She looks at me with icy blue eyes just about to melt.
‘Yeah.’ She says it like she doesn’t mean it, or believe it. ‘I am.’
I head off, crossing paths with Johnny James Dunnolly as he heads for the staff room. We don’t look at each other.
‘Good work,’ he mutters.
I say nothing, because this isn’t over – and I get the feeling that if there’s a showdown, it’ll involve me.
No teachers allowed.
After all, this is the wild west.
Speaking of showdowns, tonight I caught the last half of River Monsters. My mate Jeremy Wade is back in Africa, trying to catch a tigerfish – and they are one awesome outfit with teeth like a splintered picket fence and bulging black eyes like eight-balls off a snooker table.
He’s the bounty hunter of the fish world, Jeremy. He knows the crimes all these types of fish have committed off by heart and he likes to think he’s bringing them in for justice. But he never kills the fish. He just lands it, tells its story, then slides it back into the always dangerous-looking water.
In the end he catches the mossy-green beast and cradles it like an ugly baby, the thing staring goggle-eyed at the camera, as calm as you like. This gives me the idea that the tigerfish might not be the total monster he says it is. Yeah, you swim over his hideyhole, and you might end up with a whole heap of tigerfish trouble, but most critters will defend their turf and that’s fair enough.
I watch him slide the tiger out into the current. Then it slowly sinks, its big soft tail giving a farewell flip like a wet flag. Gone, but the respect lingers, the people on the bank knowing you don’t cross a fish like that. Or it might just turn out to be deadly after all. And that’s it – show over – at least as far as Jeremy is concerned.
The phone rings and Jude answers it, slinging a tea towel over her shoulder like a football trainer. It’s Evan.
‘Chuck it.’
I hold up my hands for the phone.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ryan.’ She puts it on the bench. ‘Come ’n’ get it yourself.’
I do and head back to the couch, Evan telling me he ran into a kid from school who told him about Elmore and me, and our meeting at recess.
‘You’re keen,’ he says. ‘Talking to his sister.’
‘It’s a long story.’ I think of what I know, but can’t tell. ‘She’s not a bad kid.’
In the background, I hear Evan’s mum saying something about dinner.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ Evan says. ‘I’m still after him,’ he adds. ‘He’s not getting out of anything.’
Then Evan is gone and I am left with the nagging feeling that everything is only getting more complicated, and that I am being drawn into a situation where none of the people involved know all of the story – which, in an emergency situation, could make for a very rough landing.
Slate and me sit with a big packet of Weet-Bix between us, eating breakfast. The sun’s shining and Deed’s out on the deck, sitting on her mat, and I’m thinking that the weather’s keeping up and footy season almost done. Yep, and once again, there’s no flag for the Bullies. Fifty-something years and counting – yeah, counting, but not giving up. Slate pours milk, about a litre of it, into his bowl.
‘What time d’you go to school?’ He hands the carton over. ‘Give you a lift. I got an RDO.’
An RDO is a Rostered Day Off. I wish I had them!
‘I leave in ten.’ I drink what milk there is left from the carton. ‘Gotta get Evan, though. And maybe Ariel and Kaydie.’ I grin. ‘No worries. We’ll fit.’
‘Jesus,’ says Slate, elbow on the table, spoon poised. ‘At long last I’ve got a new career: taxi driver.’
‘How was the pub?’ I start chopping up Weet-Bix with the side of my spoon. They’re not bad, Weet-Bix. Some days they seem a lot better than others, beats me why. ‘Any trouble to report?’
Slate eats slowly, wearing a new denim shirt over a white T-shirt. His hair, short and bristly, shines in the sun. His arms are thick up top, like a lumberjack’s, the knuckles on his hand standing out even though he holds his spoon as if it’s a pen. Jude’s banned him from leaning back in the kitchen chairs because he’s already busted two.
‘Some idiot tried to glass a bloke.’ Slate looks into his Weet-Bix as if there might be something written there to explain such shit behaviour. ‘I cannot believe it.’
Man, what people think is reasonable freaks me out.
‘Then what happened?’
Slate appears to be wondering how much he should say. Jude’s in the laundry, banging around in there like an all-in wrestler. She won’t hear a word; she’s in the zone.
‘We subdued the bad guy.’ Slate spoons Weet-Bix, letting me see knuckles that are red and bruised. ‘With an overhand right. A very pleasing result.’ He turns to show me a big bump on the back of his head. ‘Copped a few from his mate. Still. No harm done. A win for the A-Team.’
I’m now officially over Slate having this job and getting into these fights. For a while I thought it was cool, but not now. The writing is on the wall, in red. That gig is dangerous.
‘Will you get into trouble?’
Slate takes his bowl to the sink, rinses it, then fits it into the dishwasher.
‘Nah. Had to be done. The other guy’s girlfriend tried to give me a hundred bucks for getting him out of a bad situation.’
Hey, that sounds all right! A silver lining to every dark cloud, as Jude would say.
‘Did you take it?’ Me, I’d grab it like a shot.
Slate takes his car keys off the hook. He grins, like a cross between old Slate and new; as if he’s worked out the world works in weird ways, and not necessarily on the level, but he can handle it – maybe even take advantage of it.
‘Nah. I might collect later.’ He winks, takes his wallet out of the fruit bowl. ‘She was nice. Come on. Better get rockin’. Places to go and people to see.’
That’s us, livin’ the dream.
We pick Evan up, then stop at Ariel and Kaydie’s place. Jill stands at the top of the driveway, dark lines dividing her face, as if this might be the last time she ever sees the girls. Ariel waves, leans across to buckle Kaydie in, then we’re off, the car smelling of girls and soap, lemon-fresh!
‘First stop, Tempy Primary.’ Slate looks over at Kaydie, who sits between Evan and Ariel. He smiles, making it a total of two for the morning. ‘Where all the good kids go.’
Kaydie stares at Slate, holding her backpack in her lap.
‘I saw you,’ she says. ‘With a big bat. Out in the dark.’
This shuts everyone up. The atmosphere is not so cheery now. Slate takes a few seconds to come up with an answer to this rather interesting observation.
‘Yeah, you might have.’ He nods slowly. ‘I was going for a little walk behind our houses.’ He looks at Ariel. ‘Keeping an eye on the trees and stuff. Scaring away anyone who might damage them. Anyway, folks. Let’s go.’ He turns, and starts driving, the V8 growling.
‘Nice day,’ Evan says, looking out the window, acting like an actor. ‘What a nice day.’
I laugh, but I don’t say anything.
We stop in a line of badly parked cars to let Kaydie and Ariel out.
‘Thank you, Slate.’ Ariel’s wearing her neon vest over a black dress like a school tunic, plus a pink T-shirt underneath. She turns toward my open window. ‘Ryan, d’you want to meet me at Brew this afternoon? At four, say? I’ve got something to ask.’
Well, this is all a little embarrassing in front of such a large studio audience, but I ride the bumps.
‘No sweat,’ I say. ‘I’ll be there.’
We take off, Slate changing gears as precisely as ever.
‘No questions, boys.’ He doesn’t look sideways. ‘Not in the mood.’
No one says anything until we pull up at school. Evan and me get out. Slate holds a ten-dollar note out the window, as if tipping a parking guy.
‘Need it, bro?’ He has shades on now and lo
oks like someone out of The Fast and the Furious – someone you wouldn’t want to tangle with.
‘Nah, I’m cool.’ I wave it away. ‘Thanks. See ya.’
Slate drives off and Evan and I head in through the gates, the rumbling of the V8 just another sound of the suburb. But I’m wondering what the hell he was doing out the back with a baseball bat.
‘We might go on a little mission of our own this evening,’ Evan says. ‘Into the paddock.’
‘Might as well,’ I say, knowing that this was coming, because we are a team. ‘Seems like everyone else is.’
I meet Ariel at Brew Italia and we sit in a corner booth. From this table, you can look up and down Sky Point, and also keep your eye on the girls who work in shops, if you’re so inclined.
Ariel has left her vest behind, wearing her tunic-thing and T-shirt. Her face is open and free, her cheeks not pink and not brown but kind of in-between, rare and gorgeous. She stirs her hot chocolate, the fake light of the place unable to take the country colour from her face. Not yet, anyway.
‘How’s Kaydie’s form?’ She grins, puts the spoon down. ‘I never thought she’d talk to Slate. He must seem like a giant to her.’
‘Yeah, he’s heavy equipment, all right,’ I say. ‘I didn’t see that comin’. He’s keepin’ an eye on things, I guess.’
Ariel sips carefully. ‘Kaydie climbs on the fence when Jill hangs out the washing sometimes. She does it after tea. She must’ve seen him then. So Ryan, tell me.’
I wait, unable to stop my eyebrows doing something that just has to look ridiculous.
‘Tell you what?’
‘Would you know someone who could put new locks on our doors?’ She lowers her mug onto a serviette. ‘I’m going to get three when I’ve got the money. Front door, back door, laundry door. Those deadlocks. The good ones.’
Well, Bobby-boy’d know someone. There are all sorts of tradies in Tempy. Some of them are even pretty reliable.
‘I’ll find out.’ I try not to think of the paddock’s grim history and what might be crossing Ariel’s mind. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ I add. ‘Everyone keeps an eye out. Cops, too. But new locks would be good.’ And doors, if possible.
Ariel rests her chin on her hand. I can see we’ve moved on from the locks.
‘My mum rang me.’ A shadow moves across her face. ‘She’s in Perth. She wants me to think about going to live over there. She’s got a flat near the water and a job as a secretary for a mining company.’
My heart is in freefall, like a lift without a cable.
‘And, er, how’s that sound?’ My throat tightens. ‘So would you, ah –’ I’m not sure I want to keep on with this line of questioning. ‘That’s a big decision. I mean, it’s a big question.’
Ariel has a distant look in her eyes, like she’s seeing a fire on the horizon. Then she smiles, bites her thumbnail as if she can’t believe how things have turned out, one serious thing after another.
‘I’m not going.’ She speaks over her fist. ‘I live here now. With my family. And my friends.’
I sit back, arms crossed, a feeling filling me as if the Doggies have just had a big, big win. Good news! That is good news, because Ariel is one of the most important people I know. And she’s showing the way, like Boydy and Griff leading the Bulldogs out of the dark.
‘Well, that’s right,’ I say, hammering her answer down with words instead of nails. ‘With your family. And your friends.’ Then, for some reason, I feel myself blushing like an idiot.
Ariel watches me closely, which only makes things worse. ‘I could say something really dumb right now, Ryan. Really dumb.’
I give her a glance, which is about the only thing I can spare at this moment. ‘Save it for a rainy day.’
She looks at me and I look at her – two people that were never supposed to meet but have. ‘I will,’ she says.
It strikes me that it rains in Templeton quite a lot.
We sit in Brew, the pressure easing, until Ariel brings up a subject starting with E.
‘Elmore spoke to me two days ago,’ she informs me. ‘Outside the shop.’
I feel like I’ve walked face-first into a glass door. Or a fist.
‘What did he want?’ I try to get myself together. ‘What’d he say?’
Ariel doesn’t look as concerned as I think she should.
‘He said that there’s a guy who’s been seen in the paddock near the back of our place. And to be careful. Not to let Kaydie, or anybody, go out there. Which I never would. But that fence is so hopeless.’
I’m confused. It’s like I have a cardboard cut-out of Elmore in front of me spinning on a wire – good side, bad side, light side, dark side.
‘Did Jill say anythin’?’ I’m trying, as Evan says, to prioritise this load of information. ‘Has she seen anyone?’ I don’t mention that there’s two guys that have been seen moving around after dark.
Ariel presses her fingers together. ‘No. But she doesn’t see much. At the moment.’
‘I’ll talk to Bobby about the locks,’ I say. ‘Tonight. Definitely.’
Ariel looks at her watch. It’s a plastic yellow Kealoah one, not expensive. Even by my rather low standards.
‘Thanks, Ryan. That would be good. I’d better go back. I’m late already.’
We slide out of the booth, then split the bill at the register. I see Ariel off at Kealoah, then head on out, remembering the last thing Evan said about tonight’s expedition.
Wear black.
I put on black jeans and a black hoodie with yellow writing across the back saying Iron Fist Boxer Jungle, obviously a Chinese classic created by a true genius. Then I cruise around to Evan’s place, taking the road because the paddock seems to be getting scarier by the night.
Evan’s mum is out. Once a week she sells make-up to a bunch of other ladies at someone else’s house. Now, of course, I’m sure it’s a lot of fun, but best of all it frees us up to do what we like. Tonight this is handy, because resting on the kitchen table Evan has his hunting bow and two arrows bound with white cloth. This worries me.
‘And your idea is?’ I ask. ‘Target practice, perhaps?’
Evan picks up the bow and arrows. ‘Something like that.’ He pats his jeans pockets that bulge with cargo. ‘Right. Let’s hit the jungle.’
The glow of the houses barely makes it over back fences. Ten more steps and it’s gone. After that it’s anyone’s guess who’s out here and what their ideas are.
‘Won’t take this track,’ Evan says quietly. ‘The one further back.’
We head out until we strike a path generally only used by blokes who don’t want to talk to anyone. These might be guys who don’t trust their dogs, or don’t want their dog to fight with every other dog behind every fence. You see them walking quietly, generally in high-viz work gear, smoking, maybe drinking a beer, and minding their own business; which is something I’m not sure that Evan is right into at this moment.
‘Elmore lives down this way,’ I say. ‘Correct?’ My eyes are getting used to the dark. Trees, rocks and the body of a dumped car loom. The jar of mower fuel sloshes around in my hand, giving off a strange light and a thick, dangerous smell.
‘He does.’ Evan leads the way through a gully and around spiky old bushes that have been here forever. ‘Not far now.’
The land to our left is in total darkness. To our right, the houses might as well be the boundary of civilisation. I hope everyone’s got their doors locked and their sensor lights on.
‘We are not burnin’ anyone’s house down, Evan,’ I say. ‘No matter how much we hate that bastard.’
He laughs. ‘Not the plan, Fireman Sam. Not the house, I mean.’
‘Good,’ I say, and we move on quietly, our runners swishing through the long grass. ‘Happy to hear it.’
I’m warming up as we walk and the night seems to open out the further we go. On a distant hill I can make out the ghostly skeleton of a cement works long gone broke; funny how what see
med a good idea once now stands there as proof that it’s not hard to make a bad decision. Evan stops.
‘That way.’ He points to the houses that are some three hundred metres away. ‘The ground’s pretty open here. Keep quiet and stay low. Follow me.’
As we sneak toward the houses I feel a strange kind of a fear; not for myself, but for what we might be about to do and what it might lead to. Two words slosh around in the uncertain sea of my brain.
Highly inflammable.
We kneel beside a gap in the Larkins’ fence, five or six palings fallen to the side like crooked teeth. The rear of the house is dark but there are cracks of light, probably from the TV out in the lounge at the front. Five metres away from us is an old wooden bungalow, and it’s this thing, more like a shed, that Evan is concentrating on.
‘Full of junk,’ he whispers. ‘They’d be better off without it. I’d be doing them a favour.’
I am not so sure about that.
Correction. I am sure. I’m bloody sure we shouldn’t do it, not even after what Elmore said to Evan, the fights, the bullshit, Larkin’s mentalness, what Eden made me promise never to tell, the whole shitty showbag of rubbish that this thing’s become.
‘Evan,’ I whisper back. ‘We should not –’ But that’s as far as I get.
Someone has come out of the back door, a dark shape in the darkness, moving without a sound. It’s not a tall person, I can see, and not a person who likes light, either. The yard is unlit, the rear of the house as dark as it was when we first arrived.
‘Damn.’ Evan cranes his neck to see. ‘Inconvenient and inconsiderate. This is a problem.’
Not so much a problem, I think, as a bit of good luck. I watch the person coming down the concrete path towards the clothes line. Then they veer off, making for the door of the shed, footsteps light, slapping along quietly. Steadily they go, as if they’ve made this trip a lot of times.
‘That’s Eden,’ I whisper to Evan. ‘One hundred per cent.’
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