by Russell Judd
After a few days of intense dry heat a cool rain quenches the thirst of the land.
The road is covered in a thin sheen of water allowing the oils and grease that have been soaked up to secrete their way to the surface creating an ice like quality. This is generally all the encouragement the majority of the ‘bogan’ population need to display their douche bag prowess, and give their vehicles that little bit of extra throttle to get the tyres loose.
The day is followed by an uncomfortably humid sticky night. As I stand looking out of the lounge window I notice there is a fair amount of cloud cover concealing the moons fluorescent glow making for a very dark night. This will become quite advantageous if this demon car makes an appearance, I think to myself. I twist my torso to the right to gauge how the wound is feeling. I can tell it is starting to heal as it is getting fricken itchy. Each day my range of movement is increasing and the pain is continuing to subside.
Suddenly my thoughts are ripped away from me by a familiar chaotic sound of six cylinders hitting its rev limiter and tyres screeching as the rear end loses traction. This is it, I grab my DIY spikes and head for the door. With each gear change, this beast increases its speed, all the while swallowing up the distance between us and our impending confrontation. I know it’s not ideal but I’m going to have to deploy the spikes right outside my address. In my panicked excitement I realise I’m not holding the nails how I should be. Because of this I’m going to have to lay them out across the road. With the shortened length of fishing line my margin of error has increased. I drop the spikes on my side of the road and quickly hobble across to the other side with the running line in my hand.
As I crouch in the tree line trying to lower my profile, my heart is pounding and my hands are shaking with anticipation.
The exhaust comes thundering down the street and the two headlights are almost upon me. From the looks of the headlights the car looks to be positioned in the middle of the road. There aren’t any vehicles parked on either side of the street, so hopefully he keeps this line. Just as I think he is staying on course the headlights veer to the left. I pull the line as gently as I can, but with as much urgency as I can afford. The z nails scrape sharply across the rough surface, and thankfully don’t get tangled up.
This unearthly machine finally emerges from the darkness to reveal itself. A long slender white sedan. With each pulse of the accelerator the large intercooler viciously sucks in the unsuspecting air around it. I sit there in the dark cool night waiting for the car to cross those spikes. The sound is horrendous as it flies towards me. The car rips through the z nails, as one finds its target it pierces the rubber of the front wheel, sparks fly through the air and the steel rim of the wheel bites hard into the road lurching hard to the left. The driver tries to correct the unexpected redirection of his vehicle but he doesn’t have the reaction time at the speed he’s travelling at. The car comes barrelling into the kerb, concrete shatters and grass is ripped out of the ground. I can feel the panic of the driver trying to push the break as hard as he can into the foot well, but it’s too little too late. Nature lends to help dissipate the vehicles energy by way of a five meter tall tree about a meter in circumference. Metal bends and glass shatters as the rear of the car is forced up into the air when the two informally meet. I wait a second or two then run out from my cover and over to the car. I quickly survey the wheel, the z nails and fishing line are well tangled up, I pull out my multi tool and cut away the line and start to remove the nails. I gather it up and put it in my jacket.
I run over to the driver’s side and open the door. The driver is sitting there and looks to be knocked out cold. I put my hand up to his nose and mouth and I’m reassured by his warm breath against my palm. I then check his pulse which is thankfully still there. I quickly scan the vehicle for passengers, when I notice the lack of airbags. It’s probably a good thing that he’s sitting so far back from his steering wheel. The thought crosses my mind of giving him a quick jab to the jaw but that’s slightly unreasonable in the situation. I make the call and ask for an ambulance. I also tell them they may as well get the police on their way as well.
By now a couple of other residents have come out to see what has caused all the noise. Some panicked chat reveals that only a few heard the noise of the car speeding and then the crash. I get one of them to keep an eye on the driver and get the other to ring 111 again, while I use this opportunity to finish surveying the front wheel. Although the lighting in the street is poor, I can’t see any more fishing line. It doesn’t really matter if a nail is found, all it will do is add to the picture that his speed is the contributing factor to the crash.
It’s not long before the police, an ambulance and a fire engine are on scene. The driver is being carefully extracted by the ambulance and fire crew. As they cautiously begin to remove the male, he begins to regain consciousness. I can hear him mumbling something about what happened. It takes a decent amount of time to get him out onto the stretcher and strap him down. I can see the crews taking as much care as they can in case he has a spine or neck injury. Looks like he could be quite seriously injured, he could spend the rest of his time in a wheel chair. But life’s not without risks I think to myself.
After a few minutes one of the officers walks over to me and asks if I had seen anything. I give him a quick rundown about hearing the exhaust of the vehicle and that it was quite obvious he was speeding. When I heard the crash I came outside to check. The officer seems to be feverishly scribbling down what I’m saying. “If it helps mate, I can write up a job sheet and get it to you when I’m at work next” I say. I can see him take a second look at me which is when he recognises me. “Nate, yea that would be all good, I’ll let you know if we need anything more from you” the officer replies. “Sweet I’ll leave this to you capable officers then, have a good one” I reply.
I turn around crossing the street walking away from the carnage that I have just caused. I disappear up my dark drive way and I can’t help but feel somewhat pleased with myself.
The next morning I wake up to the morning light piercing through my bedroom blinds. I pick up my phone to check the time hoping that I would have a bit more time to snooze, but as I roll over and reach out for my phone the damn alarm kicks into life. I don’t particularly feel like listening to this ring tone this morning. In fact for some reason it really pisses me off. No doubt the pain shooting through my side is responsible for my irritable mood, so I aggressively press the dismiss button on my phone. Lying in bed looking up at the ceiling I begin to fantasize about not having to work. I’ve mentioned this too people on several occasions and I’m mostly met with looks of confusion and disagreement. I don’t actually think they could fathom not working. I just don’t think that I want to accept the fact that I will be working the rest of my life. Maybe it’s the lack of dependants or a mortgage or to be more accurate, the lack of responsibility which drives my thirst for not wanting to work. The job doesn’t help either. After seven odd years this job has made me despise people. I’m becoming reliant on coffee to get me through a shift. At least with some caffeine in my system I will actually be motivated to attend jobs and give a shit. Unfortunately this doesn’t change the fact that some people are just fucken useless and have sad excuses for what they call a life. What is worse is that they have an expectation that I can solve their problems. Most of the time it would save a lot of people a lot of trouble it they just simply jumped off a bridge, at least that file would be easy to complete.
Fuck that’s a depressing way to start the day I think to myself. I pick up my phone again to check the time when I notice a text message, it’s from Maree.
“Hey, I spoke to Dave, he seemed pretty reserved about what I had to say, I’m sure something else is going on, hope you’re feeling okay, night”
While I lay in bed I contemplate whether or not I should reply or just leave it. At the end of the day she is a friend, so I hesitatingly begin to draft a reply.
“hey, sorry I didn’t see your t
ext last night, there was a bit of drama out on the street, give me a call if you wana talk, have a good one.”
I flick the blinds open and peer out the window. Somehow nature has portrayed exactly how I’m feeling today, which is shitty. With the incentive of a strong coffee I drag myself out of bed and into some clothes.
I decide to check on the carnage and venture outside. While walking down my drive way a few neighbours are standing about gossiping and drooling over the night’s events. I throw them a friendly wave with a smile and the survey chaos. The fire fighters have done a nice job cleaning up the scene and as per usual they have helped destroy any evidence that may have been left behind. I’m pretty sure I got everything but I’m betting the officers who attended the scene won’t be investigating this too thoroughly, especially considering the driver is one of the local shit kickers.
The car has taken a decent chunk out of the kerb and the grass berm. A bit of bark missing from the tree seems to be the only injury it has suffered, and appears to be holding up well. Good job Mother Nature.
Standing there in the crisp morning air I take a moment to relax in the stillness. I turn around to head back inside when I notice a red Holden driving towards me. The little dash lights indicate that it is an unmarked police car. It pulls into the driveway and stops next to where I’m standing. When the window winds down I see a familiar face. My Senior Sergeant pokes her head out, “you got that jug on yet?” she cheekily enquires.
I turn around and give her a look of disapproval. “Shouldn’t you be bringing the coffees?” I jokingly reply.
“I can’t stay long, just here to tell you that the ball bag is out of hospital and in remand. He’s been cleared by the doctors and the facial reconstruction you afforded him has been repaired.” She quickly blurts out.
“I suppose I should be relieved?” I reply trying not to sound too sarcastic.
She gives me a look of discontent. “Looks like once you’ve been given the green light by the doctor to go back to work, you’ll be off to court section for a while or at least until this settles down, but I’ll be in touch” she says.
With that the red Holden reverses out of the drive way and she disappears onto her next pressing engagement.
Chapter Twelve