‘I will. Go home, get some rest.’
We say our goodbyes and I tuck my phone back in my pocket, turn the key for the drive onward to Amblin Court. The idea of meeting up with Amie, of seeing her again, sends an orange fireball ricocheting through me. But that moment may be a while off.
Until then, I’ll just have to burn.
*
Seven-forty-five next morning, the house gets raided.
I jerk awake to hear a lot of banging around and shouting from down the hall. At first I think it’s the start of a fight, but part of me registers that the shouting’s too structured.
I hear, ‘Down on the floor – get down on the floor!’ and then my door seems to explode open. Two guys in black – uniforms, flak jackets, helmets – almost fall into my room. I think they were expecting the wood veneer to offer more resistance. Their service weapons are out and one of them yells, ‘Hands on your head! Lemme see your hands!’ so I do exactly as I’m told.
The sheets and blankets fall down to my hips and I’m half-kneeling on the bed. Apart from fighting general fogginess and confusion, and the strange heart-attack feeling of being woken with a bang, I’m thinking a couple of things. One is, I’m super-glad I told Leon I wouldn’t carry a weapon. Because if I’d agreed to it, the gun might’ve been in the room with me right now, and that would be problematic. The other thing I’m thinking is, I’m bloody relieved I don’t sleep commando.
‘Hands!’
‘I’m doing it, mate, I’m doing it –’
‘Don’t you move. Don’t you fucking move a muscle.’
‘I got my hands up, see? I got ’em up.’ My hands fumble at the top of my head.
‘Stay there.’
‘I’m stayin’ here, okay? I’m staying here. I need to sit down, but.’
One of the officers – the older one – nods at the other officer, who comes over and quickly tugs my sheets and pillow onto the floor. His eyes light on the bandage on my leg. He covers me with his weapon the whole time. I’ve never had a police pistol stuck right in my face before. It makes me sweat.
‘Sit down right where you are,’ the guy says. ‘Donotfucking move.’
It’s one of those funny police moments where they tell you to do two completely opposing things at the same time.
‘I swear to god, I won’t move.’ I sink my butt back on the bed with relief. My sore leg stretches out over the edge. ‘Thank you. Shit, that’s better.’
The older cop points a finger at me. ‘Stay exactly where you are. Just stay there.’ He glances at the younger cop, holds his gun with one hand as he lifts a hand-mic on the shoulder-side of his flak jacket and speaks into it. ‘We’ve got one in the far bedroom. Yep, holding.’
Shouts come from down the hall. I hear Kevin say, ‘Get the fuck off, you bastards!’ and Steph yell, ‘I’m fuckin’ doin’ it!’
‘What’s going on?’ I ask quietly.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ the younger cop snaps.
The older guy frowns at him, looks at me. ‘It’s a bust, son. Suspected drug activity in the house.’
Well, applause all round. I wonder how long it took them to work that out. Blind Freddy could’ve told you there was drug activity in the house.
‘Okay.’ My arms are getting tired from keeping my hands on my head. ‘But I don’t think I’m the droid you’re looking for, yeah? I just moved in here.’
‘We’ll see,’ the older cop says. ‘We’ll just wait and see.’
The radio mic on his jacket squawks.
‘Hold him here,’ he says to his younger buddy. He exits abruptly.
‘Seriously,’ I say. ‘I’ve only been here three weeks. Go through my stuff and have a look.’
Young Cop sneers. ‘Thanks, we’ll do that.’
