Thunder Road (16 page)

WE LOADED UP the car and began the drive out to the
Waitakere
hills. On the way Devon stopped at one of those
repossession
shops in Avondale where poor people can pawn stuff when their dole won’t stretch to the next Thursday. I waited in the car while Dev bought this clunky old stereo for three hundred dollars. He hadn’t mentioned that he wanted one.

‘What’s that? A present for Martin?’ I asked. We loaded it into the back. It was one of those old black stereos with big wooden speakers. It looked like crap to me. He pulled an ounce bag out of his pocket and held it up. ‘No. This is a present for Martin.’ He scrabbled about in the glove box and pulled out one of those screwdrivers with exchangeable tips and gave it to me.

‘Here. Be useful. Take the back cover off those speakers.’

So I unscrewed as he wound his way out to Titirangi. When I had both covers off we stopped and he grabbed the bag of notes out of the boot. We were next to a primary school and a couple of kids ran over to the fence to watch us.

He gave me the bag and said, ‘Stick the notes in the speakers Trace, I’ll talk to these kids.’

I filled both speaker cabinets with about an equal amount of money so they would weigh roughly the same. I was careful not to disturb the wires so the speakers would still work if Martin tried them out. When I had screwed the covers back onto the cabinets I saw that a woman teacher had joined Devon’s little entourage. I gave a little blip on the horn and he came back
and climbed in. The teacher was only young, not much older than us, and stood watching as we drove off.

‘Did you get it all in OK?’

‘Yeah, I divided it between the two speakers. What was all that about?’

‘I forgot. You can’t talk to kids any more. If you do you must be a molester.’ He was angry. ‘I mean, Trace, how fucked is that? You can’t possibly talk to kids because you just like kids. It must be that you are dying to touch their willies.’

‘Is that what the teacher thought?’

‘To start with, but she was cool. I had to invent a past at the school to be on the safe side. “Does Mrs Moss still teach here? I had her in Standard Four” sort of thing.’ Trace, remember stuff like that when you’re feeling a bit off about breaking a stupid little rule. The whole game is stuffed. It’s made all of us into sick bastards too.’

It was late afternoon by the time we found the long driveway that led to Martin and Gail’s house. It was one of those areas you get around the fringe of Auckland where there are no lawns or fences – just houses plonked in thick native bush. Their house was high up off the ground on poles. Four cars blocked the driveway.

‘Looks like they might have visitors.’

‘No, Martin is still in the auto repair business. The cars
follow
him wherever he goes. He’s good but he’s slow. Grab the speakers!’

We carried the stereo up the drive, squeezing past two identical Legacy wagons.

Devon, with his arms full of amp and CD player, nodded at the two cars.

‘Looks sus.’

‘Why?’

‘You get an instinct for these things.’

We knocked and waited but there was no reply. After a while Devon stepped back and called out in a silly feminine voice, ‘Yoo hoo! Anybody home?’ Upstairs there was a loud stereo banging out ‘Stairway to Heaven’.

Soon we heard footsteps. I caught a glimpse of Gail through the side window. She was wearing nothing but a long T-shirt. Then she turned and yelled back into the house, ‘It’s Devon and his mate. They’re bearing stereos.’

Martin came around the corner buttoning up a pair of black Levis. Barefooted, bare chested. We walked back to the sitting room.

‘Jesus, man,’ he muttered to Devon. ‘Your timing’s not very good. “Stairway to Heaven” is our sex mantra.’

‘Sorry, man. You should put a sign on the door like they do in hotels. “Do not disturb. Fucking.”’

We put the stereo down in the corner of the room and
wandered
out onto the deck which hung out over the driveway.

‘Awesome views from here,’ I said to Gail, who sprawled on a deck chair, her T-shirt not quite doing the job.

‘You should see it at night. Auckland in lights, but you’re at a safe distance from the contamination. It’s been cosmic
moving
out here. A spiritual revelation. Sometimes we drag out our mattress. Sleep under the stars.’

‘After sampling product I bet,’ Devon chipped in.

I realised from the vacant way Martin was still staring at the city that he and Gail were well stoned.

‘Where’s little Martin?’ I asked.

‘He’s taking a well-earned vacation,’ said Gail. ‘It’s given
Martin and me time to catch up on each other. It’s cool.’

‘So where is he?’ asked Devon, ‘Hawaii, the Gold Coast…?’

‘Huntly,’ said Martin, rejoining reality for a while. ‘With Gail’s mum. What’s the story with the stereo? You can buy portable ones now, Devon, they’re much easier to handle.’

‘Nice one, Martin,’ said Devon, pretending to enjoy his wit. ‘Actually, it’s a hostage I’ve taken, against an outstanding debt. More of a reminder than anything. When he goes to play some sounds he’ll think, “Must pay Devon for the ounce bag.” That’s the theory anyway. I may end up just flicking it. Thing is I don’t want it at our place at the moment because burglars and tea leaves have been calling and walking off with anything not screwed down.’

‘You get that in the poorer areas, actually,’ said Martin with a fake ponce accent.

‘Can you look after it for a while?’

‘Sure, it’ll be OK here.’

‘Where are you guys heading?’

‘Up North pretty soon, I reckon. We’re due for a
vacation
ourselves,’ said Devon. Then he added with ironic formality, ‘Thank you Gail, thank you Martin. Here is a little something for your troubles.’ He tossed Gail a little bag of buds. When we walked to the front door he added to Martin, ‘And for intruding on your Stairway. Devonus interruptus.’

Once we were back in the car, I asked, ‘What’s on the agenda now?’

‘Well, there are a number of things. Things business and things pleasure. We have to go to Warkworth, to restock and slip Johnno his cut. I still owe Wiremu a few ks. He’ll be after that. Better restock the cupboards. Umm … give something to Rebel and Co., to get them off our backs, and then,’ he paused
for effect, ‘and only then, we can bury ourselves in the pleasures of female flesh.’

I felt a bit flustered. ‘I don’t know if it’s even on … it’s not like I’ve organised anything.’

Devon turned to me. ‘Do you want this Trace, this mystery weekend?’ A sudden seriousness had come into his voice.

I faltered. ‘Yeah, of course I want it.’

‘Then we’ll do it. I’ll organise it.’ He reached over and pinched my cheek the way you’d do to a little kid.

‘How are you going to do it?’

‘Don’t you trouble your tiny head about that. Just help me out with this other stuff first and everything shall come to you.’

And I believed him. There was something so persuasive about him.

I GUESS IT MUST have been a week or so later that Devon announced that we were ‘headed up North’. I was relieved. I thought he’d conveniently forgotten what he’d promised. So much had happened during the last few weeks in Auckland, it would be a blast just to be on the road again. Everything had been closing in on us. Getting faster and faster. I didn’t feel safe any more: not even at the cottage. I hardly slept, trusted no one. Up at Johnno’s it would be different. It was a place where time seemed to stand still.

We were greeted by the usual posse of dogs at the front of Johnno’s property. His craggy figure moved among them so I felt able to get out and open the gate without them ripping my arms off. The whole place was bathed in the dense yellow light of sunset. We all took on a dusky brown hue, like those sepia photos you see of pioneers against fake backgrounds. The moment was about as real, too.

We made to go inside but Johnno was really excited about something he wanted to show us. We wandered around the back of the house to where the big chunky form of a car was draped in a cover. Devon flashed me a certain look: the last thing he wanted to see was yet another Studebaker. Johnno flicked the cover off with a magician’s flourish, to reveal a gleaming Shelby Mustang. It was a deep metallic red, with broad white racing stripes rising up over the bonnet and roof, and disappearing down its sharply raked fastback. It had massive chromed wheels
and all those air scoops and badges that were big back in the seventies. A bit of a dinosaur really: huge and powerful maybe, but clumsy and primitive compared with the cars we raced out on Thunder Road. To say it was mint was an understatement. It was as though it had never been driven on the road. It was too clean. Johnno stood there, grinning like an idiot. Me and Devon made all the right noises.

‘Isn’t this just the duck’s nuts?’ Johnno chuckled.

‘Where’d it come from?’ asked Devon.

‘I thought after all my hard work in our
joint venture
I’d reward myself with a seventies sex machine.’

‘Oh yes?’ Devon sounded pissed off. He knew bullshit when he heard it.

We piled in. The interior was a glittering mass of chrome instruments, logos, and flashy panel-work.

‘Where’s the key?’

Johnno had it on a clip on his belt, along with a dozen
others
. The Mustang’s key had a silver running horse on a leather fob. Even the key ring was original.

Devon smiled. ‘It really is your baby, huh. I guess you had to get rid of some of the others?’

He shook his head. ‘This has got nothing to do with my
collection
. I just had to have it, because of the rarity. Only four in the country and this is the best one.’

‘How’d you pay for it then?’

He looked rueful.

‘Don’t tell me you stole it?’

That wasn’t it. He looked embarrassed. Then he came through like a little boy, ’fessing up.

‘There was an ad in the
Trade and Exchange
Collectible Cars section. For a Studebaker Avanti. It’s the car I’ve always wanted.
The last model they ever made before they went bust. Super charged V8 donk. Could do a hundred and eighty if it’s geared right. It’d sort of complete my collection. So I drove down to Aucks to check it out. This was a few days ago. When I get there I find the owner’s already sold it. Or it was gone … or something. Anyway, he had this Shelby.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ said Devon.

‘No man, he was cool. He offered me a toke and we got
talking
and I gathered that he was after weed. I thought I would sweeten the deal by slipping him an ounce, and when he saw it he suggested we do the deal with dak, not money. It made sense.’

‘How much did you give him?’

‘A few kilos, but I laced it with cabbage to bring the weight up.’

‘Shit!’ Devon was furious.

‘It wasn’t much. There’s plenty more.’

Devon wouldn’t answer. He stood with his back to us, staring straight into the setting sun.

‘Hey, whoa there Devon, it’s my dope too, you know. You didn’t do all this alone.’

Devon was beyond pissed. ‘What was this guy called?’

‘He called himself Spider. He was a tough little bastard, you know they never use their real names. What’s the big deal? It’s probably hot anyway. I’m never going to drive it anywhere. I just sort of wanted it, you know. A sort of rebound thing.’

‘This guy was a sort of skinhead dude and he had a yard in Glen Eden?’

‘Yeah. You know him?’

‘Sure do. Sure do,’ said Devon softly to himself. So angry now, he could barely speak. I felt sorry for Johnno. All the pleasure had melted from his face, like some spell had broken. We stood
around, both sort of embarrassed, waiting to hear what Devon was going to say next.

When he did speak again, he seemed to have lightened up. ‘Could I borrow this tank for a little drive Johnno? Back in ten.’

Johnno nodded and Devon fired it up. The deep burble that rolled out from under the bonnet is the sort of heartsong that any speed fiend instantly loves. But not today.

‘Get in, Trace!’ An order, not a request. His face was tense and stiff again.

We nosed slowly down the long drive and waited a moment at the gate.

‘What’s up?’ I asked.

‘I half expected to find Rebel and his goons waiting here.’

‘Don’t be para, man, it was probably just one of those
coincidences
. They happen. You’re adding two and two and getting three hundred and sixty nine.’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘Not quite, Trace.’

We trundled slowly down the road away from the state
highway
. The country round here was scrubbed and raw; the clearing of forests had left the land poor for farming. After a while we found ourselves passing through small pine plantations. They immediately brought to mind our night in the forest.

‘Man, these things are springing up like weeds.’ I was
hoping
to break the silence. ‘They cleared the native bush only to replace it with this crap.’

Devon nodded disinterestedly and then said, ‘Trace I’ve got a gut feeling, and my intuition is pretty reliable.’ He stared solemnly into the thickening dark. ‘Rebel must have known I had this mate up North somewhere. I could have told him about Johnno ages ago and forgotten it.’ I could see him
wracking
his brains. ‘The cunning prick worked out that Johnno’s
was likely where we were stashing the dak, set a trap, and our Johnno jumped straight in. I bet he lured him down with the promise of a rare Studebaker, one that doesn’t exist, and then subbed in this tank.’ His voice softened, almost to a sob. ‘
Johnno’s
pretty innocent you know, for all his roughness. He still basically trusts everybody.’

The light had drained from the evening sky so Devon turned the big car into a farmer’s yard and we headed slowly back the way we came.

‘They’ve been playing me, Trace. They knew it all. All the stuff I thought I had up my sleeve is gone.’

‘Look at the bright side. If they had known where the dope was stashed they would have taken it by now. They can’t have managed to track him back here.’

‘True. Johnno wouldn’t have told a guy like Rebel where he lives. He values his cars too much. Still, they’ve probably worked it all out by now.’

He paused.

‘Fuck it, Trace. When we thought we held all the cards, they knew. They all knew.’

Devon had been worrying away about the big picture – but I was just concerned about the part with Karen in it. Concerned our trip up North was being washed away. ‘We’ve still got the money and we’ve still got the dope. All we’ve lost is our secret hideaway.’

‘Do you remember those two Subarus in Martin’s driveway?’

I nodded.

‘You know I said it looked a bit sus?’

‘Mmm.’

‘They were a calling card, Trace. They said, “Rebel’s been here”. Martin never works on new cars like that. Specially not
pairs. I should have thought it through. And we’ve left all the money there.’

‘Then we’d better go back and get it.’

‘What’s the point? They’re Rebel employees now.’

He sounded very low. I wrenched my focus back to the task at hand. ‘I don’t think so. They’re free spirits. It’s about getting stoned and having sex. Grabbing all the chances they can get while little Martin is in Huntly “on vacation”. They’ve probably forgotten the stereo’s there. They had other business,
remember
. We should drive back now and grab it.’

We drove quietly back to the farm while Devon mulled
everything
over. The gate was closed again. ‘Go on, Trace. Be a big boy, you open it this time. Fight your demons.’

I climbed out reluctantly and walked to the gate. No dog barks, so I guessed they were inside with Johnno. I flicked open the gate and sat on the bonnet as we rolled quietly down the hill. To the left of the house there was this low shape in the grass. It was a dog lying down. Me and Devon both reached the same conclusion simultaneously. It was dead.

‘Let’s get out of here, Trace, this is not fucking good!’ Devon screamed, shoving the Mustang into reverse.

As I clambered in I saw two figures burst out of the front door. They were carrying guns. The wheels spun on the gravel drive and for a moment we were frozen, watching these guys closing on us, the taller one raising his shotgun. At that
moment
the wide wheels finally bit the road and we shot up the drive backwards.

There was a terrific boom and a yellow flash. The front of the car was hit by a blast of shot and the windscreen disappeared, along with one of the headlights. Bits of shot and glass poured
into the front seat. Devon didn’t turn but raced the big car backwards along the curving drive. By the time we reached the road we must have been doing about 60 ks in reverse. He hit the brakes, but there was no stopping this battleship. We skidded straight across the road and hit the opposite bank with a thump.

‘There go the tail lights,’ said Devon. He yanked the T-bar back into drive and planted. The engine roared but nothing happened. I opened the door and looked back. The back wheels were slightly off the ground, raised by the impact with the bank.

‘Quick Trace, they’ll be coming. Weigh down the back.’

I jumped up and down on the fastback lid while Devon made the rear wheels spin. It did nothing. I could see the gleam of headlights going on at Johnno’s. They would be on us in a
moment
. On an impulse I ran over and yanked the letter box out of the ground. I was able to squeeze the post under the wheels on one side and that, plus my weight on the back, made the rear wheels bite. Devon almost lost it again as he overshot. I was back in.

‘Jesus, this bitch is hard to control. Like driving the Titanic.’

We were off just as the other car emerged from the gate. It was the grey WRX rally car: Devon’s old car, right behind us.

‘It’s Rebel!’ I yelled.

‘This old clunker will never outrun that car. It’s a race horse against a cart horse.’

The car was so close to us now that I could clearly see two faces in the dull glow of the instrument lights. It was the two skinheads that had been at Rebel’s that last time.

We drove slowly along the middle of the country road that led to the main highway. The skins were waiting their chance on the wider road, content just to follow us. Up ahead I could see the triangular reflection of the Give Way sign. We were running
out of time and space.

Bits of windscreen glass were everywhere: in our clothes, our hair, and flying past our faces as the wind dislodged more pieces. I looked at Devon sparkling with the refracted light, his face covered with little dribbling cuts. He looked back.

‘Sorry, Trace. This fuck-up’s down to me.’

We stopped at the T-junction where the road was clear but Devon didn’t move. I looked at him and then the skins. They didn’t know what to do for a moment, then one jumped out of the car and walked towards us, shotgun at the ready, not sure of what we intended. At that moment, Devon planted his foot and we were a hundred metres ahead by the time they were mobile again.

There was a series of big straights on the road back to
Auckland
: favourite speed sites. Devon took the Mustang up to a hundred and fifty ks. I knew it was nowhere near fast enough.

‘Is that all it will do?’

‘Nah, it’s got a bit more, but I’m saving it.’

I looked back. The other car was gaining on us so fast it was like we were parked. They would have us before we reached the end of the straight. The passenger’s window was open and the gun barrel protruded at the ready.

‘Hold on, Trace!’ Devon roared.

A moment later they drew level. I could see the grinning face of the smaller skinhead, like this was what he was dying to do. I braced myself for the explosion that would end it all. Without warning, Devon wrenched the wheel down and the big car hit the little WRX with an impact that fired it straight off the road. There was a shower of sparks and then all I saw was the glow of their tail lights disappear as they went end over end down the steep bank. Devon locked up and lost the Mustang completely
in a crazy spin. When the scream of tyres died and the smoke cleared, we were parked in the middle of the highway facing the wrong way.

‘Yes!’ I heard him yell. ‘We did it!’

As the car limped back to Johnno’s the elation was short lived. There was a terrific rubbing noise coming from the front of the car and Devon said the steering was really funny and loose. We stopped at the turn-off to check out the damage. The stoved-in front guard had carved a big groove out of our front tyre and the wheels were wildly pigeon-toed.

Approaching Johnno’s we drove at a mere crawl, not wanting to arrive. Devon flicked off the headlights as we moved down the drive and said, ‘I want you in our car, ready to really boot it. Rebel may be in there, waiting. I’m getting the shottie out of the Holden.’

I thought this arrangement was stupid but there wasn’t time to say so.

The night was so black and moonless you could hardly see a thing. I stumbled over a dead bull terrier as we reached the car. I crouched down and touched it. Still warm and wet. I didn’t like dogs much, but still I felt sick. We picked our way over to the other car. The keys were in the ignition. I popped the boot and Devon pulled out the shotgun. He broke it in half to make sure it was loaded and then disappeared into the gloom. I knew he wanted some sort of showdown.