The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull (20 page)

‘What about that bag? The one with the white stuff, that the Pitbull took from the Ferret?'

‘I've no idea, Kiffo. Maybe it was medication. It might have been instant mashed potato for the junkies' dinner for all we know!'

I put my arm around his shoulders and he didn't remove it.

‘I know you've put a lot into this,' I said. ‘We both have. And it's difficult sometimes to accept that all the hard work, all the emotional and physical energy, has been for nothing. That we've wasted our time. But we've got to accept it. Give it up, Kiffo. Cut our losses. It's time to get back to normal.'

Kiffo's face twisted in concentration. He could never win a rational argument with me and he knew it.

‘Okay, Calma,' he said, finally. ‘Just one more try. Give me that. Just one more go. If we don't get nowhere, then I give up. Come on. It's not much to ask, is it? A last chance?'

Maybe I was feeling a little confused and dispirited by the events of the week, but I felt myself weakening. He was looking so intently into my eyes. Pleading almost.

‘I'm not going anywhere near the Pitbull, Kiffo. No way.'

‘You don't have to, Calma!' Kiffo was so excited by the implied agreement of my last statement that he was almost shaking. ‘You don't have to. We go after what's-his-name, Collins, the Ferret bloke. One day. One day, Calma. We get nothing, that's it. Finished!'

‘One day? Daylight? No messing around at night?'

‘Swear! It gets dark, we're done.'

‘When?'

‘Saturday.'

I pretended to consider it. In fact, I knew immediately that I couldn't refuse him. He was so desperate for the game to continue that I couldn't bear to be the one to call it off, to take my bat and ball and go home. This way it was a shared, negotiated ending. Anyway, to be perfectly honest, I felt reluctant to give up myself. What I had said to Kiffo about the sense of waste wasn't just words. I felt it acutely. That there was something shameful in surrender. Just one more go? I had little to lose, particularly since it was extremely unlikely that the Ferret could dob me in to the police for stalking after just one day. And maybe, just maybe . . .

‘All right, Kiffo. Saturday. But that's it.'

Kiffo beamed. I had rarely seen him look so pleased about anything. He was lonely too. He needed the warmth of shared experience.

‘I'll pick you up, Saturday morning, at eight,' he said, looking like he wanted to hug me.

Chapter 21
One last go

Mum left the house at seven on Saturdays, so I was showered and ready by a quarter to eight. I had had a day to think about things and I was feeling excited as I got dressed. Something would happen today. And if it didn't, at least it would signal a finish. One way or another, this was going to be an important day.

Kiffo knocked on the door right on nine o'clock. I opened up and did a double take. He was dressed in leathers and had a crash helmet on. The only way I could tell it was him was a tell-tale tuft of red hair poking out the side of the helmet and the shape of the leather trouser legs which curved away from each other alarmingly. Kiffo couldn't stop a pig in an alley. In his right hand, he carried a spare helmet. He stood for a moment, allowing me to take in his full splendour, and then flipped up his visor in triumph.

‘Surprise!'

I looked over his shoulder. Parked outside the house was a very large red motorbike. Now don't expect me to get technical here. I've no idea what type of an engine it had. No idea if it was two stroke, four stroke, or breast stroke. It could have been fuelled by coal for all I know. Nor do I know if it was a Yamaha, a Mitsubishi or a Mount Fujiyama. It's best in these matters to stick to what you know. I know that it was red. And big.

Kiffo unbuckled his helmet and took it off. He really did look ridiculously pleased with himself. It was kind of disarming. I mean, he looked like a complete loser and, in other circumstances, I wouldn't have hesitated in telling him so. But right now I didn't have the heart.

Okay, call me stupid if you like, but it took a few moments before the significance of the second helmet hit home.

‘Kiffo,' I said, ‘you aren't expecting me to get on that bike, are you?'

He looked instantly crushed.

‘Well, yeah,' he said. ‘I borrowed it specially. You know, get around quickly and that.'

‘You can forget it.'

He grabbed my arm.

‘Aw, come on, Calma. Don't be such a wuss. Look, what are we supposed to do? Grab a number 5 bus and ask the driver to follow the small guy in the business suit? Come on, Calma. Be reasonable.'

I could see his point, but I was far from convinced. There were a few little objections that sprang to mind.

‘And the fact that you haven't got a licence, Kiffo? That it isn't your bike?' A sudden thought occurred to me. ‘It's not stolen, is it?'

Kiffo looked horrified, as if the thought of taking something that didn't belong to him was deeply offensive to his sense of morality.

‘No, it isn't,' he said, his voice thick with righteous indignation. ‘It's a mate's bike. He knows I've got it!'

‘All right,' I said. ‘But that still doesn't mean you can legally take it out on the road. Come on, Kiffo. What if there's an accident? What if the police stop us?'

‘What if, what if! Give it a break, willya? We haven't got time for this.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean I know where he is! I'm already on the trail, Calma. I have been since seven this morning. But I tell ya. If we don't get moving soon, he'll have gone. Come on. I'm a good rider, honest. I've been on bikes since I was seven. There's nothing to worry about.'

As far as I could see, there was plenty to worry about. I had visions of a police car pulling us over, Constable Ryan getting out of the driver's side and walking towards us. Or being hit by a road train and ending up as road pizza. And for what? Just so we could spend a day following an innocent businessman around? No. The whole idea was absurd, impossible. There was no way I was getting on the back of that thing.

‘All right,' I said. ‘But you'd better drive slowly, okay?'

Kiffo grinned. I took the helmet and he showed me how to put it on. I checked myself out in the mirror and I have to confess that I looked pretty damn good. Sort of cool and tough. It was comforting, also, to know that with the visor down, there was little likelihood of anyone recognising me. Listen, to tell you the absolute truth, the whole idea was quite exciting! I got on the back of the bike, planted my feet firmly on the footrests and grabbed hold of Kiffo round the waist. I was ready.

I wasn't ready. For one thing, when Kiffo started the bike up it felt like there was a small earthquake under my backside. It was like sitting on top of the Space Shuttle. For another thing, when Kiffo let out the clutch we shot away like crap off a stainless steel shovel. I could feel my feet rise off the pedals. I had to struggle, pulling at Kiffo's waist, before I could stop my legs tilting towards the sky in an absurdly undignified fashion.

Even though we had been travelling for about one-point-two seconds all my muscles had locked up. I could feel my fingers digging into Kiffo's leather jacket with such intensity that it would have taken a cold chisel to loosen my grip. The wind tore at my clothing and I could see the bitumen blurring past under my feet. I risked taking a peep over Kiffo's shoulder and then wished I hadn't.

At the end of my street there is a sharp bend to the right. We were approaching this at what seemed like two hundred kilometres an hour. Suddenly Kiffo leaned to his right and the bike tilted at an impossible angle. There was only one thing to do. If Kiffo was determined to hurl us to the ground then I must compensate. That's common sense, right? And, if I remember my physics classes correctly, in perfect keeping with one of those laws that Newton used to formulate for the sole purpose of making schoolkids' lives a misery. So I leaned sharply to my left.

Three things happened. Firstly, the bike wobbled crazily, an event that did nothing for the already fragile state of my bowels. Secondly, Kiffo started swearing in a fashion and at a volume that surprised even me. Thirdly, we slowed and then stopped. Well, how was I to know that when you went round a bend on a motorbike you were supposed to lean into it? I tried to point this out to Kiffo after he had calmed down, but I didn't get the chance. I had the first two words of a sarcastic retort framed when he screamed off and I went through the whole business of the tilting legs again.

Credit where credit is due. Kiffo knew how to handle the bike. He seemed confident in traffic and, once I had forced myself to lean with him round bends, I began to relax a little. Only a little, mind. My fingers still felt as if they had been set in quick drying concrete, but at least my bottom was no longer trying to eat the seat upholstery. In fact, after a while, I began to enjoy myself. I even felt a sense of freedom, particularly when we were travelling down broad main streets. I could feel the wind whipping at my neck and shoulders. It was so refreshing I thought it would be nice to lift the visor up on my helmet and let the air get to my face.

Unfortunately, no sooner had I done so than a small insect, clearly suffering from acute depression, decided that my open mouth was the ideal route for a suicide mission. With kamikaze-like determination it rocketed down my throat and splattered against my tonsils. Have you ever tried to cough up your oesophagus while travelling at over sixty kilometres an hour, with the wind rushing down your throat? Trust me on this one. It's difficult.

I suppose it had one benefit, however. I was so busy trying to get rid of the insect that I had no chance to see Kiffo's road manoeuvring. All I was aware of was the bike swerving from side to side and cars flashing past me to the right and the left. By the time I had recovered and got the visor back down, we were slowing down on a quiet residential street. Actually, a rather familiar residential street. In fact, a totally bloody familiar residential street. It was with a sense of rising desperation that I found my voice as we came to a stop under my casuarina tree.

‘Just what the bloody hell do you think you are doing, Kiffo?'

Kiffo pushed his visor back.

‘It's the Pitbull's place.'

‘I
know
it's the Pitbull's place! I have every reason to know where we are. What I want to know is what we are doing here!'

‘He's in there. The Ferret. That's his car in the driveway. I followed him this morning and he came here. Parked up, so I figured they wouldn't be leaving immediately. Took the chance that I would have enough time to pick you up.'

I felt like screaming and beating him round the back of the head with my crash helmet. In fact, I
did
start beating him around the back of the head with my helmet.

‘You bastard, Kiffo. You complete bastard! You knew I wouldn't come if I knew that this is where we would end up. The one place I swore I would never come back to. What are you trying to do? Get me in jail? Let's leave. Now.'

Kiffo did his conjuring trick with a rollie and blew a plume of smoke into the air.

‘Yeah. I knew you wouldn't come, so I didn't tell you. But I didn't lie to you, Calma. I just told you I knew where the Ferret was. And I do. He's in there with the Pitbull. Relax. There's no way she'll recognise you in that helmet. So stop hitting me with it and put it on, eh? Stay cool. Anyway, it's pretty interesting that he came here so early on a Saturday morning.'

‘I'll tell you what would be pretty interesting, Kiffo. My foot disappearing up your arse. Now, for God's sake . . .'

But I didn't get any further. The front door of the Pitbull's house opened and she and the Ferret walked out to the car. They seemed in a hurry. I scrambled to get my helmet back on and Kiffo kicked the bike into life. The car, a beautiful sleek black job – might have been a BMW, but I'm not crash hot on cars either – reversed down the driveway and swept off down the road. The occupants didn't even look in our direction.

Kiffo spun the bike round and we accelerated smoothly after the car, which made a right turn at the end of the street. The anger I was feeling started to dissolve and that sense of excitement infected me again. Maybe Kiffo was right. There probably was little chance of them seeing us. To hell with it. Let me be honest here. I really was doing this only for Kiffo. I knew, after what Jonno had told us, that there was nothing in the way of a mystery left. But we needed to see this through. Just this one last day. Anyway, this whole thing was like a movie. A car chase. Bloody oath. It was the only thing missing from our little fantasy and here was the chance to live it. All we needed was to be in radio contact with a helicopter and it would have been perfect.

‘Roger, Foxtrot Tango One. We have visual on the target.

Confirm. We have visual.'

‘Roger that, Delta. Proceed down Main Street on a one-zero-
three.'

It didn't really matter that we were just following a doctor and a drug counsellor, probably on their way to a drug rehabilitation meeting or something. I still got an adrenaline rush.

Kiffo caught up with the car quickly and then dropped back a little, keeping a few car lengths between us and them. Traffic was still light and we had no trouble keeping them in view. The only problem was that there were so few cars on the road that I felt we must be really conspicuous. I had to tell myself that innocent people wouldn't ever think that someone might be following them, that a motorbike in the rear-view mirror would scarcely cause anyone to panic. Still felt strange, though.

After about five minutes it was clear that the route we were following was taking us out of the city. I could only hope that they weren't going interstate. I had visions of us following them through the outback for days.