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The knot in Wiremu’s chest grew to the size of a boulder as the police car positioned itself behind him on the narrow road. Flashing blue and red lights strobed against the pine trees lining the hill to his left, creating a haze of alarm. Other motorists streamed past, crossing the centre line to avoid clattering with the officer emerging from his vehicle as he settled a fluorescent yellow jacket over his shoulders. They slowed to give them enough time to peer at the unfortunate teenager in the borrowed truck, but the darkness and glittering headlights masked the embarrassed flush lighting Wiremu’s cheeks.
With shaking fingers, Wiremu hauled on the handbrake and knocked the truck out of gear. It took two stabs of the button near the door handle to force the side window to lower. He scrabbled in the jacket laid on the passenger seat, extracting his wallet and flipping it open. The cocky face which peered at him from the laminated driving licence looked like a different person. A lot had changed in three years.
“Good evening, sir.” The police officer bent to get eye contact with him and Wiremu held his breath. “Can I see your driving licence, please?”
Wiremu held it out between them and the officer took it. He shone a torch onto the photograph before glancing back at the driver with a furrow appearing between his brows. “Du Rose,” he murmured. “Why do I know that name?”
Wiremu cleared his throat to alleviate the pressure from the boulder, which had forced the air into his gullet and made it difficult to breathe. “I don’t know, officer,” he replied, keeping his tone deferential. He didn’t want trouble, knowing it would cause him to fall at the first hurdle. “Did I do something wrong?” he risked asking, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.
“Is this your vehicle?” The cop bent again at the waist, the fabric of his jacket rustling in the sharp breeze blowing up from the south.
Wiremu pursed his lips. If he told the truth, the officer might call his uncle, but if he lied, then what? His mind stalled on the notion of lying and what kind of lie might smooth the way rather than making it worse.
Nothing. His brain produced nothing helpful.
He cleared his throat again. “It’s my uncle’s. He lent me a fleet vehicle for my new job.”
“Here?” The man raised a dirty blond eyebrow and glanced ahead of him along the darkened road. No streetlights softened the eerie lane, with the pine trees rustling in the breeze.
“Yes sir.” Wiremu swallowed. “I’m working at Horse’s Farm on the Pirongia Road starting tomorrow.”
“Right.” The officer took a step back and licked his lips. “For Vaughan?”
“Yeah.” Wiremu nodded with more enthusiasm. “General farm work.”
“Wait here.” The sleeves of his jacket crinkled as the officer tapped the driving licence against his opposite palm. “What’s your uncle’s name?”
“Logan Du Rose.” The boulder slipped into his stomach as he said the name, failure burning like a hot coal in his gut.
The officer’s boots crunched against loose grit as he walked back to his patrol car and sank into the driver’s seat. He closed the door against the wind and turned on the interior light. Wiremu watched in the rear-view mirror as the man’s lips moved in conversation with the control operator. He braced himself for the inevitable crushing of his dreams as the chance encounter threatened to unravel his carefully made plans.
“Idiot!” he rebuked himself. “Should have refused the truck.” He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t have done that without suspicion. The boulder of worry grew until it pressed against his spine and threatened his circulation. The cop opened his door and stepped out of the vehicle. His easy gait carried him back to Wiremu’s side.
“That all checks out,” he concluded. Long fingers with wide knuckles handed back the driving licence. Wiremu almost dropped it as he accepted the smooth plastic card, his fingers shaking.
“Why did you stop me?” His tone carried an edge of suspicion. The police force had worked hard to expunge the poisonous thread of racism from their ranks, but living with darker skin often attracted an insipid unconscious bias.
The cop nodded towards the back of the truck. “Dodgy taillight. Might be a loose connection.” He lifted his chin and pointed to the lever next to Wiremu’s right knee. He displayed his knowledge of the vehicle type by knowing of the lever’s existence, though the darkness hid it from view. “Pop the trunk and I’ll take a look.”
Wiremu’s fingers scrabbled until he found the lever, though he had to dip his head to ensure he pulled the right one. A clunk indicated the unlocking of the rear tailgate, and the cop scrunched around to the back of the truck. Unsure whether to get out of the vehicle, Wiremu followed at a safe distance. He released the catch for his seat belt and slid down from the driver’s seat, careful not to appear threatening. Already over six feet tall and with muscles created from manual labour, he could intimidate smaller men without trying. He edged around the back of the truck and watched the cop’s deft fingers as he peered into the flat bed of the truck.
“Can you hold that for me?” The cop glanced back at Wiremu and held out his torch.
“Okay.” Wiremu took a step towards him, grasping the heavy light and leaning over to shine it into the cavity. He used his other hand to raise the canopy and afford them more room.
A click sounded and red light beamed from the unit in the police officer’s hand. “Got it,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “These Toyota utes suffer from faulty connections sometimes. The plastic gets brittle in the heat. You’ll need it replaced at your next service.”
“Thanks.” Wiremu waited until the cop lifted the tailgate and set the canopy back into place. He tapped the metal chassis with an index finger before accepting back his torch.
“Nice truck,” he commented. “Few people would trust someone your age with one of these.”
Wiremu nodded in acknowledgement of a truth. “He’s a good bloke.” A sharp intake of cold air cut across his confession before he could make it. Logan’s faith in him wouldn’t last, not when he found out what he’d done. What he wanted to do.
“Is that all, sir?” he asked. The moment contained an awkwardness back lit by the patrol car’s lights, still strobing into the darkness. Another motorist edged around them, crossing onto the other side of the road and slowing. Wiremu jerked aside as the cop raised his hand, turning it into a wave at the last minute. The passing ute driver pipped the horn in acknowledgement.
Embarrassed by his obvious suspicion, Wiremu floundered. “Thanks for your help,” he gushed, his words tumbling over themselves in his haste to escape. “Please, may I go now?”
“Yeah, sure.” The cop nodded and held out his hand. “Welcome to town. It’s not much, but we like it.”
Wiremu stared down at the pale fingers as the red and blue lights kissed the man’s skin and gave it a purple hue. He took his hand and gave it a moderate shake, careful not to crush the fine bones.
“Wiri Du Rose,” he replied, his voice wavering. He’d told his employer a different surname, adopting his mother’s maiden name to avoid awkward questions. But the cop had seen his driving licence, and it created the first of many cracks in Wiri’s story. He forced a smile onto his lips and prayed he didn’t cross paths with the cop again.
They parted company, the cop deactivating the strobing lights and pulling onto the road with the roar of a diesel engine. Wiri gave the man a feckless wave, his complexion pale and sickly through the side window. As the taillights of the patrol car disappeared along the lane, he pushed his shaking palms beneath his thighs and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. The exhaled breath took his recriminations with it. “Should have said no to the truck,” he murmured.
