Читать книгу The Big Smoke - Jason Nahrung - Страница 8

Fortitude Valley. It sounded all right — fortitude was just what he needed — but as Kevin stared at the crumpled map he'd bought at a servo, he found little comfort in the maze of meaningless names and streets, his forehead aching as the lines and titles morphed into a mess of doodles. He rubbed his eyes, tried to ignore the dryness in his mouth, a sensation in his gut that was empty and tight at the same time.

He needed to rest. A cheap motel? Maybe one of those boarding houses with the peeling paint and rusted roofs he'd driven past? No, the idea of sharing space with other people didn't appeal. It wasn't safe. For anyone.

Of one thing he was certain — he wasn't leaving the Monaro. Fuck that. He'd given up too much as it was. He wasn't letting the car go. Not until he had to.

He threw the wrinkled map on the passenger seat and fired up the car. The burble of the engine, the feeling of control as he steered out into the traffic, helped settle his nerves. A little. He had until dawn.

Driving slowly, letting the streetscape sink in, he noted the haphazard mix of rundown housing, new apartments, shops and offices. A mall opened, threatening with the flash of lights, clumps of shadowed figures, cops patrolling in gangs of four. There was an obviously Asian sector that, according to his map and the various signposts, was Chinatown. Hard to mistake the big wooden gate with the lion statues. Or were they dragons?

Didn't matter, there could be no shelter for him there.

So where could he hole up while he searched for the Needle? Afraid to park on the street, he'd spent the day under cover at the airport, just one of many in the long-term section. He'd slept in the boot. It had cost a fortune and he was low on cash. Hours passed as he drove around and around the Valley. Seedy and busy, it was a place close to Thorn where he could blend in, he hoped.

Like a meter for this confidence, the petrol gauge arrowed toward empty. The hollow space in his gut expanded, the pressure causing his temples to throb as dawn crept closer. His vision clouded, the iris of black contracting until all he could see was dead ends.

Kevin almost missed the shop and had to reverse to check it out.

It was on a quiet back street a few blocks from the Brunswick Street Mall, surrounded by tin sheds and sagging, decrepit houses. Boards covered the windows, spray-painted warnings of No Trespassing discernible under the tags and graffiti.

Hope flared. His vision cleared; the weight on his chest lifted. He could just read the faded Merle's Coffee sign fixed to the stained bricks of the front wall. At the rear, he found a lane and loading dock that suited perfectly. He used the tyre iron to break the chain. The metal door slid up with a rusty screech. Cobwebbed crates and bits of esoteric machinery cluttered the bay, but he had room to park the Monaro.

Bugs scuttled in the headlights. The smell of coffee lingered in a musty mix of dust and mildew that made his nose itch. This could be it — sanctuary.

A quick look around revealed a large, empty space backing on to the dock, and an office and reception at the front.

He crept up creaky wooden stairs. His eyes adjusted until he could see the webs and vermin shit.

Dirty water flowed from the tap in the kitchen, gradually running clear. The initial shriek of the pipes made him wince. He hadn't been aware of his ramped-up hearing scanning for any hint of danger, but he felt it retreat from the piercing noise, filtering back to a less painful level. He was ready for the scream and rattle when he tested the taps in the bathroom with its crusty shower-head, brown-stained bath and toilet. He could smell rotten wood; if he concentrated, he could hear the drip-drip-drip of the hidden leak, the scuttling of cockroaches and rats behind the walls, the munching of termites.

There was no hot water, no bulbs for him to test the lights. He imagined the power had long been cut off. But this place would do. Hell, yes, anything to get out of sight and out of the sun.

He returned to the car and nestled into the driver's seat. The night was almost spent. His energy drained away; finally, he could stop running, take stock, rest.

He checked his map once more. He'd made a list of tattoo parlours from a search at an internet café, leaving the coffee untouched but filling several pages of a notebook with addresses. It was a massive task, with more than fifty parlours just in the central city area. He'd marked the locations as accurately as he could on the map. One of them, he hoped, would lead him to the Needle; and the Needle would lead him to Mira. Hungry and impatient, he folded the map and fumbled with the tuner until he locked on to the strongest FM signal he could find. Talking Heads were singing about running away from a psycho killer. He laughed, the sound brittle and humourless. He settled back, closed his eyes, tried not to think of the odds against him succeeding.

He could understand Danica not wanting him to kill Mira: Dee was her biological mother, after all. But Kala?

Her words came back to him, the two of them arguing as he packed his duffel bag. 'Don't pretend this is about me,' she'd said. And he saw her again, fingering her ear lobe, the flesh smooth now, no sign of the hole left by Mira's savage removal of the silver earring.

It wasn't about Kala, or the things that had been done to her.

'Don't go,' Danica had told him, even though she admitted there was nothing more for her to teach him. 'Killing Mira will resolve nothing.'

Fresh is best. Straight from the vein

Taipan, as though he was saying it for the first time.

So much for a dish best served cold.

He was Taipan's child. That was true. And an orphan twice over. Taipan had also died. And maybe he had found the peace that eluded him in preternatural life. But both Mira and her right-hand man, Hunter — Kevin always thought of the man by his rank, not his name — had survived.

While Kala, Danica and he had escaped — skulking at the arse end of the country, living like leeches in the mud and tropical heat — it did not feel like victory. Not while Mira was free.

Kevin turned off the radio and covered himself with a coat as he laid his seat down, lacking even the strength to crawl into the back.

Dawn came, thin lances of sunlight glowing in the dust. The hunt would begin at sundown.