‘And Kevin?’
‘How do you know about –’ He sees my face. ‘No.’
‘Reggie, listen to me. Do you have any idea where they might have taken Harris? To the club, or a house, or a –’
‘No, okay?’ He wriggles in my grip. ‘I dunno. Not the club. Snowie’s got a place in town, but –’
‘If they’re dragging him around, and he’s been beaten up, that sounds too exposed.’ I let him go, chew my thumbnail. ‘Would they take him to Leon?’
He shakes his head. ‘They were talkin’ about it. They know they’re in the shit. They were freaking out about having to tell Leon that Harris has been a dog this whole time –’
‘So what were they going to do? Wait?’ I swallow hard. ‘Were they going to kill Harris and dump him somewhere?’
Reggie shivers. ‘They said it was better to keep him alive. Then at least Leon’s got somebody else he can take it out on.’
I stagger back a step, looking at the weeds sprouting up beside the concrete path and seeing nothing.Don’t pass out, Amie, you don’t have time for that –
Reggie grabs my arm. ‘Hey. Hey, you’re all pale and stuff. C’mon…’
‘I’m okay,’ I whisper. ‘I’m okay.’
‘He’s your guy, is he, Harris? He’s your guy. It’s not just dog and handler, right?’
‘Yes.’ My vision is going pale, overexposed. I fight it. ‘Yes, he’s my guy.’
‘He’s a good guy, Harris. He’s a mate.’ Reggie straightens, still holding my arm. ‘He looks out for me. I wanna help, I do, but –’
‘Is thereany placeyou can think of?’ I’m clutching at straws now, clutching Reggie’s forearm. ‘Any place, Reggie. A room, or–’
‘There’s a caravan in Red Cliffs where Kev holes up sometimes. And there’s a shed near the river where they keep stuff, but –’
‘A shed.’ That could be it.
‘Yeah, but I dunno the address, I only went there once, with Steph driving –’
‘Could you find your way again?’
‘Maybe.’ He looks at me, uncertain. ‘I guess. You’re gonna try and find him?’
‘Yes.’ I feel better saying that. Stronger. I repeat it, more firmly. ‘Yes, I’m gonna try and find him. But...I’m going to need directions, Reggie.’
‘Shit.’ Reggie glances up the street, back to me. ‘Okay. Ah, fuck. I try to keep my head down, mostly, y’know?’
‘But it’s Harris,’ I point out.
‘Yeah.’ He sighs. ‘Yeah, it’s Harris. Okay, gimme a sec.’
He dashes back into the house and, for a moment, I think he’s scarpered. Then I really will be stuffed, because I can’t search every vacant shed along the Murray. But before I’ve even finished the thought, Reggie’s back, a flannie shirt tied around his waist and a half-full bottle of yellow Gatorade in one hand.
‘Just getting me supplies, yeah?’ He pulls the door closed behind him. ‘Which one’s your car?’ When I point to my Honda he looks appalled. ‘Really?’
‘It’s just a car, Reggie.’ Then I remember. ‘Oh shit. I’m low on fuel. How far is–’
‘Far enough.’ He shakes his head. Then something occurs to him. He slaps the Gatorade into my hand, pushes back into the house.
I don’t have time for this. ‘Reggie.Reggie–’
But a minute later he’s back, waggling both eyebrows. With his head shaved like that he looks a bit demonic.
