Prohibited Zone (4 page)

She saw me and held up a full stubby of ale. She had her half-f glass of beer in the other hand and her bag was slung over her shoulder by its strap.

‘A gift from Spud,' she said. ‘Mind if I join you?'

‘I was just leaving.'

She dumped her bag and settled down on the bench across the table from me. ‘You're Steve West, right?'

I nodded.

‘Delightful collection of specimens in there.' She gestured towards the door.

‘They're mostly harmless, I expect.'

‘Yeah. Apart from the misogyny, sexual harassment, racism and threats of violence they seem really nice.'

‘Hose doesn't seem to like you, that's for sure.'

We sat without talking for a few seconds. The door to Spuds opened again and the two observant strangers walked out. The one with the juvenile moustache looked in our direction without acknowledging us. He jangled some keys, and the indicators of a white Land Cruiser flashed on in the car park. A few seconds later two car doors slammed and an engine started up. The Land Cruiser backed out and puttered off towards the highway.

‘Don't know the older guy,' said the woman. ‘But the younger one works for ASIO.'

There was another lull in the conversation as I thought that over. I supposed it was reasonable that the Australian Security and Intelligence Organisation – Australia's equivalent to Britain's MI5 – would be sniffing around a place like this.

‘How would you know that?'

She shrugged. ‘I've seen him at the detention centre. Those places are full of spooks.'

‘The older guy would have to be a Yank, wouldn't he? Probably CIA,' I said.

‘Probably.'

‘I was joking.'

‘I'm not. Why don't you want to take me to Adelaide?'

‘No particular reason. No particular reason why I should, either.'

‘To help me out?'

‘I don't know you.'

She was quiet for a while and I studied her face again. It had a gleaming earnestness in the dim light. She had nice lips.

‘What if I told you it was a matter of national importance?'

‘I would probably say, “What a crock of shit.”'

The light was dim, but I swear she reddened again. ‘You know, it's strange,' she said. ‘Spud seemed to think you were a nice guy.'

‘Spud isn't much of a judge of character.'

‘Obviously not.'

‘He's just a big old softy.'

Another lull. She was wound up tight and struggling to keep herself from going twang. Maybe it was time for me to leave. But I liked the way her hair kept falling forward and the way her ears were still burning.

‘Look, I understand that you probably prefer your own company, although God knows why. You don't want to put yourself out. But this is important.' She leant forward and lowered her voice. ‘If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself?'

‘Maybe.'

‘Jesus Christ! I've just come from a violent riot where cops were beating anyone they could lay their hands on, people were being shredded by razor wire, water cannons were being fired, buildings were being burnt and women were screaming at the tops of their voices. Don't just sit there like a dick.'

‘Fine. How about I walk away like a dick instead?' I started to stand up.

‘No.' She gripped my arm to stop me. ‘Look, I'm sorry. I'm on edge. Hear me out.'

I looked at her for a few seconds. There was fierce urgency in her eyes. ‘Please?' She let go of my arm and I sat back down. ‘I have a friend,' she said. ‘She's hiding, not very far from here. She just escaped from the detention centre. She's in danger. She has information that will bust these fucking places wide open – literally. I need to keep her safe, and I need to get her to Adelaide so she can tell her story. My car broke down and if we don't get out of here tonight we'll be discovered for sure. I'm desperate.'

‘And you're just kind of hoping that a knight in shining armour will materialise out of nowhere.'

She snorted and gestured wildly at the night. ‘I'm in the right spot for that, aren't I? The middle of fucking nowhere.'

She leant back again. Her lips quivered slightly, as if she was going to say more but decided against it at the last moment. She took a sip of her beer.

‘Won't Spud drive you?' I said. ‘He's shiny, especially his head.'

She laughed. She wasn't laughing with me. ‘Spud says he has a pub to run. Look, this girl is in trouble. She's only nineteen. If she gets caught and has to go back to detention she'll go mad, she won't survive. It's not a nice place.'

I was still watching her. I was becoming interested in her hands, which never stopped moving, pinning her hair back, describing circles in the air, holding imaginary burdens.

‘So you helped her escape.'

‘There was a riot.'

‘And now you need a car and a driver.'

‘Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but . . .'

‘You're bloody right it is.'

The evening was getting stale and the beer was getting warm. The moon was tracking up from the east, a self-important lump of basalt casting pallid light on the sins of man. I wondered why I didn't leave.

‘What happened to all your mates?' I asked. ‘I thought there were hundreds of protesters out here. Why can't you get a lift with one of them?'

‘They've nearly all left.'

‘You've got a mobile, haven't you?'

‘Of course I've got a mobile. I've tried calling a few of them. But they're on their way to Port Augusta and there's no phone reception between here and there.'

That much was true, I knew. The outback was pretty much one big dead spot.

She irritably stuck some loose hair behind an ear – it was a nervous habit. ‘Besides, most of them would be more of a hindrance than a help. They stick out like dogs' balls. The cops will be giving them all a big workover on the way down to Adelaide. I need someone who doesn't look like a bleeding-heart greenie leftist.'

‘Which would be me.'

‘Which would be you.
You
look like a conceited fascist twat.'

We stared at each other for a while. The crickets grated. I tried not to smile. A cop car pulled into the car park.

‘Look, I don't expect a knight in shining armour. Someone with half a conscience would do.'

‘Don't get your hopes up.'

‘Don't worry, I'm not stupid.'

‘What's wrong with your car?'

‘I don't know. It just stopped. Maybe it was sabotaged.'

‘I'm sure it was. It's a conspiracy.'

‘Don't be facetious.'

‘I can't help it. I'm a facetious fascist, remember?'

‘I said conceited. And you're also a twat.'

‘What are you going to do with your car?'

She shrugged. ‘Leave it. It's not important.'

‘Where is the girl?'

‘Close.'

‘Where?'

I didn't really want to know, and even as I asked I knew that it was one question too many. That one word tolled like a bell. Her eyes seemed to spark as I asked; maybe she knew, too. She noticed the patrol car. Two cops emerged and sauntered towards us, doing the hitching and touching thing and looking like they were enjoying their work. She seemed to come to a decision, perhaps to take a calculated risk.

‘She's in one of the sheds down the track. Three hundred metres or so. I'm trusting you, West. Don't say anything to these guys.'

The cops mounted the steps to the beer garden.

‘Evening,' said one of them, coming to a halt next to our table. He was a young guy with acne. The other cop kept going and entered the bar.

‘Evening,' I replied.

The woman said nothing.

‘Cooling down.'

‘Sure is.'

‘We're on the lookout for escaped detainees.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Have you seen any?'

‘Not so far.'

‘Okay. Well, if I were you I'd make sure I locked my car, anyway. These people could be dangerous. Have a good evening.'

He followed his partner inside.

‘He needs to hone his interrogation techniques,' I said.

She snorted. ‘What about the girl? Will you help? Please?' The ‘please' was impatient rather than polite.

‘You heard him. She could be dangerous.'

‘She's not fucking dangerous!' She glared at me again. ‘Not as dangerous as I am, anyway.'

‘So how dangerous are you?'

‘Very. Are you afraid of danger?'

‘Very.'

I sipped my beer. By now I didn't care that it was warm. A recent-model Ford Falcon purred into the car park, its headlights sweeping over Spuds before they died. The driver stayed in his seat for half a minute to let the dust settle, then he stood for another few seconds by the car door, perhaps so his eyes could adjust to the dim light. I could see his silhouette, black against grey. He seemed tense and alert, as if half-expecting to be jumped in the car park. He wasn't, and after looking around a few times he made his way towards us.

‘I think I know this guy,' said the woman in a half-whisper. ‘Prize arsehole.'

I recognised him too as he mounted the steps and moved into the light. He was Peter Janeway, another of the guards at the detention centre. He had a hard, muscular body and a neck that was almost thicker than his head. His hair was cut to within a centimetre of his scalp and he wore a full beard of about the same length. His face was unlined, but his nose looked like it was made of grey plasticine and had been pressed on with a thumb. I'd heard he was ex-Special Armed Service and had been on the ground in East Timor in 1999. That probably hadn't been much fun for the East Timorese. A tattoo on his upper right arm was partly visible under his t-shirt. He looked at me with shallow eyes and nodded.

‘Westie,' he said. ‘On a date, are we?' He looked the woman up and down. She stared back at him, her face about as friendly as a gibber plain. ‘You brought her to the best place in town, I'll give you that.' He sniggered but kept his eyes on the woman. ‘I know you,' he said to her. ‘You've been stealing our residents, haven't you?'

‘I know you, too, Peter Janeway,' she said.

His smooth face twitched, as if it was tempted to smile but couldn't quite do it.

‘I've learnt that in detention centres there are good guards, there are average guards and there are arseholes. From what I've heard, you're one of the arseholes, Janeway.'

This time his face did crack a grin, his lips parting to expose perfect teeth. ‘Well, in my experience there are hot women, average women and fucken ugly women,' he said. ‘From what I can see, you're one of the fucken ugly ones.' He looked at me. ‘What do you reckon, Westie? Bring in the burqa the fucken Muslims wear for all our ugly women?' He stood over her, his hands in loose fists and the grin still superimposed on his face, waiting for a reaction. She tried hard not to give him one. Her face was set in a half-smile, but another flushing event was under way as she stared back at him.

‘I'm not scared of you,' she said.

He laughed. ‘Why should you be scared of me? I'm a nice guy. And shit, you've got Westie to protect you, anyway. Hasn't she, Westie?' He slapped me on the back, the way mates do when they're not really mates. ‘You're pretty tough, aren't you?'

‘Not as tough as you, Janey,' I said.

‘Nah, not as tough as me. I've probably got a bigger cock, too.'

I said, ‘I think you're done here, Janey. How about pissing off so we can get some fresh air?'

‘See? You
are
a tough guy, I'll give you that.'

‘Off you go, Janey. Go spread your joy somewhere else.'

He looked at the woman. ‘You wouldn't happen to know where I might find a pretty young Afghan wandering the desert?'

‘Boy or girl, Janey, or don't you mind?' I said.

‘I know you helped her get out,' he said, still looking at the woman. ‘What have you done with her? Where are you hiding her?'

She stared coldly at him. ‘I have no idea where she is. But I hope like hell she's somewhere safe from you.'

He shrugged. ‘Doesn't matter. We'll round her up eventually. And all the others.' He pushed open the door of the bar and went in.

‘I suppose you think
he's
mostly harmless, too,' she said as the door slammed shut.

‘Janey? Yeah, sweet guy.'

She had let her half-smile go. Her face had turned to stone, cold hard stone. Her Cheshire-cat mouth was just a crack in the granite.

‘Has he scared you off?' she asked.

‘From what?'

‘From helping me.'

‘Did I say I was helping you?'

‘No. But I think you will.'

I checked on the moon. It was still there. Had even moved up in the world. I thought about Janeway, and the kinds of men who would be out hunting tonight. I thought about what might happen if they found two women on their own in the middle of nowhere.

‘You can't bring her here,' I said. ‘And there's police a couple of clicks down the road.'

‘But you'll help?'

‘If you'll stop badgering me.'

She flared again. ‘I'm not badgering! But if we don't get moving soon she's going to be caught. If you're going to help you need to do it soon.'

I was suddenly sick of her bossiness. ‘And you need to shut up.'

She made as if she was going to speak again but then brought her lips back together. I spent a minute thinking while she watched me impatiently. ‘Sneak her past Spuds and cross over the Woomera Road,' I said. ‘Can you do that?'

‘Yes, I can do that.'

‘There's a railway maintenance road that runs parallel to the highway. Walk south – do you know which way is south?'

‘Yes, of course I know which way is south.'