped Wilson.

  ‘Someone’s got to be up front. Besides, it’s not an easy car to clutch-start,’ said Erebus.

  ~

  The wagon gave a sudden jerk and the engine roared into life. Smoke billowed out of the exhaust, covering Wilson and Collins, who watched the car speed down the hill and around the corner. They listened as the sound of the engine slowly melded into the surrounding city’s afternoon hustle and bustle, and waited . . . and waited . . . and waited.

  ‘He’s not comin’ back . . . is he?’ said Wilson, getting his breath back.

  Just as they reached the bottom corner, they heard a low burbling noise behind them.

  ~

  ‘Didn’t think I’d left you, did you?’ said Erebus, pulling up beside his two comp
anions.

  Wilson opened the back door and he and Collins clambered in, clearly worried that Erebus might want to mess with them some more. Wilson adjusted his suit-coat and slumped back into the seat next to Collins.

  ‘I had to make sure she was running properly. Charge her up a bit,’ explained Erebus, putting his foot down on the accelerator.

  After about ten minutes of driving in the city traffic, Wilson started to laugh, softly at first and then painfully loudly.

  Erebus almost slammed into a parked car. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he said.

  Wiping away the tears, Wilson said, ‘Sorry, I was just thinkin’ about that joke Collins told me when we were searchin’ that sailor’s room.’

  Erebus stared in the rear-view mirror at Wilson. ‘You’re pulling my leg, right?’ In front of him, a horn sounded and he turned the steering wheel sharply to avoid a collision, having allowed the car to stroll across the centre line.

  ‘No, no, it was a good one . . . wasn’t it, Collins?’ Wilson replied.

  Erebus shot a glance over his shoulder at Collins, who was sitting motionless, staring straight ahead. Small beads of sweat had accumulated on the top of his fat, bald head and were now running like tiny rivers down the tattoos on his neck.

  ‘Maybe you can tell it to the unconscious sailor in hospital – might wake him up,’ laughed Wilson.

  ‘We’re not going to visit Mr Watanabe,’ said Erebus.

  ‘Who?’ said Wilson.

  ‘The unconscious sailor,’ said Erebus.

  ‘Why not? We visited the one with no finger,’ said Wilson, holding up one of his long skinny fingers and wiggling it in Erebus’s line of sight.

  ‘Because we acquired all the information we could from the motel manager and the sailor’s suitcase,’ said Erebus. ‘Besides, Mr Watanabe will be under police guard.’

  ‘Fancy ’em having a picture of that kid from the hospital. What’s his name . . . James Lockes?’

  ‘Locke,’ corrected Erebus.

  ‘Yeah, well, if he crosses me path again, little Goldie Lockes will think he’s in a Grimm fairy-tale,’ said Wilson with a growl.

  Erebus again looked at Wilson in the mirror. Half the time he had no clue how Wilson’s mind worked. He suspected that Wilson didn’t know either.

  ‘So what do we do now, Boss?’ said Wilson, interrupting Erebus’s thoughts.

  ‘We need to find out where Mr Watanabe sold the SAFFIRE.’

  ‘How do you know he sold it?’ Wilson asked and then muttered to himself, ‘Look at that, a piece of lint.’

  ‘Because there was a stack of money in his suitcase,’ said Erebus. ‘My guess is he sold it to a pawnshop.’

  ‘A what?’ said Wilson.

  ‘A pawnshop. You know, where you hock valuables?’ said Erebus. Did he have to spell out everything for Wilson?

  ‘Oh,’ said Wilson. ‘I thought you meant something else.’

  Erebus ignored Wilson. He pulled over, parked the car under the shade of a big Jacaranda tree, and started searching for pawnshops on his phone. ‘There are several in the vicinity, and they’re only a couple of streets away from the docks. We’ll start there,’ he said, putting on his indicator.

  When they had pulled up and stepped out of the car, Erebus strolled over to the shop window and gestured for Wilson and Collins to follow.

  ‘Now we can’t use our real names in here, in case someone overhears. We don’t want you two being recognised,’ he said in a whisper.

  Wilson nodded. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them with a triumphant look and said, ‘I’ve got it! Collins and me will switch names.’

  Erebus blinked twice in disbelief, and then spent the next ten minutes giving Wilson an if-you-were-any-dumber lecture.

  ‘Right, I get it now,’ said Wilson. ‘How about you be Collins and Collins be you and I’ll be . . .’

  Port Adelaide, South Australia

  James stood with his hood flipped up and his back to the counter, flicking through a pile of old CDs. This was the fourth pawnshop they had visited today, and they’d had no luck finding the SAFFIRE. He was getting close to telling Aureole, “I told you so”. Aureole, was in the process of asking the manager if a Japanese sailor had been in to see him. The manager seemed absent-minded and had gone to check his books. Apparently, his computer had been down for a month and he was still waiting for it to be repaired.

  James let out a yawn and glanced up, towards the window. Outside, on the footpath, he could see one man arguing with two others, who looked very familiar. His eyes widened. There’s that man with the tattoos, he thought. Was it just a coincidence? He turned away from the window and signalled to Aureole, who was looking in the opposite direction.

  ‘No, I’m sorry miss. There aren’t any records with that name,’ said the manager, walking back into the main shop, holding a large journal.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Aureole, oblivious to James’s wild gestures in the background. ‘Maybe he used a different name. Could you check the items you bought recently? He might have said it was a meteorite.’

  ‘I think I would remember that,’ said the manager.

  James was about to call Aureole’s name when he heard a voice from behind calmly say, ‘Excuse me, young man, would you mind flipping down your hood?’

  Startled, James turned around and lowered his hood. A man with a buzz cut smiled at him and said, ‘What’s your name, son?’

  ‘I . . . I . . . Who wants to know?’ said James, his pulse hammering.

  The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a police badge. ‘I’m off-duty at the moment, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you on a wanted poster,’ he said coolly.

  James took a step back. ‘I think you’ve got the wrong guy.’ He glanced toward the counter. It was empty. Where did Aureole go?

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the man and grabbed James by the arm. ‘I think you’d better come with me.’

  ‘Let me go.’ James tried to twist his arm away, but the man produced a pair of handcuffs and, with lightning speed, slapped one on James’s wrist and one on his own.

  James was aghast. ‘I thought you were off-duty.’

  ‘What can I say? I’m a diligent guy,’ replied the man with a smirk. ‘Now, how about you come quietly.’ He dragged James behind the counter and into a small office. ‘You just wait here and sit quietly.’ He unlocked his cuff and attached it to the closest chair. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  The door closed. James tried to squeeze his hand out of the cuff, gave up after scraping off several layers of skin. He yanked at the arm of the chair with no success, stood up and looked for a way to slip the cuff off the chair. The chair was one solid piece of metal, impossible to break by hand.

  He dropped back into the seat, knowing he was stuck and wondering why Aureole had deserted him.

  ‘Why is it always me who gets caught?’ he muttered, kicking the desk with his bare foot and then letting out a scream. He knew it was all over. He was going to be in so much trouble. No one would believe his side of the story. He wouldn’t believe his side of the story. And how could Aureole leave him like that? Especially after he’d just saved her life! He slumped further into the chair, his stomach feeling as if it had turned to lead.

  FIFTY

  Port Adelaide, South Australia

  ‘Well, are you coming or not, Bird Boy?’ said Aureole, suddenly standing beside James.

  He jumped. He hadn’t even heard the office door open. ‘Where’d you go?’ he said, relief washing over him.

  ‘When I saw that man confront you, I quickly told the manager I was interested in buying something I had seen at the back of the shop,’ said Aureole, gesturing for James to get up. ‘He followed me. Apparently, he is not allowed to sell power tools to under 18s.’

  ‘Oh,’ said James, averting his eyes.

  ‘You did not think I was going to leave you, did you?’

  Aureole sounded hurt.

  Jam
es quickly changed the subject. ‘How are we going to get out?’ he said. ‘That officer’s going to be back any moment.’

  ‘No, he is not,’ said Aureole.

  ‘You didn’t . . . ?’ began James.

  Aureole shot him an indignant look. ‘No, I did not! He spotted two men outside that he recognised and took off after them. Seemingly, you were small fry.’

  James held up his arm, rattled the cuffs. ‘Can you help me get these off?’

  ‘No time. The police officer asked the manager to keep an eye on you.’

  ‘The manager . . . Did you . . .’

  ‘I had no choice,’ said Aureole with a shrug. ‘But he might wake up soon.’

  ‘What about the chair? I’m chained to it.’ James rattled his cuffs again as a reminder.

  ‘You’ll just have to take it with you.’

  ‘Take it with me? Are you joking?’ She wasn’t.

  Sneaking out of a shop with an office chair is no mean feat. James ended up lifting it above his head and running for the door. Out on the street, he could hear sirens in the distance and was sure they were coming for him. They hadn’t gone fifty metres before he heard a police officer shout, ‘Stop!’

  James turned to see him running after them. James picked up speed, Aureole staying close at his heels. But the officer was gaining on them. The chair was slowing James down. They changed tactics and dashed through an open market with stalls everywhere. Several times James had to tilt the chair to avoid hitting someone. A man wearing a black, red and yellow cap, pushing a full shopping trolley, kindly pulled back to let them through.

  ‘Thanks, Unc,’ wheezed James as he fled.

  They were past the last stall when they heard the officer shouting, ‘Police! Get out of the way!’

  James glanced back in time to see the officer slam into a trolley, toppling it over and spilling the contents everywhere. That should slow him down. He and Aureole found a footpath and bolted down it. His bare feet seemed to catch every stone, shooting continual pain up his calves, and a savage stitch tore at his side. The muscles in his arms burned from having to hold the stupid chair. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. At any moment he was going to trip.