K Road

by Ted Dawe

  Justice Randerson entered and took his place at the bench. There was the slow sorting of papers, the irritating two-fingered tinkering on his laptop. At one stage he had to call the court clerk over to show him how to do something. It amused Paul to see old guys struggling with technology. They had this way of sitting back and staring at it, as though it was about to explode. The clerk leaned across the judge and gave the keyboard a couple of taps. Something happened and they exchanged smiles.

  Paul looked for Robin Masters. His dark blue Italian suit and restrained peach tie had become a minor focal point during the past few days. No sign. That was strange. His brief, Roger King Q.C., (the one Merv called King Roger), looked agitated and grumpy. He kept turning stiffly to look back at the doors. So did the police. Everything ready to go and now there was no accused.

  Then something happened. Paul watched the news spread across the court room through a series of mini conferences and whispers: Chinese whispers working their way towards the judge. Finally it reached the court clerk whose expressive eyebrows and opened mouth registered every nuance of what he was being told. He shuffled his papers and placed them in a neat pile in front of him and then approached the judge, who was still struggling to control his wayward laptop.

  The court clerk stooped to the judge’s ear. It took some time but gradually Paul could see the judge’s attention being reined in. A bit of earnest muttering and then the clerk resumed his seat. The judge told the court that the case was closed because of tragic circumstances. Paul’s immediate response was disappointment. It was like being told a long elaborate story just to have it cut off when the exciting part came. He walked out into the foyer. There was Willets, the surly hard-man cop who always seemed to be hanging around. The wrinkly-suited chain-smoker. Paul approached him cautiously – Willets was known for his dislike of the press. They walked out onto the steps together, Willets fumbling for his cigarettes.

  Paul stepped over quickly and offered him one of his. Willets looked at it critically and then took it. They both lit up.

  After their first puffs, Willets said, ‘What are you covering?’

  ‘Masters, the bent principal.’

  ‘Yeah? Well I guess you got the day off.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Willets looked at him, as if weighing up whether or not to tell him. ‘Quite funny really, he got run over, crossing the road.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Seven o’clock this morning. It took three hours for the news to travel from K. Road to the High Court in Symonds Street. What would that be? A kilometre. And they talk about the age of instant communication.’

  ‘So what’s going to happen now?’

  Willets held up his other hand, making a zero with his finger and thumb. ‘Nothing. Can’t prosecute someone who’s gone to the big staffroom in the sky.’

  He flashed Paul a quick, insider’s grin, and then strode off to his waiting police car. Paul sighed and wandered back to the paper. There must be somewhere he could go with this.

  Merv would know what to do.

  13 ALCHEMY IN THE BURBS

  Brett had called on Jamie so often that he didn’t bother with the formalities of communicating with anyone in the house. He slid by the carport onto the little track that led down the back. There, at the bottom of the grassy slope, was a little thicket of native bush. This isolated the cabin from the house and from the neighbourhood. He wasn’t the only one who called on Jamie but he was by far the most regular. Since their chance encounter in a club a few years ago their friendship had grown in ways that neither of them could have imagined. They hadn’t seen each other since school but for Brett, running into Jamie was like stumbling on a box of money.

  Brett moved down the slimy stepping stones without faltering; he had memorised all the tricky bits and could do it at midnight with equal facility. When he reached the corner of the sleepout he stood still, listening, alert to any possible observer. He reached into the dense creeper that clothed the cabin to ring the bell, then straightened up again and waited. After a full three minutes there was the soft scraping sound of bolts being slid on the inside and Jamie stood blinking in the open doorway. There was this faint cat piss smell outside the cabin but when the door opened, it hit him like a wave.

  Brett entered without a word and waited while Jamie re-secured the door. He was still surprised at how rapidly Jamie seemed to have lost all his sense of order as he spiralled into the world of the undead.

  In one end of the cabin there was the chem cupboard that he had built. Glass doors, extractor fan, lead drain plate. Jamie was clever with his hands. Brett had always thought it was just the theoretical stuff that he was good at, but it wasn’t. He could make anything.

  Scattered around the room were other artefacts that went with the trade. Coffee filters, titration gear, pyrex beakers, rubber gloves and breathing mask. His cookbook, as he called it, was well gone. Left Uncle Fester behind in his dusty hole in cyberspace, long ago. Reckoned one day he would write his own. Then there was the stuff that gave off that smell, essence of tomcat: drain cleaner and paint thinner. Lithium strips ripped out of batteries, jars full of stuff that looked like match heads. A bottle of anhydrous ammonia with the top half off, that’s where this stink came from. Brett walked over and screwed it up tight.

  In fact, looking around the room, the chem cupboard was the only place where anything seemed to have any sort of order. Jamie’s bed hadn’t been made in months. More like a nest than a bed. Clothes were everywhere, draped over chairs, hanging from nails on the wall and some, finally discarded, lay in composting mounds in the corner. There was no danger of anyone spying on him, as all the windows were covered with posters: Goth bands and the usual ‘graveyard in Carpathia’ stuff. Skinny chicks, with too much mascara, hanging about in castles. Silhouettes of wolves howling, picked out against a full moon. They sure did the trick though, not a chink of daylight entered. Lights burned continually at each end of the room. When he had to, Jamie used the basement toilet and shower under his parents’ lavish house. Long ago they seemed to have made this agreement to let him live his own life with the minimum of interference. Suited both parties, Jamie reckoned.

  ‘So how’s it been man? I rang a while back but I figured you were sleeping or cooking.’

  They both sat on the bed: every other surface in the room was covered in stuff. Brett lit up, to kill off the old clothes smell, as much as anything. He noticed for the first time the little spent foil bombs, littering the cabin like bird droppings.

  ‘I figured it was you … and why you were ringing. I’m beginning to think I don’t need a phone any more, just a little buzz to prompt me.’

  ‘So you’re becoming telepathic?’ he looked at Jamie with an ironic grin. They both thought anything vaguely New Age was sad bullshit.

  ‘Telepathetic!’

  Brett saw an almost-smile flicker around the bottom half of Jamie’s blank, pale face. ‘Nearly got ya then.’

  ‘It’s more like my life has got so simple that I know what’s going to happen well in advance.’

  ‘You don’t get out enough. You’re getting to be a hermit, man. You want to be with other people.’

  ‘I used to think that … but now it’s just that I’m … I’m too busy for them.’

  ‘Well, I better not waste any more of your valuable time, what’ve you got for me?’

  ‘Nothing. You said Friday.’

  ‘Stuff’s happened. It needs to be today. How close are you with that batch?’ Brett pointed to a tank half filled with clear liquid.

  ‘What do you want, powder or rock?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s just currency this time.’

  ‘Go for powder then. I can cut it with salt.’

  ‘Good old Na Cl. Mingling slyly among those methamphetamine hydrochlorate compounds.’

  ‘Hydrochloride, Brett. Better leave the chemistry to me. Come to think of it I reckon you always did.’

  They bot
h laughed. Brett’s cheating at school was an open secret.

  ‘So what’s the rush?’ Jamie hated timelines.

  ‘Just creditors hunting for me and debtors hiding from me.’

  ‘Same old, same old. Glad I’m not part of that scene.’

  ‘But you are, my boy. You are. You think you can sit here very quiet, a deer in the forest, and the world will go on with its business, forget all about you. But you’re wrong.’ He smiled ominously.

  ‘What am I then? Debtor or creditor?’

  ‘Neither. You’re an exploitable resource. Remember, from Economics.’

  ‘Sounds cool!’

  ‘It’s not all that cool. You’re like those black holes in space. They can prove your existence, they just can’t locate you. People want to know who are. More likely, where you are.’

  Jamie’s shoulders drooped, the only sign that he had taken in what he had heard.

  ‘That’s why it’s important that we keep the market satisfied. Keep everything moving. Otherwise all the animals in the jungle get hungry.’ Brett turned to him raising a claw-like hand and baring his teeth. ‘So how long?’ he asked again.

  Jamie considered this for a while, his eyes slightly up-turned which Brett recognised as a sure sign that he was calculating. He had won early fame for his ability to do complicated sums in his head.

  ‘If I really crank it could get you forty grams in a couple of hours … it’ll be pushing it.’

  Brett looked at his watch. ‘That’ll do nicely.’ He reached over and pinched Jamie’s chin. ‘You genius.’ There was an alarmed jerk backwards. He had forgotten Jamie hated to be touched. Embarrassed at his gaffe, he added, ‘If you can pull this off there will be a big bonus.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like coke.’

  ‘True? Where does that come from?’

  ‘Don’t ask, and no promises, but it’s likely. There’s some around, I know that much, it’s just a matter of running it down.’

  They both stood up. There was a sense of purpose, of urgency that hadn’t been there previously. Jamie unbolted the door and for a brief moment they stood there looking at each other. In the decent light Brett saw how bad it had got. Teeth blackened. His white face sort of shrunken so his big black eyes and stringy, dyed hair made him look like someone from a skanky horror flick.

  ‘Look after yourself, Jamie, you’re looking a bit wrecked.’

  ‘I’m OK. I’m not at my best during the day. Once the sun goes down … different story.’

  Brett laughed. In lots of ways Jamie was just like all the other Goths: a vampire wannabe. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, pointing to three ten litre plastic bottles.

  ‘That one’s paint thinner, you know, Benzene. The other one is good old H Cl.’

  ‘Oh yeah, so what’s in the other one?’

  Jamie laughed ‘Can’t remember!’

  ‘Jeez, you’re a worry, man. I don’t like the look of the gas cooker either. Remember good ol’ Doc Stone, “the most dangerous catalyst is an exposed flame…”.’

  Jamie gave a dismissive pffft. ‘Doc Stone was an old woman. Imagine wasting your knowledge on teaching.’

  Once the door was closed Brett stood in the trees outside the cabin waiting for his eyes to adjust. Then he slowly panned around the entire area in front of him, looking for anyone or anything unusual. You couldn’t afford to be slack in this business. In the next property over the back there was an old woman kneeling in front of a flower garden with her back to him. A couple of sections over, a boy was bouncing on a trampoline his head appearing above the hedge every second or so. Very reassuring. Orderly suburbia. He loved it.

  14 OVERTIME

  It was Evan who spotted her. He had a sharp eye for chicks. There she was, all curled up in the shop doorway. Something inside him called out. He had to do something. Even though officially, at three minutes past 1 a.m., he was off duty. He looked across at Bryce who grinned. They pulled the car over.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  So he backed up.

  It was amazing that he had spotted her at all. She looked like a pile of clothes. They got out of the car and walked over. Bryce crouched down and carefully picked at the coat. It was a girl of about 16. Pretty too. She opened her eyes slowly. There was no fear. More a sort of stoned puzzlement.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s our question.’ Evan smiled.

  She smiled back.

  She had a really sweet face.

  She tried to bury her face back into the warmth of her big thick coat. Eager to go back to sleep. Something like a sleepy kitten.

  Evan and Bryce exchanged looks.

  Evan reached into her warm cocoon and rested his hand on her warm cheek. She opened her eyes again.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Tui.’

  ‘You can’t sleep here, Tui,’ he said. ‘This is K. Road.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ Bryce, trying to sound official.

  ‘Around.’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘Been at Blade.’

  ‘Down in Queen Street?’

  She nodded, heavy lidded.

  ‘Why are you so sleepy? What are you on?’

  She shrugged. ‘Dunno. Strong but.’

  ‘Someone give you something?’

  ‘People always give me stuff.’

  ‘Was it a pill or a foil?’

  She sat up, more resigned. ‘Pill. You got a smoke?’

  ‘No. E maybe?’

  ‘Don’t think so. Doesn’t feel like E, man. Feels like I’m covered in wet sacks.’

  ‘Shall we go back? See if we can find out who gave it to you?’

  She looked at Evan in a direct way. She put on this voice. ‘I refuse to talk unless I’m in the presence of a smoke. And a cup of coffee. I know my rights.’ She wasn’t afraid or impressed.

  ‘Where are you heading?’

  ‘Some place. Some friend’s place. I dunno. I forgot. Where’s my smoke?’

  ‘What’s this stuff on y’ fingers? You been sniffing paint cans.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m an artist, man. Gis a smoke, come on. Please!’

  Evan put his hands gently under her armpits. ‘Well let’s go get one.’ He lifted her carefully to her feet; she went floppy and was surprisingly heavy. He had to get a better position. She giggled. He could feel her ribs through the coat.

  Once on her feet the girl refused to balance, first threatening to topple backwards, and then to fall to the side and finally, when he had her carefully poised, she went floppy again. He had to put his arms around her to hold her up. Their faces almost touched. Evan looked at Bryce, who was grinning. He looked back at the girl who was smiling too.

  ‘Come on, stand up!’ he said, feeling a bit of a dick.

  ‘Carry me,’ she said in a little girl’s voice, ‘Big strong man like you.’

  He released her and she didn’t fall over but leaned casually against a shop window. He looked up and down the street, there were a few trannies about, that one with the stumpy leg and the real big ugly one. Too busy yabbering to pay them any attention.

  ‘Well, let’s get that coffee.’

  They walked over and sat in the car. Evan could tell that Bryce was uncomfortable. He indicated his watch. The car had to get back or they had to report in, say what was going on. Evan was reluctant to let her go. She was a little treasure. It was like finding a hundred dollar bill. Unconnected. No obligation except to spend, to enjoy.

  ‘Drop us home,’ he said to Bryce, ‘You take the car back and sign us out.’

  He knew that Bryce wasn’t keen. A bit of a prig, Bryce, underneath it all: behind the chill-out exterior there was still the ghost of a school prefect calling the shots. They called in at the 24 hour garage so she could get some smokes. She didn’t move, only had 60 cents, so Evan bought them. Bryce never said anything more all the way back to their flat. Evan noticed he was chewing on a toot
hpick. Always a sign he was stressed.

  Back at the flat she lay on the couch watching TV, while he climbed out of his work clothes. Even though he wore plain clothes they still felt like a uniform to him. Sort of restrictive. He couldn’t help but feel a bit excited. A bit expectant.

  Back in the sitting room the green coat was off and the shoes too. She was curled up under a throw. Warm, relaxed, sleepy. He sat on the end of the couch. She had a dopey smile on her face.

  ‘Cold feet,’ he said, clasping her ankle. ‘I’ll give them a rub.’

  When Bryce got back it was some time after two. Evan was watching the league on Sky.

  ‘Where’s she gone?’ he asked.

  She’s waiting for you, in there.’ Evan indicated his room.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. She’s grateful. She’s got no money.’ He grinned and looked back at the screen.

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Who knows with a girl like that?’

  ‘It’s kind of important eh?’

  ‘She’s sixteen. She’s experienced, I can tell you. Get on with it man, I want to go to bed.’

  ‘Well, go then.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. We’re partners, remember.’

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘She walked out on her boyfriend. He was a dick. Been hanging with the streeties. Doesn’t know where exactly. Not much at geography eh?’

  ‘Where’s her people?’

  ‘Shot through. Stepfather kept telling her what to do. Got the idea. Old story. Boring.’

  ‘Looks dodgy to me.’

  ‘Get in there, man.’

  ‘I reckon she’s had a big enough night.’

  ‘Nah. She’s in there, open for it.’

  Bryce paused. It was something he wanted no part of. He sat on the edge of the couch. There was nothing to say, so he watched TV and let time pass.

  There was a nudge.

  He ignored it.

  Another.