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The truck hammered away under his seat. Randy was in the middle, catching a bit of the air that fluttered in the open windows, and he was insanely happy. He was on his way to see Tammy at last! Not very fast, mind. The old farm truck was grindingly slow. It was five o’clock by the time they were through Scurriburroway.
At half-past-five the driver pulled over in the middle of nowhere.
“Well, this is it, fellas. You’re nearly there.”
“But we’ve got miles to go!” protested Randy, map in hand.
“Nar. It’s just up the road, mate. And it’s Saturday. Plenty of blokes going through to town for a bit of fun. You’ll get a lift, no worries.”
The boys dropped to the dust and retrieved their bags. The truck pulled away, turned into a side road and hammered away into a pall of dust. A million tiny flies arrived out of nowhere to keep them company. The boys flapped and cursed and the flies seemed to enjoy the sport. Piho took a drink from their big plastic bottle.
“Pee-uke! It’s warm!”
Randy drank too, but made no complaint. He just hoped a car would come along. Soon! But there was nothing on the road. Several very slow minutes ticked by. Then another ten. It already felt like an hour had gone by. Suddenly Piho snapped.
“This is all your fault, Cathro...!”
“Hey! Car coming!”
It was a Holden ute. It came barrelling towards them, swerving at the last moment so the side wheels left the seal and stirred up an explosion of dust that slammed into their skin. As the boys sprang back they glimpsed the two men in the vehicle, grinning as they had their little bit of Saturday afternoon fun.
“Yeah, lovely,” Piho called after them, “thanks guys. So-oooo funny.” He took another swig of water, then spat a muddy mouthful onto the road.
“Mmm, the taste of Australia.”
Randy looked up and down the road, suddenly feeling rather frightened by the situation. It was a stretch of single-lane bitumen, dead-straight for miles though thin scruffy bush. He was in the middle of the wop-wops. Beyond the black stump. Outback Australia. People had died out here; he’d read about it. Just dried up and died! Was he ever going to see Tammy again, or was he going to end up like that piece of road kill just across the way?
Randy peered at it, worried. Was it wallaby, kangaroo, or human?
Piho noticed it too. With a happy grunt he crossed the road, heaved it upright and propped it against a tree stump just opposite, and came back. Picking up a stone he hefted it once, then flung it hard. It thudded hollowly on the desiccated shell of the long-deceased beast. He glared at Randy meaningfully as he bent for the next missile.
Randy sighed and looked away, noticing that some big clouds had begun to gather on the horizon. “Think it might rain?” he asked, hoping to re-ignite some friendly conversation.
Piho paused, peered at the clouds for a long moment, then growled, “Oh, great! Bloody lovely!” He resumed his violent attack on the dead beast.
“Hey!” called Randy with relief, “Car coming!”
It was another Holden utility, going flat tack. The boys kept to the very edge of the roadway and hitched their biggest best hitch-hiking gestures, smiling cheerfully. The vehicle shot past, the passenger giving them a cheerful gesture of a different kind.
“I think you’re doing it wrong,” said Piho once he’d stopped spitting dust and expletives, “Thumbing like that is a dead give-away. They know we’re kiwis.”
“I ain’t doing it the Aussie way,” grumbled Randy stubbornly, “It just looks so, so ... dorks-ville!”
Piho suddenly grabbed Randy by the front of the T-shirt and pulled him close. “Well I think you’d better,” he snarled, “because we need a lift, mate. We need one real bad.” The grip tightened as Piho’s voice went deadly quiet, “Cos y’see if we don’t get a lift I just might have to kill you. But hey, don’t feel bad about it, old buddy. It’s just something I have to do to help me feel better about my life. Understand?!”
He shoved Randy away with slow controlled force.
Randy tugged his T-shirt back into shape, “Okay, okay, no more thumb.”
Piho huffed with suppressed fury and resumed his stone throwing. Nothing more was said about death or hitch-hiking or anything else and the sun sank a few more inches towards the shimmering horizon. Finally it disappeared into the western end of the distant cloud bank, but the air remained mind-numbingly hot. Randy glanced at his watch for about the eightieth time. It was getting on to seven.
“Damn you, Cathro!” roared Piho suddenly, “If the next car doesn’t stop, do you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna ram your head right up that kangaroo’s ...”
“Hey,” cried Randy desperately, peering over Piho’s shoulder, “Here it comes now!” Piho turned. There was definitely something coming and it wasn’t a ute for a change. It was a dirty great Mercedes Benz. That is: a large older-style Mercedes Benz that was dirty, as every car seemed to be in Australia.
Not so damn fast, either. There was hope! Piho stepped forward and put out his finger, Aussie-style. The car slowed a bit, giving Randy time to see the two front seat occupants talking back and forth as if disagreeing about whether or not to stop. The car suddenly stopped ten metres past them in a crunch of gravel. They ran to it.
The tinted passenger’s window slid smoothly down. “Hello boys,” said a woman in a cultured European accent. She was drop-dead gorgeous: perfect brunette hair, perfect make-up, silk head scarf and expensive-looking sunglasses. Randy had never seen a real live specimen of this strange species before. Just photos of them in fashion magazines.
The driver was a male version of the same species, a sort of Jack Nicholson version, and he too seemed to ooze wealth and power. The woman glanced at him as if asserting herself in the situation and turned back to the gaping boys. “We take you further, yes?”
“Yes, thanks!”
The driver finally spoke, resignedly, “Put your bags in der boot then.” The boot popped open. Piho gathered their stuff and slung it in. Inside, he noticed, was a brand new lump of automobile and a large cardboard carton of expensive-looking groceries. An odd combination.
Meanwhile, Randy was getting into the back of the car. To his surprise, there was a third person in there, quite unlike the front two. An Aussie bloke dressed crocodile-hunter style. He instantly grabbed Randy’s hand and began shaking vigorously. “Gidday, I’m Charlie Cobb. Welcome aboard, mate!”
“Thanks, uh ... I’m Randy, and this is Piho.”
Piho shook hands too. “Gidday.”
The interior of the car was blessedly cool and immaculately clean. As Piho shut the door, the heat and flies were instantly banished. Randy marvelled at the leather seats and the plush fabric on the interior.
“Where ya going, fellas?” asked Cobb.
“Cunnundrom.”
“Ah you’re getting close, mate! If I get me truck fixed this arvo, I’ll take you on through, no worries.”
Randy’s heart fell. He was going to fall short of his target once again.
“Got a problem then?” Piho was asking.
“Nar, not really. Just blew the front hub. Old Klaus here did the right thing and gave me a lift into town. Got a new one, no worries.”
“Saw it in the back,” added Piho, “Easy to put in?” He knew how to have this sort of blokey conversation.
“Yeah, no worries, mate.”
“Need a hand?”
“Nar, she’ll be right. But you’ve gotta look after ya mates around here.”
“You live around here too?” Randy asked the driver in surprise.
“No,” he chuckled, “ve’re from Berlin. Ve travel a lot. You have vonderful country here.”
“It’s not my... oof!” Randy stopped as Piho nudged him hard in the ribs.
“Yep,” said Piho quickly, “It’s a great place.”
“So,” said Randy, deciding to have a go at some blokey conversation as well, “What do you do then?”
“I vork for a museum,” said Reinhold, “You know, a bit of research, travelling, adding to der collection. Dat sort of thing.”
As the driver spoke, Cobb silently passed Randy a business card:
KLAUS REINHOLD
EUROPEAN MUSEUM ANTIQUITIES NETWORK.
0400-999-232-787.
Randy took the card from the smiling Cobb and Reinhold seemed none the wiser. It was an odd card: looked like paper but felt like plastic. Very flash.
Then Cobb spoke. “And I guess I’m a bit of a prospector really. Live out in the bush. Used to live in Pickling Gap when I was younger.”
“Nice town,” said Piho, even though he’d only ever seen it out the window of a farmer’s truck two hours ago.
“It’s a pretty interesting area all over, ” said Cobb cryptically.
“Oh yar,” put in the driver, glancing back at Cobb in the mirror, “I’m always interested in hearing more about your discoveries, Charlie.”
Cobb smiled hugely and sat back. Then he glanced sideways at Randy and Piho. “You know, I hate to celebrate alone. You boys want a drink?”
“Yeah, cheers, mate!” said Piho gratefully.
Cobb leaned forward, opened a chilly bin (although Randy knew Australians called them ‘eskies’) and pulled out some stubby bottles; XXXX beer. Randy instantly remembered a good joke: Why do Australians put XXXX on their beer cans? - Because they can’t spell ‘Beer’; but the moment he began on it, Piho elbowed him again, painfully.
Cobb didn’t appear to be listening. He was offering his treasures to the people in the front. “Want a cold one, Steffie?”
“No thank you Mr Cobb,” replied the woman icily, and went back to gazing fixedly at the road ahead. Her refusal seemed to apply to the driver as well. Cobb sat back and returned two of his bottles to the cooler, then handed the other two to Randy and Piho. Randy hesitated.
“You’re old enough to drink aren’t ya?” said Cobb persuasively.
“Sure,” said Piho quickly, just as Randy said, “No.”
“Well what’s it to be, mates? Yes or no?”
Piho ground his teeth angrily, loud enough for Randy to hear in the purring car, and said, “Well, technically... I mean, what is the drinking age here?”
Cobb peered at him more closely, “Hey, you’re a Kiwi, aren’t ya?”
“Yep. Just here on a sort of working holiday. Great country you’ve got here!”
The flattery didn’t work. Cobb returned all the beer to his cooler murmuring, “Sure good to meet such honest kids. Now, think I’ve got something else in here somewhere...” He pulled stuff aside, digging deeper. Randy noticed a huge pack of smoked salmon, some fancy cheeses and a big tray of fillet steak. It seemed that Charlie Cobb had suddenly become rich.
“Here we go!” He pulled out some familiar red cans and passed them to the boys, then proceeded to open himself a beer.
“So what are you celebrating, mate?” asked Piho cheerfully, while scowling murderously at Randy.
“Oh now,” said Cobb, seeming to suddenly be more careful with his words, “just a little ah... business success.”
Randy glanced at Reinhold in the mirror, wondering how he felt about people drinking in his car. The road was getting a bit twisty and Reinhold was driving with care, seemingly ignoring the events in the back. But then he quite suddenly said, in a warning tone, “Charlie!”
Cobb suddenly changed his tune, “Say why don’t we drink to you instead, eh, boys? How’s it going? Finished work for the week? Off for a bit of fun in town?”
“Yeah, yeah,” answered Piho evasively. He raised his can, “Cheers, mate!”
#
THE CAR DROVE DEEPER into the dusk, and deeper into a landscape that seemed to be all rocks and scruffy bush and endless corners. In the headlights Randy saw hillsides that looked exactly like giant slabs of mouldy Weetbix. After ten minutes of this, Reinhold eased the car aside down a narrow bumpy track. Cobb chuckled and turned to the boys, “This is the grand driveway to me country estate, boys. Nearly there.”
‘There’ turned out to be a caravan jammed sideways into the bush with junk all around it, plus two dead cars and a crude metal shed. A four-wheel-drive truck was parked with one empty wheel-stub propped up on a jack.
The Mercedes crunched to a stop.
“Right!” said Cobb. He sprang out his door and strode ahead in the headlights. They say him pulling on something under a tin roof. There was a puff of blue smoke and suddenly a floodlight came on in a tall tree, dispelling the dusk. Randy heard the boot pop open behind him as Klaus killed the engine. He got out. It was still hot and above the thrum of the generator he heard a cacophony of insect noises.
Cobb opened the boot and heaved out his vehicle part, dumping it beside his truck. Reinhold, meanwhile, had quietly walked to the tray of the truck and was peering at a large low lump of something on the back. It was covered by an old piece of canvas. He looked to Cobb, then glanced at the boys.
“Need a hand?” called Piho.
“Nein!” replied Reinhold quickly. He walked back to the car, glanced at the boys’ bags in the boot, glanced back at them, then cast an angry scowl at his female companion as if the situation was all her fault. Cobb arrived and lifted out his groceries with a happy grunt. The spacious boot was now almost empty. Randy wondered for a moment where the German tourists’ luggage was.
Reinhold, looking rather tired, seemed to then realise he’d made some kind of mistake. “Dah!” he said to the boys, “I should have left you on der road. You vant to get on, yes?” he made a hitch-hiking gesture (with his thumb, Randy noted). The boys nodded. Reinhold shut the boot and gestured tiredly toward the car. They got back in. Cobb leaned in the door as Randy and Piho settled themselves, “Listen mates,” he said cheerfully, “if you run out of luck just pop back here. I’ve got tons of room.”
“Cool!” answered Piho gratefully, “Thanks, mate.” Piho was thinking of the huge box of luxurious groceries, but Randy only had thoughts for Tammy.
#
MINUTES LATER THEY were back on the road again. As the tail-lights of the Merc faded away down Cobb’s bumpy drive through the bush, Piho faced the prospect of being ignored by more ute-driving hoons while being eaten alive by mosquitoes, all on a diet of warm plastic-flavoured water, while still having to put up with the company of his best mate Randy of whom he had had entirely too much of recently.
And it was hotter than ever. The wind had completely died.
Lightning flickered eerily in the distance.
And no cars came.
“This sucks!” said Piho after precisely three minutes, “I’m jacking it in!”
“But it’s only seven o’clock,” whined Randy, “And it’s probably only ten or twelve k’s to Tammy’s place. Think air conditioning, mate. Think real beds, think good food.”
“I am,’ growled Piho, “and it’s all back there at that dude’s caravan!”
“But I want to see Tammy!”
“It’s a shame our phones don’t work here,” said Piho craftily.
“Uh, yeah,” mumbled Randy uncomfortably, “guess I put you wrong there, mate.” Randy thought for a moment about phones but nothing useful appeared in his brain. “So, like, why would we need our phones right now?”
“To ring Tammy, ya moron! You do have her number don’t you?”
Randy slapped himself on the forehead, conveniently killing two mozzies at the same time, “Of course! They could drive out and pick us up!”
Piho smiled cunningly and set off at once for Charlie Cobb’s place, muttering something about Cobb and whether he had the phone on. Randy followed willingly. After five minutes of stumbling and cursing along the shadowy track they spied the floodlit clearing through the last of the trees. They could hear the sound of someone chiselling stone up ahead. As they got closer they saw that the Mercedes was still there. They slowed to a stop, unsure whether to go blundering back into someone else’s business.
Cobb and Reinhold were hunched over the object on the back of the truck.
“...she’ll be right, mate,” Cobb was saying, “A couple more cracks at this end should see it right.”
“No!” yelled Reinhold, “No more chiselling! I want you to use the cutter!” Oddly, when the guy got angry he sounded less German.
“Well like I said I’ve lent me portable one to a mate so we’ll have to carry it right over there to the workbench. But first I’ll have to rig up a temporary frame ... aw crikey that’s the answer! Hang on!”
Cobb went to the Mercedes, closely shadowed by Reinhold, and began measuring the boot-space. Their voices were muffled, but Randy heard Reinhold clearly saying “...you break it and the deal’s off ...” before his voice sank to a mumble again.
Cobb emerged saying, “No worries mate. I’ve got just the thing.” He hurried off and returned with several slabs of timber and a bundle of sacks and began organising it all into the boot space. Reinhold stood back, frowning.
In the middle of all this Steffie the super model called out, “Klaus, honey, can we have der A.C. on? Is so hot in here.” Reinhold hurried to do her bidding.
With the engine blowing smoke at them the two men finally staggered across the gap with their mysterious load. Randy gasped as they angled it up and light flooded across the top.
“It’s a fossil!”