The murder of the biker had shocked Devon in a way he hadn’t expected. He had grown up around men who considered themselves killers, and who talked endlessly about violence, but he had never seen a life taken.
And this was what it’d felt like.
Despite the muzzle-blast in the darkened room, and the bullet that’d torn into Ted’s skull – a transference of fire from the shooter into the shot – what it felt like to Devon was that the skinhead had reached down and snatched something from Ted, who never moved again. The skinhead looked equally shocked at what he’d done. They both stared at the dead biker for nearly a minute, both of them deafened and silent, in reverence for the strangeness of what’d just happened.
And then Devon began to speak. A stream of shit and drivel that came from some deep reservoir of instinct and dread. He spoke, and he laughed, and played the role of the rescued man rather than the man expecting to be executed. The animated light in the skinhead’s eyes died away as the adrenalin left him and he was confronted with the babbling fool still handcuffed to the table.
‘You’re Ant,’ said Devon. ‘Barry Brown’s nephew. Remember me?’
Ant pointed the gun at Devon, nothing in his eyes, then turned away.
Devon didn’t know what the plan was, but the other man didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He took the biker’s Glock from his dead hand and placed it at the waistband of his jeans. He went into the bedroom and put the floorboard pieces back into position, then returned with the shotgun and boxes of shells. He put them beside the front door and returned for Devon, lifting the kitchen table so that the handcuffs slid down the heavy table-leg, freeing him.
Devon didn’t shut up the whole time. He could hear his words but he wasn’t really listening, saying how he was glad things had gone the way they had. That he would rather the weapons were in the hands of fellow race patriots than the bikers. That he was going to help them. That he was AWOL and planning to stay in Australia, to help with whatever was needed. On and on he went until the skinhead angled his head toward the front door, indicating for Devon to follow.
The skinhead Antony drove the white transit van that Devon had last seen parked in the alley outside the racetrack. Ant was silent until he lit his first cigarette. Reaching for the dash-lighter, Devon saw that the man’s hand was shaking.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Devon lied. ‘First one is always the hardest. Was the same for me.’
‘Shut the fuck up now,’ the man answered.
Devon still wore the cuffs. He didn’t know why Ant had done what he’d done, murdering the biker, except that Devon was grateful, even if he was still a captive, still in danger. The skinhead gave off an acrid odour of stale sweat and possibly fear. How long had he waited under the floorboards? Or had he crept under the house after the others had left, when Devon was left alone with Ted?
‘That was a sweet move you just pulled, Ant. Where we headed?’
The skinhead tugged hard on his cigarette.
Devon had to try, and keep trying. He was just about to speak when the skinhead glanced at the dashboard clock, leaned over and turned on the radio. It was ten o’clock.
‘Shut the fuck up now,’ he said. ‘I’m not gonna tell you again.’
The radio announcer’s plummy voice sounded comical to Devon, but what he said wasn’t funny.
‘The US Navy has confirmed the theft of six semi-automatic M16 weapons from the USS Carl Vinson, thought responsible for yesterday’s drive-by shooting at the clubhouse of The Nongs outlaw bikie gang in Bayswater. Following the premier’s comments that the perpetrators would face the full brunt of the law, this morning the headquarters of the APM, a white nationalist organisation, were raided by Federal Police and several squads of the Tactical Response Group. So far the weapons have not been retrieved. The APM has been previously linked to arson attacks against Asian businesses, as well as several serious assaults. It is not known why the attack was made against the outlaw motorcycle club. The leader of the APM, Mr Nigel Kinslow, who ran unsuccessfully as a candidate in the recent state elections, said this morning that the allegations are based on malicious information designed to further damage the reputation of what is a legitimate political force. Working together with local investigators in an effort to recover the stolen weapons, USS Navy Master-at-Arms Steven Webb has released the name of the serviceman believed responsible for the thefts. He is identified as Midshipman Devon Smith of the USS Carl Vinson, who has been AWOL since yesterday. Members of the public with any information regarding Midshipman Smith are asked to contact the police. He is described as Caucasian, five foot nine inches with green eyes and distinctive “Nazi-style” tattoos on his upper arms. The theft and supply of the weapons comes on the tail of the inquiry into the murder of two Perth women, with an AWOL American sailor, Midshipman Charles Bernier, the only person of interest in the ongoing investigation. In other news, Prime Minister Bob Hawke has said that –’
The skinhead killed the radio, punched the dash-lighter. ‘Hope you caught all that, Yank. First time I’ve heard you shut your fuckin mouth.’
Devon didn’t reply. They’d already crossed the river. It was too late for him to glance behind, to where the Vinson lay moored. Whatever happened next, he had a feeling that he’d never see that damn ship again. The skinhead lit his cigarette and took a long hit.
‘Can I get some of that?’ Devon asked. The skinhead grunted, passed it over to Devon’s cuffed hands, punched the dash-lighter again.
Devon sucked greedily on the smoke, tried to make conversation. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I get it. I get all of it. Especially now that it’s come out. If you –’
All it took was one glance from the Australian, his arms stiff on the wheel, to shut Devon up again.