The Glass Kingdom (6 page)

Losing Steph's car was a pain too, but only a minor one. I'd promised her a new ride once we hit Queensland and she'd been scouring the pages of
Classic Cars
looking for a set of wheels that would fit her personality. Her words, not mine. Lately she'd been leaning towards an old Mustang, a '64 maybe, but it wasn't easy finding one that didn't have the arse ripped out of it and that also happened to be pink. She said red would do, at a pinch. I was more concerned at what was under the hood. A Mustang's all well and good until the fucken exhaust falls off in the middle of the Hume.

Steph was curled up in the passenger seat of the ute, a blanket pulled over her bare legs because I had the aircon pumping. It was only gone ten and already thirty-something degrees. Running in convoy was the easiest way for the Kingdom to travel and we were down the back behind the big trucks, cruising along on some quiet B road, about ten ks under the speed limit. Steph had her iPod plugged into the dash and was playing her usual repetitive trance stuff. I kept turning the volume down so it didn't do my head in, and periodically she'd lean forward and turn it back up again.

She'd dragged me to a bush doof two years before and then vanished for half the night. I wasn't into the sounds but I'd brought a couple of grams of glass with me and was that ever a good call. Drove out of there the next day with three grand in my pocket. Heard two guys jumped in the river and got impaled on sunken branches, another went missing. He turned up a week later, wandering in the wilderness. Fucken dickhead.

I was glad to be out of there, sick of being hugged by pilled-up hippy chicks with hairy pits. A couple of them were running around topless—that was all right, though it made me squirm to see those nipples getting toasted. Sore in the morning, I reckon. I only got into one spill with a bloke, who made some offhand smart-arse comment about my neck. His mates all just stood there while I bashed him, pissing in their fluoro fisherman pants. They even apologised for him after. Rainbow Serpent's no fucken Summernats, that's for sure. Put a beating on someone there and five minutes later you're in a full-on mêlée trying to avoid a stubby to the face.

It was pretty quiet country, farmland mostly, much of it unused. Occasionally there'd be a field of cane but we weren't really far enough north for it to amount to anything. Mostly it was just dry, empty pastures, galahs screeching past, a silo now and then. We could have been anywhere in Australia.

‘You know, Mikey's not that different to the women who come in for card readings.'

‘Get your feet off the dash.'

She did what I asked, but I knew I'd have to tell her again in a minute.

‘Head full of crazy ideas, all fantasy and expectation. The vast majority of people coming in wanting their fortunes told have already decided what they want the cards to say. Nobody wants to hear that hard times lie ahead, or that sorrow will enter their lives, or financial difficulties, or that they will never find true love. It's weird—so many people buy into fantasies that have no relation whatsoever to their everyday reality. They expect some sort of hero narrative, or a family narrative, or worst of all a fucken
princess
narrative, and if it doesn't turn out that way they're unhappy and angry and disappointed.'

‘Would do my head in.'

‘God, tell me about it. They blame me if it's not all roses and champagne. Like somehow I can map out their futures for them. They want me to reassure them that they're doing the right thing, that they're on the correct path, that it will all work out for the best in the end. Thing is, though, the cards don't lie.'

‘But you do.'

‘Yeah. Course I do, as much as it pains me. You can't tell people the truth. That's not what they've paid to hear. They'd rather exist in a fantasy version of themselves. Just like your little friend Mikey.'

‘He's no friend of mine.'

‘That's why you and I get on so well, I reckon. We know what we are. We don't pretend to be anything else.'

‘I don't know about that.'

‘Yeah, totally. I mean, after what happened to you, it's not surprising.'

Steph reached across to touch my neck. I flinched, an automatic reaction.

‘You don't live behind a façade, behind some sort of constructed personality. You're real, baby. You're authentic. There aren't many of us around.'

I had learned a long time ago not to question Steph's beliefs, even if I did think they were misguided. I usually just let her ramble on. It was easier that way. Less hassle. No point in picking a fight I couldn't win.

‘I love the Zen state we exist in. People like us, we have a unique understanding of the world. We can see people for who they really are. It's not always nice. In fact it's frequently not nice at all, but that doesn't matter because we've got each other. It's you and me against the world, babe, and I'm in it with you till the bitter end.'

I appreciated the sentiment. I really did. It's not every woman that would have me. Such a load of bullshit, though.

Around 10.30 I spotted a car in the distance. As it approached I could see it looked like a blue Datsun, so I lifted my foot gently off the accelerator. Steph sat up straight when the vehicle behind sounded its horn at us for slowing down.

‘What's wrong?'

‘Hold on a sec. It's probably nothing.'

I was only doing forty ks an hour when the Datsun passed us in the opposite direction, so I was able to get a good look at the rego. I stepped on the brakes and steered in sharply to the hard shoulder. The car behind us roared past, its horn bellowing in protest. I watched the Datsun retreat in the side mirror and waited for the last two vehicles in the convoy to go past before I swung the wheel around and chucked a skidding uey. The Target Ball stand whipped around behind us and almost tipped. Finding the right side of the road again, I accelerated after the Datsun. The engine thrummed eagerly in response.

‘Did you forget something?' Steph asked, her quizzical expression melting as the rear end of her car came into view.

‘Oh. Well, good morning to you, old friend.'

It didn't take long to catch up to him. The Datsun was no match for the SV6. I had a bullbar so I thought, well, what's it for if not telling the car in front that you'd like a little chat? There was nobody else around. I edged forward until the ute touched the rear bumper of the Datsun. The driver floored it, pulling away from us again.

‘Hey, don't damage the goods. I want that back in one piece.' Steph whacked me on the arm but I could tell she was enjoying this.

‘Don't sweat it. We'll find you that Mustang you're after.'

‘Very generous. What if he's not got the money with him and you need to find out where it is?'

I laughed and pressed on the accelerator. ‘I'll interrogate him before I pull him out of the wreck.'

‘And what if he doesn't survive?'

‘Boo fucken hoo.'

He was never going to outrun me and I knew he would have little option but to pull over. All I had to do was give him a little encouragement, and if he didn't want to comply, well, that was fine by me. If he wanted to end his days mangled in a pile of burning, twisted metal, that was his choice, though I wouldn't recommend it as a way to go.

I gave him another nudge, a bit harder this time. The Datsun slewed across the lane but he managed to keep it on the road. There was nothing coming in the opposite direction, so I moved out beside him and allowed the steering to drag slowly to the left. He tried braking to get behind me but I anticipated that and slowed accordingly. With the trailer hitched, my vehicle was much longer than his and he was soon hemmed in. He drifted onto the hard shoulder and gave up, skidding down into an empty field and coming to a juddering halt in a cloud of dust.

I pulled over onto the verge and switched off the ignition. This was not dissimilar to how we used to force suspect vehicles off the road in the service. It usually ended badly, for them more often than us. My old reflexes kicked in and I was out of the cab and running through the grass to confront him before he had a chance to gather himself. To her credit, Steph wasn't far behind me as I yanked the Datsun's door open and reached inside to snatch a handful of the driver's T-shirt.

It wasn't Mikey. This guy was older, in his late thirties maybe. He had a ruddy country-boy face and was balding at the crown. The skin on his cheeks was pockmarked with old acne scars. He wasn't the town heart-throb, that was for sure. The striped polo shirt he was wearing had seen better days and his jeans had grease and food stains in the crotch. I dragged him out of the driver's seat and shoved him up against the side of the car. He struggled a bit but I could tell straightaway he was shitting himself.

‘What? What?' he shouted, his voice trembling. ‘What'd I do?'

I released his shirt, took a single step back and levelled a finger at his quivering jowls. ‘Where is he?'

‘Who? Who you after? Fucking hell, mate, take it easy.'

‘The guy you got this car from.' I slammed my palm on the Datsun's roof next to his head, for effect. My anger was subsiding already. ‘And don't tell me to take it easy. Now where is he? Answer carefully.'

The stranger blinked several times, shook his head and stammered, ‘Nowra. He's in Nowra.'

‘Friend of yours, is he?'

‘Not really. He used to work out on my uncle's place. Why, what's he done?'

‘Never you mind.'

Steph stepped forward, arms folded across her chest. ‘Skinny little shit, yeah? Into hip-hop?'

The stranger snorted and relaxed a little. ‘Uh, I don't think we're talking about the same person.' He exhaled and rolled his eyes. ‘That's a relief. I thought…'

I wagged my finger menacingly in his face. ‘Tell me exactly who gave you this car.'

The man winced. ‘Old Bill Sherman—where else would I buy a car round here?'

‘Uh huh. Keep talking.'

‘Bill runs the scrappers down behind the servo. Bought this off him last week for three hundred bucks. It's not, uh, yours, is it?'

‘Uh, yes, it
uh
is.' Steph made a face.

‘Well, how was I supposed to know? I bought it from old Bill in good faith. Buggered if I know where he got it from.'

I turned away and kicked at a clump of dry grass. Not really what I'd hoped to hear, though I shouldn't have been surprised. I was dimly aware of the driver talking softly to Steph behind me, reassuring her that this was an honest mistake and that Bill Sherman was a decent old bloke, clearly not completely honest but not exactly a war criminal in hiding.

I wasn't much in the mood for that kind of bleating. I strode back and took hold of his T-shirt again, dragging him awkwardly onto the bonnet as he squealed in protest.

‘This car was stolen from my girlfriend here, and the best you can do is this old fucken Bill shit?'

‘What do you want from me?' he whined. ‘I didn't do anything!'

‘You're in receipt of stolen goods, for a start,' I said, and gripped the side of his head in my palm, grinding his cheek into the hot paintwork. He started making a huffing sound then and it was only when Steph touched me on the forearm that I realised he was crying.

It's just as well she intervened when she did. I was in the mood for leaving the guy with a couple of cracked ribs and a punctured lung for his trouble. Steph curled up her nose and shook her head, so I hoisted him back up onto his feet and bundled him away from the car. I hooked one foot around his ankle and shoved him so he fell on the grass.

When I looked back at the Datsun, Steph was already inside, her arse and feet poking out the door as she gathered whatever belonged to the driver and scooped it onto the ground. She took the keys from the ignition and went around to check the boot. There was a cardboard box full of stuff in there, so she dumped that into the field as well.

‘That it?'

‘I think so.' She rummaged in the boot a bit more and came out with her missing denim jacket, the one with the chequered lining that she wore often. She held it up, all smiles. ‘Ha! Score! Glad he didn't chuck this.'

‘Jump in,' I told her. ‘Meet you back up on the road.'

She got into the car and adjusted the driver's seat, tutting as she pulled it forward. The rough terrain probably hadn't done wonders for the Datsun's chassis but as long as it made it to the next town we'd be all right. As far as I was concerned old Bill in Nowra would be fixing up any damage, not to mention providing me with every scrap of information he had on Mikey.

Steph gunned the Datsun back up the embankment, its rear wheels spinning momentarily on the grass. The driver was sitting up by then, hugging his legs, wisely holding his tongue. It was only when I turned to leave that he spoke.

‘Mate, it's about thirty ks back into town. That's a long fucken walk.'

I halted and drummed my fingers against my thigh.

‘So?'

‘Well, give us a lift?'

I stepped back to where he was crouched and proffered my hand. He clutched my wrist, and as he rose I slapped him across the mouth with my free hand—so hard that it stung my palm. He let go of me and fell back to where he was sitting before, clutching his face.

Steph was waiting for me back on the road. I gave her the iPod from the ute and told her to stay in front of me just in case the Datsun carked it. She glanced at the bloke lying in the paddock and frowned at me, but said nothing.

‘What? He asked for a lift. Can you believe that?'

‘Oh.' She shook her head and grinned. ‘I thought maybe he wanted his three hundred bucks back.'

‘I'm not running a fucken charity.'

‘I know, but, we did get the car back, baby, and my jacket.' She shrugged good-naturedly and raised an eyebrow.

‘You're a soft touch.' I was annoyed by the situation but she was right, we had struck lucky. Although it was doubtful that this old Bill fellow would have the slightest idea where Mikey had gone, the morning had, on the whole, worked out better than anticipated. Now all I had to do was find the little prick, get my money back and explain to him why it was such a bad idea to cross me.