Truth was he also remembered Johnny’s unmistakeable shouting from the top of the bridge, like he was scoffing at a child, toying with it in the dark. The shrieks in response came from someone begging to be left alone. Tony had tried to find a torch inside the upturned ute so he could collar Johnny and bring him back, but the screaming had ended suddenly with a silence that still chilled Tony in his guts. Hopefully Alan had been out of it at that moment.

‘Was it you who walked into town to get the police?’ Alan asked.

Tony nodded. ‘I was so relieved Uncle Daniel was on duty,’ he said.

‘Would have been bloody embarrassing explaining to anyone else that we’d swerved to avoid a roo.’

Alan had his mouth squashed, like he didn’t believe a word of it.

Tony had gone over it in his mind so many times: Johnny and his mates belting the faggots by the toilets, men moving in and out of shadows, flashes of blood and wild kicking, before they’d all piled onto Johnny’s ute and chased one of the faggots up the track to the Kippen Bridge.

He’d never seen Johnny drive that wildly before, taking the corner too fast and throwing them all off into the scrub before slamming the ute into a tree and rolling it.

But while Tony had searched for Alan in the dark, hoping like hell his cousin was alright, he’d heard Johnny shouting at someone further up the track to the main road.

Shit!

‘Well,’ Tony said, patting the side of Alan’s arm. ‘Least we’re all still in one piece.’

Alan nodded.

‘You still here?’ Uncle Daniel yelled from the verandah as he went for another beer.

Tony laughed loudly to fill the silence. ‘Hey, Uncle Daniel!’ he shouted.

‘What?’

‘If you want me to go get the vegetarian, I’ll do it right now.’

His uncle grunted. ‘Nah, I’ll deal with him tomorrow.’

Nine 2005

NINE
2005

Beyond the Kippen Bridge the motel showed on the right-hand side, the car park now empty. James slowed the hire car when he saw the grey buildings and the meat works signs. There, on the left, not far past the abattoir, was the property he was looking for.

A verge allowed him to pull over near a pair of post boxes at the head of the drive. One of them sported the faded word ‘Jones’ on the shaded side. A newish house stood in front of a line of willow trees beyond a high barbed-wire fence. Above the wall of foliage, the chimneys of an old homestead showed. The head of the driveway was blocked by a very new, very high, spiked, black metal gate locked with a heavy bolt.