The biker took a long slug of semi-warm beer. They were looking for him. Let them look. The Dingos were solid. He had no doubt about that. He could have run but that was piss-weak. It was only another couple of days before the shipment from Adelaide came. He would finish off the business and get out of there. Even if they learned his name he’d be a ghost, they’d never track him down. He drained the beer and crushed the aluminium can. There had been a time the heat up here had sucked every sip of life out of him. Coming from where he grew up, where you woke up to frost on the ground, what could you expect? But eventually his body and the heat had equalised. Like a siege back in days of swords and armour, neither side gaining ground, neither relenting. A truce had been settled. Now the heat just bored him. He wouldn’t mind getting overseas, the States. These shit places got to you eventually. He looked around the shithole where he found himself, sagging furniture, asbestos sheet walls, a tiny box of a kitchen. He wanted to go into town, find a woman, but that would have to wait.
Forty more hours. It hadn’t been so bad with the Dingos boys hanging here too. The pool table was scarred and tilted but you could still knock out a game. But with the cops asking questions they’d had to piss off.
All because of that stupid, fucking Kraut.
The only plus was the garage. He could keep his bike out of sight and store the gear when it arrived before shipping it on. This used to be a mechanic’s place. He imagined living here, working in the garage fixing trucks. Not much of a life, too fucking hot and boring. He pulled his big frame out of the chair and stretched. No TV, nothing except his iPod. The air-conditioner was one of those ones you wheeled. It was old but it worked, sort of. The front windows were boarded up so there was nothing to look at, but in the back where the pool table was there were louvered windows. They let in a breeze and cooled the place down but of course then insects came in too. There was no way to pass time except to drink and walk around outside looking at the stars. That was risky during the day but it would be safe now, it was mostly hidden from the passing traffic and too late for the kids who walked about or rode bikes during the day. He picked up his iPod, opened the door and strode out.
It wasn’t too bad tonight. The edge was off the heat and it smelled clean, unlike the house. The nearest houses were about half a k away, no street lights, so even if he passed somebody, they couldn’t get a good look at him, and they were most likely high on glue or petrol so what would they see? He jammed the headphones in and started walking east. Slayer belted into his brain. He’d gone maybe a hundred metres towards the road when a small green flash caught his eye about fifty metres to his left. He stood quietly and stared. There it was again. Something on the ground was flashing on and off. For an instant he thought about heading straight back to the house but curiosity got the better of him. He scanned around him. No vehicles that he could see. It was nearly pitch dark out here with a thimble of moonlight only. Cautiously he headed over, confident of the knife he kept in his boot and his ability to use it. It occurred to him that it could be a message from the Dingos, perhaps worried to come to the house. He pulled the headphones out and listened to the air around him, the faintest drunken voices from the closest houses, nothing else.
Whatever it was flashing over there, it was small. He advanced towards the tiny light which continued to flash regularly. Finally when he was right on top of it, he was able to see it was a small digital clock in the shape of a turtle. A kid’s toy, the sort you buy from a servo to get the discount on a tank of petrol.
As he bent to pick it up, some black shape raised itself from the earth. It made his heart jolt, this black demon sweeping up like smoke, and he reached for his knife; ghost or not, he would fucking gut it. His hand closed on the handle of the hunting knife and whipped it out. His head exploded. Then he was on his back looking up at a vault of stars only to have them blotted out by the black demon and its green eyes looking down. Slayer played his requiem through the headphones and the green turtle flicked on and off, on and off. On.
And off.