‘We have the knife,’ Harris says. ‘And we can build up the fire.’
‘We have a dead body,’ I realise suddenly. ‘What if we shove that out when the doors first open?’
As the van growls around us, we formulate a plan. There’s a turn, a collection of bumps, the sound of tyres on gravel. Harris kisses me swiftly, moves into position. I add cardboard to our fire until the shoe looks ready to catch alight.
The van slows, trundles forward, stops. Footsteps rush outside.
Now I let the sight of the fire, the memory of kissing Harris, fill me up. I become red as blood, black as a moonless night. The door unlocks, my whole body tenses to spring, my throat roils with a berserker scream –
‘Amie! Amie, it’s me! God almighty – lower your weapons!’
Flashlight beams nail into my eyes, then one of the black patches in my vision moves, coalesces: a stocky figure climbs onto the back step of the van.
‘Amie, please god, love, tell me you’re all right,’ my dad says, and Harris realises just in time. Dad’s flashlight swings to take him in. ‘Harris, bloody hell –’
‘Dad?’ I whisper, then my throat works. ‘Dada –’
My father steps into the van fully. I dump my fiery shoe, and Dad and I collide in a hug, like we’re competing to see who can squeeze each other tightest. His chest heaves, and he’s shaking.
‘Ah god…ah Jesus…’ He turns to see Harris. ‘Shit, Harris, you look like hell. Come outta here, you two, come on now…’
He pulls me gently towards the doors of the van, grabs Harris by the arm to keep him directed. There are about half a dozen uniformed police and a couple of plain-clothes CIU guys milling about out here, and once we’re out, the first thing they do is secure the van as a crime scene.
Dad is still shaking. I clutch his arm. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’mokay. Areyouokay? Are you sure?’ He takes a big breath and lets it out. ‘Fucking hell, Amita. That took about ten years off my life.’
The energy is slowly fading from my body. I’m weirdly aware of colours – the pink dirt underfoot in the yellow glow of police car headlights, the strobing reds and blues. The white-T-shirted figure of Steph standing to one side, a set of keys in her hand.
She catches Harris’s eye. ‘Talk about fucking lucky. I had no idea you were in the back of my van until Reggie called me on Amie’s phone.’
A police officer steps beside her. ‘We’ll need to take those keys, miss.’
‘You can have ’em,’ Steph says as she hands them over. She looks at my dad. ‘So are we square?’
‘We’re square,’ Dad says. ‘Give your statement, then you’re free to go. Appreciate the help.’ He turns to me. ‘That’s how we got your position. Steph told Reggie which way you were travelling, and he relayed it to me. We knew you were stopping here.’
‘There’s drugs somewhere in that van,’ I say dazedly.
‘I dunno nothing about that,’ Steph says, raising her hands.
‘I’m sure you don’t,’ Dad says in the conciliatory tone he takes with people he knows are lying. ‘After you’ve spoken to Constable Tulley, you can get a ride anywhere you need to go.’
‘You’re a driver,’ Harris says to Steph, like he’s only just remembered. ‘I didn’t see who was at the wheel when we were loaded into the van, I didn’t even think…’
‘That’s understandable.’ Steph shrugs. ‘Although I reckon I might be looking for a new line of employment.’
‘Wise choice,’ Dad says.
My breathing is still fast and high. ‘But – Ando. Where’s Ando? He was going to be here, he was –’
Harris puts an arm around my waist. ‘I think he might have wised up, too.’
He nods to where the Land Cruiser sits, gargantuan in its spot-lit position a dozen steps away. Police are holding a guy near the bonnet, but it’s not the tall muscle-bound figure I’m expecting to see. This guy is shorter, with a flat-top haircut and strident voice.
‘I keep tellin’ ya, I don’t know! He just told me to catch up at the corner of Fourteenth Street –’
‘Barry.’ Harris looks at Dad. ‘How was he driving the Land Cruiser?
