shed be attacked out in the open, but somewhere isolated and contained. She looked back over her shoulder. The first tail was less than ten metres behind her. Leah wanted to run but suppressed the urge. She walked.
Cars, taxis, a bus, a courier motorcycle, people shopping, a kid on a skateboardit was an ordinary, moderately busy street in the middle of the afternoon, not a place for chaos. That would come somewhere nearby, somewhere narrow, dark and shielded from view. She felt a bleakness settle in her. Nothing was finished yet. Nothing was ever finished.
A hundred metres closer to the city were two rows of faded terrace houses, separated by an alley, and home to several struggling shops under the rusted verandahs over the footpath. The Subaru was parked just beyond the alley. And just then a third man appeared, stepping out from behind the Subaru, blocking Leah’s path. He had blunt features and the build of a weightlifter. Leah saw him crouch slightly, waiting to see what she would do.
Leah stopped, looking for leverages. She couldn’t find any. The first two men were keeping well back from her and the bodybuilder posed problems. If the guy had long hair or loose clothing then there would be something she could hold, jerk or twist, but his skull was shaved, he wore tight jeans and T-shirt, and there was only his body, hard, coiled-looking, like a black spring, and the expandable police baton that he was now taking from the small of his back. He jerked his head at the alley, meaning in there.
This was her last chance to make a run for it, but Leah was angry and focused now, needing to thrash this out, and walked a few metres into the alley. She stopped, turned around. The third man had followed her in; he halted when Leah did, the others stationed on the footpath behind him. He didn’t speak, just stared flatly at Leah. Then he gestured with the baton, ushering her deeper into the alley. Leah turned, walked, and after a few seconds heard soft footfalls as he began to follow her. She knew how it would go: theyd swarm over her, start punching, kicking, smacking their batons against her, and it would be done in silenceno arguments, no explanations.
Leah stopped. The alley was damp and narrow, smelling of urine and garbage scattered by rangy cats. Faint grey light leaked in from the street behind her. In front of her was a wall.
They were not counting on what she did then. She spun around. She began to shout. At the same time, she charged, zigzagging down the alley toward them, bouncing from wall to wall. The bodybuilder swung his baton, tracking Leah, but was slow to react. Leah reached the man and raked her keys across his face. The cold eyes filled with blood. The man grunted in pain, and his first instinct was to put both hands to his face. Leah wheeled, swung her fist, and drove the air from his body.
The other men began to fumble for batons. They hadn’t expected this. They’d thought it would be easy, three against one. Now they didn’t know if they should rush Leah, keep her trapped, or rescue their friend. You bitch, one of them said. They started toward her.
Leah continued to run, swift, low, shouting unnervingly. She ran right into the face of their batons. They swung, but she was too fast, and was running at the gap between them, so that they risked clouting each other. Suddenly they were at a disadvantage in that narrow space.
Leah’s shoulder drove into the first man, who doubled over, mouth opening and closing. He dropped his baton, crumpled to the ground. Leah scooped up the baton and swung it around on the other man, who backed on to the footpath, shocked at the speed and fury of the turnaround, then fled, scuttling in panic down the street.
It had all taken seven seconds.
A small boy and an elderly woman had seen everything. The boy began to cry, the old woman was gulping, but they didn’t move. Leah walked past them and across the street. They looked wonderingly after her then back at the men in the alley.
Leah walked south east toward the city centre, then cut across to the Victoria Market. It was a long shot, but it paid off, and thirty minutes later she had her ride out of the city.
They wouldn’t be expecting that. They would be expecting her to go deeper to ground.
chapter 2
Don’t I know you from somewhere?
Leah shook her head. Don’t think so.
You look familiar, the driver said. It’ll come to me.
To forestall that, Leah said, Ive got one of those faces. I’m always reminding people of someone.
The driver was silent, as if chewing on the matter. Leah said, How often do you make this run?
Get people to talk about themselves. It was a trick that Leah often used. She almost never talked about herself though, and for some people that was a problem. They couldn’t read her and she didn’t reveal anything.
Twice a week, the driver answered.
Faded paintwork on the sides of the van said Glendas Flowers and Gifts, Tiverton, a backroads town in the empty west of the state. The destination suited Leah just fine. The driver clearly wasn’t Glenda. Glendas husband? An employee? But whoever he was, he made the trip to Melbourne twice a week to buy market flowers at wholesale prices for re-sale to the locals in and around Tiverton.
Leah felt sleepy after her adrenaline burst of the last few hours. The sun warmed her and the vans motion lulled her toward sleep. But she needed to stay alert. Constant vigilance had become a condition of her life.
And she couldn’t afford to get offside with the people who gave her lifts, now that she was thumbing it. She thought back to her student days and her unwritten guide to hitchhiking. Look presentable or you’ll never be picked up in the first place. Stand where a vehicle can pull in safely (the number of idiots shed seen standing halfway up snarling freeway on-ramps). Travel with another woman whenever possible. Stand alert, expectant, proud, not slumped like a dropout or dead-beat. If you’re hitching in Europe, sew an Australian flag to your pack. Be patient. Carry apples, muesli bars and plenty of water in case you’re stuck somewhere for several hours. Carry a roll of loo paper. Wear sunblock and a hat. Wear pantswomen should cover up. Carry a nylon rain slicker that will protect you and your pack. Don’t stand too close to the edge of the road, lest you become a skittle to a truckie low on sleep or high on uppers or anger at the world. Stand well clear of gravel, puddles, blind corners and the brows of hills. Expect to be discouraged. Expect to play catch-up with drivers who let you hoof it toward them for a hundred metres, then take off just as you reach the passenger door. Expect to dodge eggs, apple cores and stones.
And when you actually get a ride, buckle up and sound grateful and polite. Try to read the driver. Is she nervous? Use body language to show that you’re not a threat. Is he a windbag? Let him talk. Does she want to ride in silence? Respect that. Don’t fiddle with the radio or complain about his Barry Manilow tapes. Don’t crank down the window and sniff elaborately if she lights up a cigarette. Don’t be too nosy. Don’t give away personal details. If its a long trip, offer to buy a cup of coffee. If you buy yourself a block of chocolate, share it. Offer five bucks for petrol. It’ll probably be refused but, if its accepted, then remember that its cheaper than the bus or train and not going to break the bank. Expect to be bored. Expect to hear all kinds of intimacies and inanities. Expect to be beaten over the head with Jesus, the power of the trade union movement and the shiftiness of your black, your Asian, your Arab. Expect kindness: ten bucks shoved into your top pocket or being taken fifty kilometres out of the drivers way. Expect roving hands or blunt demands.
All of these things passed through Leah’s mind in a heartbeat and she sat up straight, alert and friendly, all the way to Tiverton.
The town was a string of shopfronts with a pub at one end and an agricultural machinery yard at the other, and a few hectares of tin-roofed bungalows, oleander bushes and lawns on either side. Leah thanked the driver and asked about campgrounds and caravan parks.
The driver pointed. Go to the end, first right, the caravan parks on the edge of the creek there.
Thanks.
Mosquitoes, lots and lots of mosquitoes.
So Leah went into the pharmacy and bought insect repellent and was about to leave when she saw a face she recognised. She froze, watching the cop car creep past along Main Street. Then before the pharmacist got suspicious she turned to a rack of sunhats and swivelled it a few times, staring past the straw rims to the street outside, thinking it through. The cops name was Drew. So, they’d demoted the bastard, sent him to this one-horse town in the middle of nowhere. But if Drew had been demoted, so had others, meaning the bush could be crawling
