by Zane Lovitt
Moss lit up, offered the pack to Erskine.
‘Thanks but no thanks.’
‘You were saying?’ said Moss, the nicotine taking the edge off his fear.
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here but I don’t like it. I smell something on you and it’s not her.’ He gestured with his head at Hannah sitting in the back of the car.
‘Des here says you were asking him about getting your car fixed. What’s the problem?’
‘Don’t know, it stalled about ten kilometres out of town.’
‘Okay.’ Erskine breathed deeply, slid his gun back into its holster. ‘You go to Hennessy’s garage. Tell them I sent you and they’re to give you priority. As soon as your car’s fixed, fuck off out of here.’
Moss drew hard on the last of his cigarette as he watched the police car pull out of the carpark.
*
It was late afternoon when the Commodore was good to go. Moss had accompanied the mechanic, a beefy twenty-something male with red hair, to retrieve it. Half-way back into town Moss realised where he’d seen the man: one of Erskine’s drinking mates from the previous evening.
Moss returned to the hotel to collect his things. The room hadn’t been cleaned and Hannah’s scent was still in the air.
He avoided eye contact as the receptionist prepared his bill, his heart beating faster, not sure he could control his temper if he had to look at that man’s smirk one more time.
He threw his bag into the back seat, started the engine and floored it out of the motel car park.
Chon had never visited him or Rory in jail. Towards the end of his term, when it seemed he might just make it out alive, Moss wanted, more than anything, to talk to her. He eventually managed to get hold of a smuggled mobile phone, but before he could use it, the prison governor ordered the guards to raid all the cells – a crackdown on contraband. The guards confiscated every mobile in the joint, including his, burned them in a foul-smelling pile of plastic and circuitry in the prison courtyard. Soon after the governor hired a private company to install a mobile phone jamming system.
He kept the number for Chon, called it the day he was released. Moss wasn’t surprised when he got a recorded message in Khmer telling him it was no longer in use. He never got to hear her singsong voice, her broken English phrases, again. He never got to tell her he knew she’d sold them out to the cops in return for avoiding jail time but he wasn’t angry. He understood she was pregnant and just doing what was necessary to make sure she and the baby didn’t end up in prison.
As Moss drove through the outskirts of Riviera, he remembered cradling Rory’s broken head in his lap, the inmates pressed in a circle around them, the only sound the smack of truncheons as guards beat his friend’s killer unconscious and dragged him away.
Moss did a sharp U-turn, headed back into town.
*
Moss got directions to the caravan park from an elderly woman walking her dog. He parked outside the entrance, went on foot, past the temporary visitors, looking for the long-stay residents.
He eventually found a pre-fab building in an isolated spot at the rear. A clothesline was strung up outside, flapping with brightly coloured pieces of female clothing. A tattered canvas awning covered the front entrance, several chairs arranged in a circle underneath. Soft drink cans and food wrappers were strewn in the long grass. The steady thrum of dance music was audible from inside.
‘Hannah,’ he said loudly, to make himself heard over the music. He rapped his knuckles hard on the side of the building. ‘Hannah, you in there?’
The music stopped. He heard movement inside; a female, around Hannah’s age, appeared on the other side of the fly screen door. He recognised her as one of the girls in the bar the night before.
‘What do you want?’
‘Hannah there?’
‘It’s okay, Stace,’ came a voice.
‘What are you doing here?’ Hannah said, closing the screen door behind her. She wore the same clothes she’d had on that morning.
‘Pack some stuff, we’re getting out of here.’
‘What do you mean we? Just because you buy me for a night and don’t turn out to be a complete arsehole, doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do. I don’t even know who you are.’
‘I don’t have time to explain it to you now. But your mum…’ he hesitated. ‘She would’ve wanted you to come with me.’
‘What the fuck you know about my mum?’ Hannah spat out the words, stepped away but her eyes didn’t leave his.
Moss pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to find the right words but they wouldn’t come. What could he tell her? He didn’t know whether she was his, Rory’s or someone else’s. He’d only known Chon a short time – not at all, really. He didn’t know anything.
‘Hannah, I’ll tell you everything, I swear,’ he said, straining to keep the desperation out of his voice, worried it might panic her. ‘But, please, just get some stuff. Let’s get out of here.’
Hannah teared up, wiped them away with the sleeve of her top.
‘Where?’ She sounded resigned.
‘Wherever you want.’
‘The sea?’
‘Sure, now come on, get some stuff.’
Moss took her by the arm, led her past the other woman, Stace. Inside was dark and cramped. Clothes lay everywhere, unwashed dishes piled in the sink. Moss found a plastic bag, gave it to Hannah. ‘Put what you need in here.’
Hannah plucked several pieces of clothing off the floor, put on her jacket.
‘You right?’
She sniffed, nodded. Moss couldn’t read her face in the dimly lit space.
‘Come on, then.’
‘Hang on.’ She moved a pile of clothes off a tattered recliner chair, until she found what she wanted, her shoulder purse.
Moss waited as Hannah and Stace hugged, engaged in a rapid-fire hushed conversation. Then Stace watched them leave, face pressed against the fly screen door.
Moss walked in silence to the car, scared to say anything in case she changed her mind, threw the plastic bag of clothes she’d collected in the back. She climbed into the passenger seat.
‘You going to drive, drive,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out of this shit hole.’
He kept to the speed limit through town, only picked up the pace when they passed the sign farewelling them from Riviera.
Hannah leant over, started twisting the nobs on the car radio. ‘This thing work?’
‘Don’t know, never tried it.’
‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘We’ll get a new one.’ Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Moss fished out his cigarettes, lit two from the dashboard lighter, passed one to her. ‘We need to put as much distance between Riviera and us as possible. You drive?’
‘No.’
He reached in front of her, opened the glove box and withdrew a folded map, exposing the grip of his revolver. He pushed the weapon into the cavity, not sure whether Hannah had registered its presence, closed the glove box.
‘You’re on navigation detail.’
Hannah started to unfold the map, confused.
With one hand Moss re-adjusted the map so it was right-side up. ‘Like this, okay?’
When Hannah didn’t respond, Moss glanced at her. Her eyes were fixed on her side mirror.
He checked the rear-mirror. A white vehicle was closing on them. The word ‘Police’ visible across the bonnet in blue letters.
Erskine, thought Moss. Who had tipped him off? Hannah’s friend from the caravan park? Someone else? It didn’t matter. Moss put his foot on the accelerator, tried to outpace the vehicle, but the Commodore wasn’t up to the challenge. The police cruiser closed the gap.
‘Oh Jesus, oh shit, we’ve got to get away from him.’ Hannah’s eyes were wide, overflowed with panic.
>
‘Hannah, calm down.’
Moss switched his gaze from the rear-view mirror to the road ahead. A two-lane stretch of black top, no visible side roads, no way to outrun Erskine, nowhere to escape.
‘You don’t fucking understand,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You don’t know what he’s like, what he can do. If he gets hold of me— ’
The police car drew up on Moss’s side. Erskine smiled over the barrel of his pistol, aimed at the front tyre, fired. Hannah’s scream merged with the sound of exploding rubber.
Moss felt himself lose control of the vehicle. The police car slowed to get clear of the swerving Commodore, but not quickly enough, ploughed into it.
The police car rolled before his own vehicle plunged into a deep gully running along the side of the road. The jagged ground reared up at them. The windscreen exploded, showering Moss and Hannah in broken glass. His head hit the steering wheel. A burst of pain exploded along his right leg.
He had no idea how long he’d been out. He was aware of blood running down his face from where his forehead had connected with the steering wheel. His leg throbbed; no blood visible, but probably broken. Thick brush poked through the hole where the windshield had been.
The passenger seat was empty except for Hannah’s purse and the broken glass. The glove box hung open, the contents scatted on the floor. It took Moss a moment to register the gun was gone.
He thought he was going to pass out as he hauled himself out of the car, wiped the blood from his eyes with his forearm, heard something, a voice. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth against the pain as he dragged himself up the slope towards the road.
The voice became louder. Moss recognised it – Erskine. He summoned all his remaining strength, pulled himself out of the gully, tried not to use the damaged leg, sat on the roadside.
The police car lay on its roof. Tiny shards of glass littered the bitumen around it. Erskine was half out of the side window, straining against something holding him in place, one arm outstretched, his face covered in blood. Hannah stood over him, the Smith & Wesson in her hand, oblivious to Moss.
‘Hannah, help me,’ pleaded Erskine. ‘Come on, we’ve had some good times, some real good times.’
Hannah raised the pistol.
‘For fuck’s sake, girl, don’t play around with that. It’s fucking dangerous. Come on, I’ll give you whatever— ’
The shot silenced Erskine mid-sentence. The sound, like a whip crack, echoed in the trees. She fired again. Erskine’s limp body jumped at the impact.
Hannah wheeled around, suddenly aware of Moss, locked eyes with him. Her white top was spotted with blood from a cut on her cheek. She shook her head to move a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. Her eyes narrowed as she gripped the weapon in both hands, looked down the barrel at him, held the pose, the pistol quivering in her hands.
Moss reached a hand out towards her. ‘Hannah … no.’
She lowered the weapon, dropped it on the ground.
Moss realised he’d been holding his breath, exhaled deeply. The pain in his leg, which lay at an odd angle in front of him, was worse.
She walked past him, climbed down into the gully, and retrieved something from the front passenger seat. It was the shoulder purse.
Moss watched in silence as Hannah opened the purse, took out the postcard. Reassured it was there, she dropped it back into the purse, fished her jacket out of the back of the car, put it on and slipped the purse over her shoulder.
She climbed out of the gully, stood on the roadside next to him, looked at him, no recognition in her eyes, started walking.
Moss went to say something but stopped himself, watched her until she rounded the bend, disappeared from view.
He had an idea where she was headed. She had a long way to go.
Postcard From Cambodia
Andrew Nette
Swimming Pool Girls
It was school holidays so they’d placed an inflatable obstacle course in the middle of the pool. You lined up at the shallow end and, in pairs, raced the course, which took you climbing up the plastic steps of the inflatable structure and sliding down the planed surface of the other side. Then you skidded towards the twin rope ladders that took you up another incline from which you jumped (or were pushed) into the deep end of the pool below. You’d line up and a staff member would stagger the pairs going through so that there was no great pile-on in the middle.
Cal whooped every time he set off, and again when he made the leap into the bright blue water. He was hyper that day, the kind of state he described as being ‘turned up to eleven’. It was funny – the little kids’ toes might grip the very edge of the pool but they wouldn’t move till the attendant called go. It was like they thought they were still at school. Whereas we older kids had constantly to be told wait or slow down. Then when we went through, we’d nudge and kick each other, Cal and I, each trying to dislodge the other from the structure altogether. I got him once with a well-placed kick at the top of the first climb, made contact with his ribs, and he was hurt or tickled maybe and he fell right off into the blue water and came up swearing and grinning.
*
We hadn’t come with Bec and Chloe and Hannah and Nat. It was just coincidence that we’d bumped into them there. I’d been at Cal’s place and his mother had gotten sick of us playing WOW and anyway she was having some friends over so could we get out of her hair? Cal lives just a block from the pool so we grabbed towels and went, hopping barefoot over the boiling asphalt. I was already wearing boardies and Cal had dropped his daks right there in front of the computer and called to his mum to chuck him a pair of bathers. He took the shorts from her without looking up from the screen – he was pissed off about being kicked out. He didn’t wait for her to leave the room before wriggling into them, one-handed, still sitting, his other hand on the mouse.
*
At the pool, Cal looked around and made a splashy dive. He came up with his hair slicked down the back of his neck then grabbed me by the shoulder and tried to climb on my back. His sour breath warmed my ear, his untrimmed nails made half-moon scratches on my skin. I slid out from beneath his pinioning legs and dunked him, and we chased each other round the pool for a while. There were mostly younger kids on the obstacle course then and we swam clear of it for a bit. But then a kid about eight or nine years old leapt from the top platform right on top of Cal. Cal whipped round like he’d been attacked and the kid sort of froze, bobbing in the water. Then Cal made a fake grrr-face at her and flicked her with water and the kid squealed like she’d been showered with lollies and swam quickly away, grinning back over her shoulder at us like she wanted to be chased.
I said, ‘Let’s have a go on that thing.’
Cal ducked his head under the surface and came up shaking the water from his ears like a dog before saying, ‘Okay.’
*
We were lining up for our third go when the girls arrived. I nudged Cal.
‘Look who’s just walked in.’ Cal squinted. ‘Hannah and them.’
Cal looked. ‘Oi, Hannah,’ he called, before I had a chance to.
Hannah swivelled towards the voice. She was in the middle of sliding out of her little skirt, one leg raised so that she made a hop as she turned. On her top half she wore a stringy pink piece of fabric tied high at her neck. Her stomach was the colour of cinnamon and there was a winking ring in her navel. The other three were looking too. Hannah gave a little wave and Bec was smiling. She had one of those enthusiastic grins that lift right up like a puppet’s pulled by strings.
They took their time getting their gear off. Cal and I stayed in line but we were watching. Cal said, not quietly, ‘Check that out,’ when Chloe peeled off her t-shirt. His eyes had that glazed sheen they got when he looked up from a long gaming session. The girls sauntered over as though they owned the place. By this time Cal and I were
almost at the front of the queue for the obstacle course.
‘Come here,’ he beckoned to them, and the girls squeezed in line in front of a couple of real littlies who backed up for them, big-eyed. Cal’s damp thigh knocked against the head of one toddler, who wobbled but didn’t fall. The child’s mouth moved as though it might howl, but Cal glanced down with his glittering eyes and the mouth shut.
‘What are you two doing here?’ Nat asked. Nat may not have been as look-at-me as the others but she was slyer. She spoke in a little voice that made you lean forward to hear her properly, and you’d catch her looking at you sometimes, quick little glances like fish darting in water, so you were never quite sure if that gleam at the corner of your eye was what you thought it was. Right then, for instance, I saw her eyes go to Cal’s ripped honey-coloured stomach, though she’d been addressing me.
‘Something to do. Cal’s mum kicked us out.’
Cal called her a name under his breath and Hannah’s gaze flicked uncertainly between him and me. But Nat was leaning in close to hear him and Bec laughed her split-mouth laugh.
Cal and I let the girls go first, for the view.
‘Two each,’ Cal whispered to me, digging an elbow into my ribs.
They were tentative at first, still dry, but they got into it soon enough, squealing and yelping like puppies. One time Chloe and Nat were in front of us and I couldn’t resist – I reached out and gave Chloe a little push, and Cal caught on and charged up behind Nat and then the girls were scrambling and squeaking up the climb and we chased and all four of us wound up tumbling into the first plastic valley in a mess of limbs and warm wet skin.
‘Hey,’ the attendant called after us, and a kid cried out, ‘They’re pushing in!’, but we didn’t look back. Falling into the water at the end I knocked my head against someone’s knee or elbow and came up spluttering, dizzy, joyous.
Cal leant his head to one side and tapped the other to dislodge water. A strand of his long hair brushed Bec’s shoulder, pale and beaded with water. Under the surface her creamy stomach undulated with the movement of the water. A little lip of skin overhung her bikini bottoms like a handle. She was generously built, Bec, in a way that made you want to grab a handful of that smooth flesh and knead it like dough.
