The Ottoman Motel (18 page)

Simon had the hang of it now. That was what they said, wasn't it:
It's like riding a bike
. He and Pony rode together up the hill, back towards the highway. Simon wondered how long it would take to cycle back to the Gold Coast. He thought, he
kept
thinking, of the empty house waiting for him. He could live there, maybe. He could drag his bed down to the lounge room, watch TV whenever he liked. Eat cereal, like Pony did, at all times of the day. But then there would be the nights. Not even the nights—the knowing night was coming. The purple-streaked sky that would set over the canals. The dead glow of street lights outside the window. The buzz of lazy boats. The loneliness.

They passed only one car before they reached Tarden and Kuiper's house. A station wagon with wood panelled sides, a surfer car, Simon thought. A group of teenagers, shirtless boys, whooping out the windows. The tyres spat out a wave of sandy grit. Pony shot them a sideways glare, set his mouth. Simon tasted exhaust and the ocean.

When they came to a stop by the house, Pony wiped out his mouth with two fingers. ‘Did you see those idiots?' he said. ‘What's the godawful hurry?' He pulled out another band-aid, peeled it off its backing and attached it to his neck.

‘Are you hurt?' asked Simon.

‘That's a stupid question.'

‘Sorry, I—' Simon didn't know what he was really apologising for. A little fire of anger rose. ‘Don't call me stupid, all right?
It's not normal, doing that, and there's no reason I should act like it is.'

Pony shrugged.

‘Putting band-aids on when you don't need to. And those safety tests. Nothing's really that dangerous.'

‘Must be working then,' said Pony. He walked towards the house.

Simon followed him reluctantly, through the gate, through the maze of old cars. The boat was still there, blue netting hanging over the sides. Simon sighed loudly. What where they doing here?

The house was a fibro building in obvious disrepair. All along the bottom of one wall was a crack as thick as a pencil. By the back door was a pile of white plastic tubs, the kind Simon's mum made him keep his Lego in. A humming sound. A huge brown freezer, dented like the cars in the front yard, but with a shiny padlock. Pony kicked the side of the freezer and it clanged. There was a sound inside, only just noticeable above the hum. A scrabbling, scratching noise. Simon looked at Pony. They had both heard it.

‘What's that?' Simon imagined a container full of spiders.

‘One way to find out.'

‘What do you—'

Pony spun around and grabbed Simon by the collar of his shirt. He threw him against the side of the freezer. Metal squeaked, and Simon felt a pain in his back, like a sudden, deep itch.

‘Are you my friend,' said Pony, ‘or not?' Pony's broken-up voice was now just a scratchy hiss.

‘Get off,' said Simon, as calmly as he could, despite his pulse thumping in his ears. ‘Of course we're friends.'

‘Are. You. My. Friend.'

‘Yes. All right. Yes.'

‘And friends stick together.'

‘Yes.'

Pony released his grip on Simon's arms, but kept him pinned. He nodded to himself. Simon thought suddenly that this, far from being hostile, was as close as Pony got to genuine affection. He wondered if Pony, like Simon himself, had not had a close friend his entire life.

‘You can't tell anyone what I'm about to do. What
we're
about to do.'

Simon shook his head. ‘Okay.'

Pony let Simon go. He took off his rucksack and reached inside it. He pulled out a black leather satchel, like a bag you'd keep marbles in.

‘What's that?'

Pony put a finger to his lips. He crouched down and opened the satchel. It rolled out neatly, exposing four or five metal spikes, nestled in small leather clasps.

‘What are they?'

Pony shot him a dirty look. ‘You're supposed to be keeping watch.'

Simon scanned the house. He couldn't see the road, let alone if someone was coming along it. He watched the high leaves shiver in the eucalypts. The wind whistled loudly through the high wire fence encircling the yard. He turned back to Pony.

Pony had one of the metal spikes between his fingers. Simon saw it was a tiny cylinder, with a sharp point at one end. Pony saw him looking. He said, ‘I ordered them, okay? You can get anything mail order. Came with instructions and everything. Knew they'd come in handy one day.'

Pony took another larger tool from the satchel. He inserted it into the padlock.

‘You're picking the lock.' Simon had seen it done in the movies, but never in real life.

‘Well, yeah.' Pony jiggled the picks together in the lock. ‘I need to…Listen,' he said. A knock came from inside the freezer again.

Simon had a sudden vision of his parents, folded up inside. A shiver travelled down his neck.

The padlock sprung open. Pony grinned. ‘Help me with the lid.'

They each took an edge of the freezer's lid and heaved it upwards, Simon's heart pounding. It was dark inside, the light broken. His arms burning with the lid's weight, he willed his eyes to adjust and eventually they did. No bodies. He felt a wave of relief. Inside were just more white containers, stacked two abreast. The air inside wasn't as cold as it should have been.

‘Hold on, can you?' Pony shifted his weight and manoeuvred the lid onto his shoulder. ‘I'll try and open one up.' He reached in, and Simon felt the lid dig further into his hands. He was sure he could see dark shapes inside the containers.

‘You right?' said Pony.

‘Yeah.' Simon's voice trembled. Pain shot all the way down his arm.

Pony's fingers scrabbled with the container's lid. ‘Nearly—' He prised an edge free and lifted it. ‘Jesus.'

A smell hit them: an awful sour fishy smell. Crabs. Dozens of them. Many floating motionless in water, a few still moving, grasping at the air with their claws. It was them making the noise. When Simon looked closer he saw the water was brown and foetid. It wasn't even cold inside the freezer. Then he saw crab legs rising to the surface of the water, parts of their bodies floating by themselves. He thought of Tarden biting his finger, the babies at the bottom of the lake.

‘Man,' said Pony. ‘That's crazy.'

Simon released his held breath and stood back from the freezer. At least his parents weren't in there. At least—

A car engine.

‘Crap.' Pony pulled the lid back on the container. ‘Shut it. Quick.'

Simon's heart hammered his chest as he shifted back away from the freezer. They let the lid fall with a deafening slam that sent a thin crack through the enamel.

‘Crap crap crap.' Pony flicked the padlock shut and gathered up the satchel. ‘What are they doing here?' He scanned around him. Beads of sweat crowned his eyebrows. ‘They'll see us.'

Simon already knew the fence around the yard was too high to climb. The way they had come in was also the only way out. Why would they—‘Oh no,' he said. ‘The bikes!'

Pony grimaced. Two cars doors slammed. ‘We left them in the yard. God damn.'

‘What do we do?' Simon heard Kuiper's voice, his laughter, floating through from the front yard.

Pony scrunched up his face. ‘The shed.'

They sprinted across the yard. The roller door was on the other side of the fence, but as Simon had hoped there was a narrow access door by the shed's back corner. The door was locked. As Pony scrambled to find the right picks to unlock it, Simon heard Kuiper and Tarden's voices coming closer. Loud voices, shouting. Simon was sure they'd found the bikes. He pictured the two men running around the house, searching for intruders. ‘Quick,' he said. ‘Quick!'

‘Shut up,' said Pony. ‘Just give me a minute.' His hands shook. The metal picks ticked inside the lock.

‘They're really close.'

‘Simon. Shut.
Up
.'

Simon could almost hear footfalls behind him. He expected any minute for rough hands to grab him by the shoulders. He wanted desperately to look behind him, but knew as soon as he saw them, he would be done for. He hated his parents for bringing him here, hated his grandma for making them, hated the awful way his life had played out.

A hand grabbed his shirt, and all the air went out of him. He hit it with a blind panic, tried to fight it off, but it held fast. ‘
Simon
,' hissed a voice. The hand wasn't behind him: it was Pony, dragging him inside the shed, slamming the door shut behind them.

All sound disappeared. Simon could hear only his own breath, his chest heaving. Way above him, strips of fluorescent lights droned out a thin constant flicker on piles of black and blue netting, bunched at the bottom of the near wall. And the big aluminium cans, far more than Simon remembered, stacked on long shelves. Rows and rows of shelves. Thousands of cans, it looked like.

Pony let out a low whistle. ‘What the hell is this place?'

Simon swallowed. ‘I don't know.' The whole space made him strangely, quietly, terrified. A shadow caught the corner of his eye. The same spiky sense of something he'd seen yesterday morning. He leaned his head down and saw that it wasn't a spider: it was a crab, the same sort from the freezer. It scuttled away to a far corner.

Pony cocked his head. ‘Quick.' He grabbed Simon's arm.

There was a noise of keys jangling. Two voices argued outside, the sound coming through walls as a thick whisper.

Simon froze.

‘Come on!' hissed Pony. He flicked the lock closed just as the key went in, hauled Simon off his feet, dragged him away from the door. They ran to the other end of the shed, throwing themselves behind the end of a row that, luckily enough, was wide enough to cover them both from sight. In the corner nearest them was a large machine that looked like something from a history book, a complicated multi-levelled contraption, shelves of cans and lids sitting above it. Just beside it was something even bigger, covered with two bright blue tarpaulins. One of the tarpaulins didn't reach right to the floor and Simon could see a wheel, no, a tyre. The brand name was just visible. The same brand his father always went on about. Simon was about to say something but Pony put a hand over his mouth. Instead of sweat or dirt, there was a sweet, medicinal smell to Pony's fingers. Pony shook his head, and drew Simon down to a crouch.

The door opened at the other end of the room, and the two voices grew louder.

Kuiper clipped voice: ‘You honestly can't be serious.'

The other voice, Tarden. ‘Not as if you need me, anyway.'

The door closed. Simon turned his head, trying to peer past the row without being seen. The two men stood with their back to him. Kuiper's hand shook. He said, ‘It's a bit late to be backing out, now. I think we've come a bit bloody far for that.'

‘It's just getting too dangerous, Robbie. That's all I'm saying.'

Kuiper locked the door. He moved his body to block it. He was facing Simon now, but looking intently at Tarden. ‘And who are we supposed to blame for that? The buck stops with us, Jack.'

‘I came here to get clean,' said Tarden. ‘All this,' he swung his arms out, ‘I never agreed to this, it's getting too much. And I don't want to be a part of it.'

‘The old Jack Tarden defence,
I just happened to be there
. That's going to wear thin pretty soon.'

‘Fuck you.'

‘Indeed.'

Tarden started pacing the floor. Moving down the rows and back again. ‘I knew something like this would happen,' he said. ‘It was just too easy.'

Simon swung his head back out of sight. He looked over at Pony, who was staring into his fists, clenching and unclenching them. At least, Simon thought, it didn't seem like Tarden and Kuiper had discovered their bikes.

‘Jack,' said Kuiper, ‘it'll be fine. Ned's little accident was a stroke of luck and—'

Tarden's shoes squeaked on the concrete floor. Simon imagined him turning around abruptly. ‘People haven't forgotten they're still missing!' he said. ‘What are we supposed to do about that?'

Simon felt invisible hands tugging at his throat. His haunches burned. He wanted so badly to move his feet.

‘People go missing,' said Kuiper. ‘Things happen. Who's going to figure it out? Our police presence? I think we know
them
well enough not to be concerned. Or is it the dumb-fucks at the bar you're worried about?' He snorted. ‘Remember the Gale woman? In a few weeks, everyone will have forgotten about all of this.'

‘What about the boy? Simon?'

‘Jesus, Jack. What's your preoccupation with that kid?'

Simon heard Tarden's feet shuffle. ‘I just…I feel responsible. That's all. He doesn't deserve this.'

‘I'll sort him out,' said Kuiper.

‘Just like you
sorted out
the problem of his mum and dad? Their fucking
car
is sitting in our fucking production shed.'