‘The money’, I said.
‘Right. He hasn’t touched it, it’s still around somewhere and I’m going to ask him nicely where it is.’
‘And then…’
‘You meet some interesting people in gaol. If I can get my hands on the money I can get out of the country, no worries.’
‘If you can get the money it’ll prove you didn’t do the job.’
He sneered at me. ‘How?’
I could see his point-after some thought-chances were if he walked into a police station with a bag full of money they’d say thanks very much, and send him back to the slammer. Still, I was liking it less and less; it sounded like unpleasantness followed by deserted beaches or airfields. I like to do my travelling in the daylight with a lot of people taking the same risks. As I was thinking, I raised the speed a bit.
‘Take it easy, Cliff, I don’t want to draw any attention. I want Riley to sweat, but I don’t want him to know whether I went north, south, east or west.’
We got to Newcastle around midnight, and I watched the motel signs flashing by and thought about sleep. I put the question to Clem and he uncorked the thermos for an answer. That worked for a while, but after an hour on the open road I was sagging and letting the car drift a little.
‘Okay, let’s not be statistics’, Clem said. ‘Pull over when I tell you and we’ll rig something up.’
We turned off the highway down a dirt road which had trees, widely spaced, growing alongside. We went in through the trees and pulled up about thirty feet back from the road, pretty well sheltered. Clem rummaged around in the back of the car and came up with a long piece of flex. He wound the middle part of it around my ankle and took the two ends to tie around his foot. I stretched out in the front seat and he took the back. There was a coat and a blanket in the car and he slung the blanket over to me. It was cold and uncomfortable, and I soon needed a piss. Clem’s breathing was steady but whether he was asleep or not I couldn’t tell. Eventually I slept in snatches; but I was cramped, stiff and bursting at first light when Clem stirred in the back.
‘Have a good night, Cliff?’
I grunted something uncomplimentary and he laughed. ‘You should try a stay at the Bay, Cliff, this is a picnic’ He untied us and pushed his door open. ‘Splash the boots, Cliff, and let’s get moving.’
He looked pretty fresh, considering, although his stubble was darker and there was some tension in his movements. He kept patting the gun in his waistband. We pissed, and ate some of the food while the day got started; the sky was clear and even this distance north of Sydney there was a different taste to the air, fruity. I moved towards the door but he put his hand on my arm.
‘I’ll drive.’
I shrugged and got in. He tapped the wheel and gear shift as if getting the weight and balance of them, and then we were off out of the trees, bumping down the track and out onto the highway. Clem drove the way he fought; very smooth, and with a feeling of power kept in reserve. He kept the speed down; I’d spent some money on the Falcon recently and it was going along nicely at sixty. I was thinking that Clem’s luck was holding when the trouble started. A motorcycle cop passed us and then dropped back. Clem passed him and the cop drew up alongside and took a good look at us. He waved us in and Clem put his foot down. I looked back and saw the cop’s face which was white and set under the goggles. He hunched over the handlebars and came after us with a siren screaming.
‘This thing’ll fall apart at eighty’, I said.
‘Shut up.’ Clem gripped the wheel and seemed to be looking ahead, beyond the turns in the road. We were climbing slightly and the bike gained quickly. Clem bent forward and his eyes flicked from the road to the rear vision mirror. I checked my seat belt and tried to console myself with the thought that the Falcon probably wouldn’t even do eighty and that something would burn out if he tried something that would slow us down and bring us to a gentle stop. Clem wasn’t slowing, he pushed the speed up as we gained the flat. The bike cruised up close behind us and then Clem flicked off the bitumen and sent a hail of dust and stones flying back at the cop. That gained us some distance, the siren receded and then came back louder than ever. Clem fought the wheel as the needle touched eighty-five and the suspension and steering protested. When I thought the car was going to disintegrate he eased off and looked into the mirror, then he picked up again, eased back and studied the mirror. He grinned.
‘What?’ My teeth were chattering and I had to say it again to get the sound out.
‘He’s confused’, Clem said tightly, ‘probably young. Give me a break and I’ll shake him.’
The break came in the next mile; the road narrowed over a bridge and there was a high bank quite close to the road over the bridge. Clem eased off the power, touched the brake and we probably weren’t doing much more than fifty when we bumped over the bridge. He swung the wheel and the car lurched out towards the middle of the road, the bike came up on the inside and then we slipped back over to the left and crowded the bike closer to the bank. I saw the rider’s head go up and then he was in a skid, sliding and slowing, and Clem kept just ahead of him, hemming him in until he went sideways into the bank. Clem picked up speed on the straight road and I kept the dark figure in sight until we went over a hill.
‘Moving?’ Clem said.
I drew in a sour, gummy breath. ‘Yeah.’
‘Should be okay, he wasn’t going fast.’
A truck roared by on the other side and Clem wiped his hand over his face. ‘He’ll see him right. We’ve got to get off this bloody road, though.’
We went inland south of Taree and started winding and climbing through the rich farming country. I had a map of sorts and Clem had a good eye for roads; we did some backtracking but still made pretty good progress north. After a while Clem started to whistle.
‘What the hell have you got to be so cheerful about? They’re going to have two men in a dark Falcon registration number KLG 343 on the air by now.’
Clem looked at me, he was munching on the last of the salami and the scars and lines on his face were criss-crossing, smoothing out and bunching up.
‘You’re slipping Cliff. Notice anything about the farm houses around here?’
‘No.’
‘Fuckin’ great TV masts. This is TV territory, most of these people wouldn’t listen to the local radio if you paid them and they won’t watch television until the evening. Nothing to worry about till then.’
I grunted. ‘You’re wasted in a life of crime, Clem. You should be in my racket.’
The remark sobered him. ‘Yeah’, he muttered, ‘well, it’s a bit late for that, and I mightn’t be so smart anyhow, we’re going to need petrol and they listen to the radio in the workshops anyway. Going to have to trust to all that bloody luck I usually have.’
We bought the petrol in a small town that featured a bowser on the side of the road, a post office store and a pub. Clem took some money and bought food; I bought some beer and a bottle of brandy. Clem gestured angrily at me to drive when he saw the package. I knew he wouldn’t want to start a scene in the town so I opened one of the cans as I got behind the wheel.
‘I said no booze, Cliff, he said when we got out of the town.
‘Fuck you, Clem, I’m twitching and I need a drink. I’m not going to go through another night like that without a few belts. Think of it as medicine.’ I held one of the cans out to him but he stared out the window.
We pushed on through the afternoon scarcely talking. Clem kept looking at the map and dictating the route. He was making for some point short of Gismore and his spirits seemed to lift when we got into the ranges between Kempsey and Tamworth. The light was fading when we got to Bunda Bunda. Clem told me to stop by the single public phone booth in the town.
‘Let’s have some silver, Cliff.’ I gave him what I had, and he reached over and took the keys. He went into the booth and I saw him take the. 38 out and put it to hand; then he shovelled money into the box, dialled, waited and spoke. He was grinning when he came back.