 
Left Hook

By S.L. Hughes

#

Published by S.L. Hughes

Smashwords Edition

First published in 2013

Copyright Stephen L Hughes 2013

ISBN 978-0-9923429-0-6

Cover and Ebook Formatting by Ebook Launch

Cover photograph: (woman and men) courtesy of Deposit Photos. Police car: fictitious GTHO Pursuit Special. Valiant Charger courtesy of Peter Garden

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author. This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this eBook to anyone else.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance of fictional characters to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

# Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

# Acknowledgements

Firstly I would like to thank author Gary Mckay for: your no-nonsense appraisal of my manuscript, your candid accounts of the Vietnam War, the use of your enlistment number for this story and what the 'F7' key was for. To my overworked copy editor Carry Ward. Your attention to detail and knowledge of the English language astounds me. Thank you for all your help.

A big thank you to all my family and friends who make my world what it is, a life of love and hope, thank you all. And last of all I thank my wife, Rose, for never giving up on me. You are the dawn light after a storm at sea, and the vessel that keeps me heading towards it.

#

For my darling wife, Rose.

# Prologue

Phuoc Tuy Province, South Vietnam, late September 1971

_I gotta save 'em... I have to!_ The soldier urgently spurred himself on under the hot tropical sun. A single rain drop hit his chiselled cheek, quickly followed by another and another. The drops feeling like tiny heartbeats against his skin.

A little Vietnamese girl clung desperately to him. Hope radiated from her face as her saviour sprinted down the muddy road. A bloodied hand supported her tiny body in their joint fight for life.

The rapid pumping of his legs was matched only by his strong heartbeat. _They're counting on me, there's no other choice._ In the distance through the empty village he could see his rifle troop, urging him to safety. The goal posts of freedom barely visible in the sudden tropical downpour. The moment seemed to last forever. His mates' cries of encouragement were drowned by the sound of gunfire from both sides. The rain saturated everything: he struggled with the added weight of his wet army fatigues, the damp clay gripped his boots with every step.

Images started to flicker through his thoughts; the people he loved, his parents laughing, his sisters chasing each other last Christmas and... Evie. _I promise girl, that when I --_

Suddenly, an AK-47 bullet blasted through the young man's leg with shockwave ferocity; muscle and clothing erupted from his shattered thigh. His legs twisted violently, throwing his body to the muddy ground. The little girl clung desperately as both rescuer and victim landed with a thud. Still conscious and oblivious to his injuries he pushed the girl forward. 'Go! Go!' he yelled. 'Get outta here _._ '

Frozen in fear she could not move. _Go where? Where is safe?_ Her young mind was overwhelmed in a world of madness.

_I've got no choice._ With all his remaining strength the sapper rose to his feet and grabbed the child under the arm, pulling her forward. Bullets whistled past as he dragged her, and himself, valuable metres towards the finish line, refusing to give up, refusing to let go of life. _I don't... think I --_

His body shook with sickening thuds. Small droplets of blood sprayed up under his chin from all directions. Too many bullets to count had passed through his muscular frame.

_Come on! Move, dammit, move! You've gotta..._ the young soldier commanded his body, but it was hopeless, flesh and bone no match for mankind's hideous inventions. Slowly, like a defiant ship refusing to sink, powerless against the gravity that called him, the desperate hero collapsed into the bloodstained mud. His ocean-blue eyes, that contrasted so strikingly with his chiselled olive features, stared, surprised at the world.

His awareness of his surroundings dulled and recent events slipped away into a thickening fog. He stared upwards at the falling rain, almost smiling at its beauty. His heart began to slow, his sky began to darken, and his thoughts began to fade. _Evie... I'm... I'm sorry..._

'Mick! Hang in there, Mick--'

# Chapter 1

Four weeks earlier

Bankstown, New South Wales, late August 1971

'Michael, ple-ease let me in.' The young girl in her warm home-made dressing gown begged her older brother. 'I've got to _go_ ,' she pleaded through the solid bathroom door.

Suddenly the door flew open. 'What is it Soph?'

Ten year old Sophie Halias stared up at her brother.

'Can't ya see I'm busy?' Michael said, looking at his reflection while he shaved his chiselled cheek. A confident smile escaped the corner of his mouth. _Shit!_ he thought as he studied his muscular body in the mirror. _The army's got me lookin' pretty good._ His white singlet neatly shaped his impressive shoulders and the tight blue jeans complimented his narrow waist. Michael nodded at his own reflection. _Even old Adonis would have been proud of this body._

'I've really gotta _go_ Mickey... I'm busting!' Sophie pleaded through her thick black fringe. Her intense stare was made even more dramatic by her pale ocean-blue eyes that contrasted so beautifully with her olive skin. Her eyes the same colour as her mother and two siblings.

'Give me five minutes and it's all yours.' Michael kicked the door closed. _Bloody kid, I finally get back from training and everyone wants a piece of me. Mum's trying to shove food down my throat, everyone I know's coming over for dinners... Christ! Sometimes I feel like gettin' this ten days of leave over with, and just gettin' over there._

'When I grow up,' Sophie yelled through the door, 'I'm going to have a house with _two_ toilets.'

'Yeah!' Michael said, opening the door. 'Only rich people have two dunnies ya little cockroach.' He smiled and kissed her on the cheek leaving a smear of shaving cream across her angelic face.

'Rrrhh!' Sophie growled, 'I'm telling Mum and Dad.' She turned and stomped towards the kitchen.

*

'Remember this song?' Nic whispered into his wife's ear while he helped wash the dishes.

'Shush!' Dimitra whispered, remembering when she first started dating him back in Greece.

'Your mother was in the kitchen next door.' Nic danced around his wife.

Dimitra smiled remembering the passionate moment.

Nic's powerful hands gripped her tiny waist and turned her around pulling her back in to his chest.

'Nic, what you doing?' Dimitra blushed. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck as he sang through her black curls.

'You are mine you sweet, sweet wine.'

_Oh Baba, you don't even know the right words._ Sophie watched her father sing and pull her mother close to his body. ' _Baba!_ Look what Michael--'

'How long you been there?' Nic questioned.

'Baba I need to _go!_ ' Sophie's head tilted to the side in agony. 'I'm _bur_ -sting.'

Nic smiled watching his youngest daughter hopping on one leg, her face smeared with shaving cream. 'Look Dimitra! She looks like your mother having a shave.' Nic laughed.

Dimitra fought a smile and smacked him across the shoulder for disrespecting her mother; twenty-two years of marriage had done little to lessen the passion in their relationship.

'She almost caught us,' Nic whispered. 'A couple more minutes and--' Nic rolled his eyes as the phone started to ring. _After twelve hours in the shop, I don't need this._ He flipped his tea towel over his shoulder and made his way towards the phone.

'Baba, what about me?' Sophie pleaded, her face beginning to quiver.

'Go outside.'

'I can't go--'

'Let me answer the phone, then--'

'I got it Dad!' Beth pushed past and grabbed the phone.

'Hello,' said the nineteen year old, 'Halias residence.'

'Who is it?' Nic called out.

Beth continued the conversation, ignoring her father. 'WHO IS IT?' Nic called, this time adding two opened-hand gestures. _She might be beautiful but she should respect me more._

Beth calmly placed her hand over the mouthpiece. 'IT'S RUSSELL!' She returned to her original volume, 'Oh, that's just Dad. You know.'

Nic stood bemused, his hands held out; raising one of them in the air, he returned to the dishes hoping for no more distractions.

_Russell?_ Sophie recognised an opportunity and ran to the bathroom door. 'Michael, Russell's on the phone, Russell's on the--'

'I heard ya, I heard _you_ okay.' Michael walked from the bathroom drying his face. Sophie rushed past him and closed the door behind her. A faint 'Excuse me' echoed from the closed room seconds later.

Michael casually walked towards Beth with an open hand. 'Give us the phone.' Beth pulled a face and finished her conversation. _Here comes Mr Perfect._

'Hi Russ... I know it's a Thursday night... It'll still be fun... Give me about ten minutes.' Michael nodded and quickly finished, 'See ya.'

*

Russell hung up the phone and picked up his comb. _Not bad._ The tall young man admired his reflection. _Not too bad at all_ , he thought, combing his strawberry-blond hair in the living-room mirror. _I wonder if the shirt's too much... what a stupid name,_ paisley, _still looks like flowers._ He nodded, happy with his appearance. His new flared jeans a size too small. _I think the chick in the shop liked me._

'Where you and your wog mate goin'?' A raspy smoker's voice resonated from a worn lounge chair where only a lit cigarette in hand was visible.

The lounge room was dull and void of life, its furnishings old and dusty, only a television provided any form of atmosphere.

'His name's Mick, Dad, and we're just drivin' around.'

*

'You haven't eaten all your dinner,' Dimitra protested in the hallway. 'The army, they not feeding you, look, you have no fat at all.'

'Mum I'm fine, can I have my shirt?'

'Still too skinny,' she muttered.

'See Mum,' Michael squeezed into his tight t-shirt, 'ya can't call this skinny.' He smiled.

Dimitra shook her head at her son's broad chest and shoulders. 'Go. Do your driving with Russell, but don't be too late.'

'Love you Mum.'

Dimitra muttered a protest and picked up her son's half-eaten dinner. 'Look how much he leaves. No wonder he's so skinny.'

Michael pushed the front screen door open and ran to his '64 Holden, juggling the keys. He turned the key in the ignition and smiled. 'Shit you're a good mechanic Russ, this baby's running like a dream.' He flattened the accelerator and wheel-spun down the road. 'Woo hoo!' he called out and slammed on the brakes only four doors down the street at Russell's house.

Michael pressed the horn down until Russell ran outside.

'Keep ya socks on,' Russell shouted.

Michael continued to press the horn until Russell closed the door behind him. No sooner had he sat down than Michael accelerated down the street and towards the bright lights of the city, leaving behind barking dogs and peering neighbours.

'You're a goose,' Russell said, smiling at his excited friend.

'You and me Russ, just you and me tonight, and then,' Michael turned smiling wickedly at Russell, 'then we're on our way to Surfers Paradise for a week of nothin' but _chicks and rootin'_.'

_Shit, the way Mick's driving it's like he just got his licence._

'Is it just me, or are the dresses getting shorter?' Michael said, looking everywhere but the road.

*

'How long are we gunna keep driving around for?' Russell said, checking his watch.

'Relax will ya,' Michael said and turned a corner. 'I reckon all the chicks will be comin' out of the movies about now.'

'Movies?' _Bloody hell, we've already spent half the night hangin' around the dances._

'Jeez Russ!' Michael said, changing lanes, 'haven't you picked up anything bein' around me.'

'Chickenpox when I was eight.'

'Fuck off, you gave 'em to me,' Michael snapped back and continued to explain. 'The two movies showin' tonight were _Planet of the apes_ --'

'I loved that movie!'

'Fucken monkeys in a spaceship, give me a _break._ ' Michael shook his head. 'The other one was _Summer of_ ' _42_ , a love story.' Michael winked. 'The chicks will already be half warmed up... get it.'

Russell shook his head. _If Mick put half as much effort into making money we'd already have enough saved by now._

'Over there!' Michael said, pulling up at the lights. 'Check out the two girls. Look at the tits on the one in pink. I reckon that blonde would--' _It can't be, no way!_

'I think it's... it is. It's Rachael!' Russell smiled. _Shit, she looks as good as the day her old man promised to shoot Mick's balls off. Fuck that was funny._

'I'm gunna say hello. You can chat the friend up.'

'I don't know Mick, she's not my type.'

'Type? Since when did you get so picky? Anyway she's gorgeous, and you love chicks with black hair.'

'No I don't,' Russell said, pulling a face.

Michael shook his head. _There's been something different about old Rusty Nuts ever since I got back from training._

'And anyway,' Russell said, 'you remember what Rachael's dad said?'

'Fuck him, so what he's a cop. He can't stop me from talkin' to her.'

'Aren't ya forgetting something--?'

'I remember what he said.'

'Not about that, about those two crooks he shot dead.'

_Shit. I forgot about that._ 'There's no harm in talking.' Michael swallowed nervously.

'It's your balls mate.' Russell laughed as the lights turned green.

Michael pulled up alongside the two girls, matching his speed to the pace of their walking.

'Look straight ahead Kim,' Rachael said, glancing at the strange car driving menacingly beside them.

'What do they want?' Kim asked nervously. _I knew something like this would happen; darn Rachael for talking me into this._

'Does God know you two angels are out this late?'

Both the young women smiled, but their eyes remained glued to the footpath.

'Check 'em out Russ,' Michael whispered, 'they're blushing.' _Hey, this'll be fun._ 'Russ, ya remember that thing I used to do... you know, the pretend talking?'

'Don't Mick, that's kids' stuff.'

'Nah, it'll be fun.' Michael leant out the window and smiled. 'I can't ask that!' he said, pretending to have a conversation, knowing the girls were listening to every word. 'I know they're beautiful, but they'd say no for sure.' Michael smiled. _Rach is gunna flip._ 'Especially that Rachael chick, she'd definitely say no.'

_What?_ Rachael frowned. _That sounds like..._ 'Mick! I should've known it was you.' She beamed at Michael's devious smile.

'G'day gorgeous,' Michael said, scanning Rachael's impressive body as she skipped over to the car.

'You scared the hell out of me, Mick.' Rachael stared deeply into the eyes of her first true love. 'I like your hair, it suits you,' she said, running her hand over his short army haircut.

'I'm going over to Vietnam.'

'What? That's terrible, we shouldn't even be over there.'

'Don't worry Rach.'

God I love it when he calls me that.

'I was built for lovin' not fightin'.'

Russell rolled his eyes at Michael's smooth talking. Michael reached out and held Rachael's hand. She had begun to blush a second time.

'Sorry about my dad.'

'Don't worry about it Rach, he just cares about you.' _If I didn't need my nuts I would've given him a good uppercut._

Rachael smiled at Michael's understanding words.

'You look gorgeous Rach,' he said, changing the subject, 'that dress, the perfume you're wearing; I just want to gobble you up.' Michael pretended to bite her wrist and forearm.

_Jeez this guy's hot._ Rachael felt the adrenaline wash over her as Michael ran his lips over her wrist. 'Cut it out Mick,' she said with a little squeal but moved even closer.

'Oh, I forgot.' Rachael quickly turned and signalled to her friend to come over.

_Don't make me do this Rachael._ Kim felt her heart thump all the way up to her throat. _You know I'll get in trouble. And that boy is definitely trouble._

'G'day Rachael,' Russell said and leant forward. 'You look well.' _I wonder if she ever knew I had a crush on her._

Michael turned and stared at Russell. 'Just well?' he whispered and turned back to ogle Rachael's curves. _She looks bloody fantastic._

'Oh, hi Russell! I didn't see you there.' _He looks different. I wonder if he still has a crush on me,_ Rachael thought and turned back to the street. __ 'Come on Kim, Mick won't bite.'

'I will if you want me too,' Michael whispered into her ear.

'Mick you... you're still a devil!' She blushed. 'You haven't changed a bit.'

'Oh yeah?' Michael grinned. 'There's only one bit that changes when you're around!'

Rachael couldn't look him in the eye. _No wonder I couldn't get over this guy; he's so... he's so --_'This is Kim,' she managed.

'Hi Kim, nice to meet you,' Michael said with a flirtatious smile.

'I have a boyfriend you know.'

Michael laughed. 'Steady on Kim, we're just havin' a chat.'

'Rachael's got a boyfriend too.'

Rachael rolled her eyes. 'Peter's just a friend.'

_Boyfriend huh? We'll see about that_. 'So where's...?' Michael pretended he had already forgotten his competitor's name.

'Peter?' Rachael shrugged her shoulders. 'Out with his mates I think.'

Michael winked at Rachael. 'Do you want a lift hom--?'

'No!' Kim interrupted. 'We're fine thank you.'

Michael looked up into the sky with a premonitory smile. 'The weather doesn't look too good Kimbo--'

'It's Kim and--' A rain drop hit her in the eye. 'It's just--' A second drop tapped her forehead.

'Come on Kim, it's raining.' Rachael winked at her friend. 'Come on,' she whispered. 'Do this for me and I promise it'll be fun.'

Rachael, why do I listen to you?

'It's okay Kim. Mick's a good guy, so is Russell. Oh, this is Russell.'

Russell leant forward in front of Michael. 'G'day Kim.'

Kim didn't respond but followed Rachael into the back seat, both girls slid across the expensive custom sheepskin car-seat covers.

'This is comfy.'

'You should know Rach.' Michael winked.

Rachael playfully slapped Michael on the arm. _God that was a wonderful night._

'So Kim, how's things?' Russell asked.

'Fine. Just fine, thank you.' Kim still wasn't comfortable in the strange surroundings and was counting the minutes until she'd be home.

Rachael watched as Russell and Kim talked. _Jeez he's different since I saw him last, he's really cute now. What's different about him? It's like he's turned into a man overnight._ 'How's your apprenticeship going Russell?'

'All finished,' Russell replied, turning towards the girls as he placed his arm across the top of the bench seat. 'I'm a fully qualified mechanic now,' he said proudly. _Topped the class and showed my old man how good I was._ 'How about you Rachael? How's uni going?'

'Good. Really good, I'm going to be a teacher before you know it.'

'I can see you as a really good teacher,' Russell said. He was saying all the right things at the right times, much to Michael's envy.

Rachael placed her hand on Russell's shoulder. 'Thanks Russell. That means a lot.'

_That smooth talking Michael is danger on legs,_ Kim thought, _but Russell, he's really sweet, I wonder if he has a girl --'_

'How about you Kim?' Kim looked startled at the sudden attention from Russell, 'What do you do?'

'I'm studying to be a registered nurse at St Margaret's,' she blurted out.

Michael jabbed his friend in the ribs, Russell wasn't sure what he was implying but ignored the prompting.

'My mum was a nurse, that's a real noble profession I reckon,' Russell declared.

_I hope he doesn't have a girlfriend,_ Kim smiled inside, _Rachael was right; this is fun._ Kim looked up and saw Michael watching her in the rear-vision mirror. 'Does your mum still nurse?' Kim asked, avoiding Michael's stare.

_Shit. How did I start talking about my mum._ Russell hesitated. _Here I am with two gorgeous girls hanging on my every word._ 'My mum...' _There's no other way of saying this._ 'My mum died when I was born.'

Both women's eyes widened at this personal revelation. They sensed the sorrow in Russell's tone, their hearts immediately going out to him for his loss.

'That's so sad,' murmured Kim; she could feel the sadness creeping into her heart, her hand instinctively grasped at her small gold cross. Her eyes began to well. _The poor guy,_ she thought. _Never knowing his mother's love, her gentle touch, her warm hugs. I just want to hug him._

_Good one Russ,_ Michael thought. _The mood's going south quicker than a flock of ducks._ 'Russ's okay. He's like my brother.' He reached over and squeezed Russell's neck. 'We're always looking out for each other.'

Russell smiled suspiciously at his friend. _Typical Mick; using me to suit ya self._

'Turn the music up, Russ.' Michael grinned, cruising the long way home. 'I love this song.' Michael slammed the accelerator down and wheel-spun down the wet road.

'Steady ya dick--I mean, ya goose.' Russell threw an apologetic smile at the girls.

'Hey Russ,' Michael whispered, 'why don't you jump in the back and let Rach come up front.' Michael winked.

Russell silently protested with a face that bewildered Michael. _What's wrong with Russ? He and Kim are hitting it off big time_.

'How about Rach and Russ swapping seats?' Michael announced to everyone, frustrated with his friend's lack of cooperation.

_Come on Kim,_ Rachael thought, _don't look like that... it'll be fun._

Kim stared in horror. _He is very sweet... and, well, quite attractive_ , _but I don't want to sit next to a... a stranger._

_Bloody Mick; look at poor Kim's face. Trust him to put her in this spot. The poor chick's checking her watch every minute._ 'Do you live far from here Kim?'

'I live in River Road,' Kim answered quickly, hoping they'd take her home soon.

'That's only five minutes from here,' Russell said. _It's funny I haven't seen her around before. I think she's Catholic. Of course! She would've gone to that private school, ya idiot!_ 'We can drop you off before I go home.'

_Good on ya Russ._ Michael winked. _Making ya self scarce so that I can get Rach alone._

Michael pulled up in front of a large red-brick home. The house was quite modern complete with Aboriginal and kangaroo statues placed amongst the manicured garden beds. _Bloody hell!_ Michael thought. 'Shit! How many of you live in that palace?'

'Just my parents and I.' Kim couldn't exit quickly enough, for fear of her parents noticing the strange car.

Russell hurriedly got out to say goodnight. _Poor Kim, the chick looks like she's in trouble._ He attempted to open her door but she was already halfway out. 'Nice to have met you Kim.'

_I was wrong about him, he's one of the good ones._ She held out a hand.

Russell gripped it firmly. _Shit, don't squeeze a woman's hand._ 'Sorry Kim... I--'

'It's okay Russell.' She smiled. _He's such a gentleman_. Kim held Russell's hand a second longer and smiled. 'I've got to go but... but I really enjoyed meeting you.' She blushed and bit her lip before turning and hurrying through the darkness towards her front door.

'Come on Russ.' Michael waved his arm for Russell to hurry up.

'In a minute.' Russell waited until Kim had gone inside; he smiled as she sneaked a small wave at him before closing the door. Russell tried to get back inside the car but Rachael had already jumped into the front seat. He shouldn't have been surprised at her eagerness. _The two of them have been flirting all night._ He reluctantly slid into the back seat. _I'm glad to be heading home_. _The way Mick's drivin'_ _it's as if he's just got his licence._ The rain was falling more heavily and Michael was too preoccupied with Rachael to notice anyone else.

'See ya Rachael,' Russell said, slamming the car door. _I wonder if I'll ever see her again. Bloody Mick's likely to do his thing and never call her again. She's such a top chick. I don't like to think it, but Rachael's too good for you Mickey boy._

'See ya later Rusty,' Michael said.

Russell waved slowly. 'No worries mate, that's what we do, look out for each other.'

Michael winked and wheel-spun away.

Russell smiled and shook his head. _Yeah right,_ he looked up at the sweeping rain and sighed, _look after each other, my arse._ Russell flicked up his collar and jogged across the dimly lit footpath.

# Chapter 2

Ten years earlier

'Can you see him, where is he?' eleven year old Russell called to Michael who was keeping watch.

'Yeah,' Michael replied as he peered out through the weatherboard garage wall. He watched Russell's father inspecting his chicken coup across the yard with his prized bantam rooster tucked under one arm.

'What's he doing?' Russell asked, carefully reassembling a small lawnmower engine, too focused on the task to look up.

'He's in the chook pen.' Michael smiled. 'Holdin' his cock.'

Both boys laughed at Michael's lewd reference; the two boys often laughed at the same joke over and over.

Michael watched in awe as his friend meticulously reassembled the family's lawnmower, wondering how he could remember the correct order.

'Will your dad let you come to my party tomorrow?'

'Haven't asked him,' Russell replied as he clipped a small piston ring into place.

'But he probably won't let you go.'

'I'm comin', I'm just not tellin' him.' Russell smiled at the ease at which his reassembly was progressing.

Suddenly a squeak from across the yard made both boys look up; it was the gate closing on the chicken pen. Michael quickly resumed his role as lookout. 'Shit, he's coming!'

Russell draped a blanket over the remaining components as Wally pushed open the garage side door.

At first he overlooked the boys' suspicious presence while his eyes adjusted from the midday sun.

'What are you two up to?' Wally snarled.

'Nothin' Dad.'

'Bullshit you aren't, inside during the day, somethin's goin' on.'

Russell watched in fear as his father began to examine the small garage area overcrowded with disused items.

Michael stood by his best friend's side, hoping, praying that Russell's violent father ignored the blanket-covered parts.

Wally noticed something out of the ordinary. _Oil on me old army blanket?_ He bent down on one knee. 'What's this doing here?' he demanded as he removed the old blanket, revealing an array of lawnmower components laid out in surgical order. 'What the FUCK!' he yelled, his face contorted with rage. 'WHAT HAVE YOU LITTLE PRICKS DONE?'

Michael shook, not accustomed to hearing swear words, but he remained nervously supportive by Russell's side.

'It's okay Dad. I know how to fix it, I've done it before.'

Wally's short fuse had already been lit. His overreaction to the situation was a trademark response. Russell hid his trembling hands behind his back.

'If this doesn't start you're gettin' the belt. Now _fix_ it.' Wally forcefully spun Russell around to face the lawnmower. Wally looked back over his shoulder at a terrified Michael. 'And ya wog mate's gunna watch.'

Under pressure, Russell began reassembling the lawnmower. Wally continued to taunt the young mechanic with comments to undermine his concentration. Russell managed to block out the hateful accusations but some broke through.

'No wonder ya stupid at school, can't learn nothin' for shit, can ya? Can't stand seein' ya ugly head every time I walk in the house neither.'

Russell could tolerate Wally's resentment towards him, but it was the next few words that always tore at his heart.

'If it wasn't for you, ya mother would have been here instead of _your_ ugly mug.'

A single tear ran down Russell's grease-stained cheek. It was the worst possible thing Wally could to say to the fragile little boy. Russell bit his inner lip, a trick he had devised to shut out a memory or help him refocus.

Michael watched the dysfunctional family scene, now appreciating his own loving family. He prayed for his friend while Russell's thin fingers worked with precision at a task most adults wouldn't attempt.

'THIS BETTER START!' Wally yelled.

Russell jumped. He carefully screwed in the spark plug before wrapping the pull cord around the starting pulley. _Come on old girl... ya just gotta start, ya just gotta..._ After priming the carburettor with fuel, Russell stepped back and pulled hard with both hands on the starting rope.

The small two-stroke engine roared into life. Russell never doubted the outcome. He watched and listened to the lawnmower he had stripped down and rebuilt at least twenty times.

Michael looked on, elated; his best mate would now be spared the belt.

But Russell knew otherwise.

Russell flinched at the first stinging impact from Wally's belt. Terrified for his friend, Michael yelled for Wally to stop, but the lawnmower's loud revving drowned out any protest, not that Wally would have paid any attention to the little Greek boy from down the road.

The old timber door burst open as Michael ran from the garage to the safety of his home, mortified that a father could treat his own child with such hatred. The memory burnt deeply into Michael's soul, his feelings of helplessness spurring him to declare never to let his friend suffer at the hands of anyone, even his own family.

*

_I can't wait._ Russell smiled, carefully guiding the iron over his best shirt for Michael's birthday party.

The early morning sunlight glowed through the kitchen creating a dusty orange hue. _Just do the collar and I'm done._ The hands that had trembled in the presence of a monster, now hurried to finish the last detail.

Dressed in his black pants and worn singlet, Russell's old clothing revealed his cruel beating. His narrow shoulders bore the brunt of the blows. Crimson welts were already turning to storm-coloured bruises.

_Bloody iron's playing up._ Russell wet his finger and tested the iron's temperature, _I'm gunna pull this thing apart and --_'Bugger!' he whispered, shaking his hand. Russell nervously peered down the hallway frightened his father might waken.

He continued to skilfully iron his only _fancy_ shirt, the old iron's temperature fluctuating from years of overuse. Fortunately for Russell, Dimitra had bestowed upon him the knowledge of how to cook, clean and recently, wash and iron. If Dimitra had left it up to Russell's father, Child Services would have taken the boy years ago.

Russell held his shirt up for inspection. _Bloody good job I reckon._ He remembered Dimitra's words when he learnt how to iron, 'Your mother would be very proud of you darling.'

Russell smiled at his shirt. _I knew I could do it._

*

'Hold still,' Dimitra demanded, struggling to comb her son's hair. 'Please Michael! You have got to look your best. Everyone is coming, your cousins, aunties and even Uncle George.'

'The shoes are rubbing,' Michael complained, wriggling his ankle, 'do I have to wear these new pants--they're itchy.'

'Just ... hold still ... another second--there!'

The birthday boy broke free and rushed out to 'oversee' the party food and planned games.

Dimitra sighed as she watched him go. _My only son! It seems like yesterday my little boy was learning to walk and now he runs._ Never one to dwell, Dimitra clapped her hands together and headed to the kitchen, running through the afternoon's programme out loud.

First to arrive was Russell, slap-bang on time at 9 am; he only had a short distance to travel. Michael eagerly led Russell around the large patio, showing him the array of party food which Michael had been strictly warned not to eat. 'Here Russ, have a chocolate.'

'Ya mum said we can't.'

'She said _I_ can't.' Michael smiled mischievously and shoved a large chunk of Violet Crumble deep into Russell's mouth. Its size and delicious flavour made Russell salivate and choke. He gagged and coughed before spitting the half-chewed treat into his hands.

Michael laughed loudly at his friend, hunched over with chocolate and saliva stretched from his mouth to his hands. His laughter was contagious and soon Russell began to laugh at himself.

_I'm not gunna waste this,_ Russell thought. He slowly returned the saliva-coated chocolate back to its rightful place in his mouth.

'That's disgusting!'

'Nah, it's delicious,' Russell replied through a mouthful of chocolate.

Both boys eagerly awaited the arrival of Michael's cousins and their families; they busied themselves with inspecting the array of games planned for the day.

'Got the apples for the clothes line?' Russell asked eagerly.

'Check,' Michael answered with a smile, knowing it was Russell's favourite party game.

'Eggs and spoons?'

'Check.'

Michael and Russell continued diligently checking the activities until the guests started to arrive.

*

'Come on Mick!' Russell cheered; Michael's face contorted in concentration trying to balance a wobbly egg on a spoon in a race across the yard.

'Go Russ, go!' It was Michael's turn to cheer Russell to apple eating victory; each child chomped at apples swinging from the clothes line, their hands tied behind their back.

Dimitra smiled at all the excitement in her back yard; There were cousins in abundance and enough food to feed twice as many people.

Russell looked forward to his friend's birthday with far more excitement than Michael did. He never felt comfortable about his own birthday, knowing the day he came into the world was the day his mother left his. He tried not to think about it, always hoping his father would too, but unfortunately he never did.

*

Dimitra dodged between the chairs and squealing cousins. 'Not my apron!' She sighed looking down at a tomato-sauced handprint smeared across her floral apron. 'Jessica, calm down.' It was a hopeless attempt to regain control; little stomachs were full of sugar, and the adults too exhausted to chase their children. 'Peter leave the chickens alone--George control your son.' Dimitra ordered simultaneously catching a bumped soft drink when a game of chasing went wrong under her pergola. Children ducked behind her, giggling and clutching at her apron with sticky fingers. _Enough!_ She raised her hands and clapped them twice; it was always effective. And it was amazing that such a small woman could make such a loud and commanding noise.

'Time to open presents,' Dimitra announced, smiling.

Michael shuffled forward, he knew what he had to suffer to get what he really wanted. 'Happy birthday my darling.' Dimitra pulled Michael into a smothering hug.

'Mu-um!' Michael complained fighting off his mother's embrace, which only resulted in her smothering him with further kisses and hugs, bringing more laughter from the onlooker children.

Russell laughed along with the crowd but deep down he envied his friend, wishing just once that _he_ could feel a mother's kiss, her hug so tight he couldn't breathe. He didn't resent his best friend, but desperately envied him.

Michael opened his many presents, each one progressively larger than the last . Dimitra called out the family name on each card, allowing Michael to politely thank them before ripping the paper off. The children oohed and ahhed at each gift.

Dimitra picked up a small cigarette-packet-sized gift, crudely wrapped in Christmas paper. 'This is from Michael's friend Russ-cell.'

'He's my _best_ friend,' Michael corrected his mother.

Russell smiled proudly with a nod, confirming that Michael was _his_ best friend too.

Michael's family and friends turned to look at the small strawberry-blond boy, who was so easily spotted amongst his Greek friends. For the first time that afternoon Michael carefully unwrapped a present, he paused and looked up at his mother's horrified face. It was indeed a packet of Wally's cigarettes. Silence fell over the crowd and again all eyes were on Russell.

'Look inside, look inside,' Russell called out, oblivious to the accusing stares.

Dimitra opened the cigarette packet only to find a small card inside.

Michael snapped the card from her fingers. 'I can't believe it!' He came as close to a heart attack as a little boy could.

'It's Reg Gasnier! From St George. I've been after him forever.' Michael proudly held his new football card at arm's length to allow all to see his glorious gift. The magnitude of its significance totally lost on Michael's audience.

Nic and Dimitra may not have appreciated the gift but to see their only son smiling with such joy at a piece of coloured cardboard warmed their hearts. They smiled at each other, knowing Michael had a friend who cared for him implicitly.

The party went late into the afternoon; it was a success in every way: good company, delicious food and a very happy birthday boy.

*

With all the guests gone, except for Russell, Nic and Dimitra could finally relax. Nic lay on his back unable to move from too much food. _It's not my fault my wife is such a good cook!_

Dimitra relaxed on her plastic banana chair, a Mothers' Day present that looked out of place amongst the wrought-iron furnishings. She crossed her legs and leant back, sighing with satisfaction. She pushed her dark curls behind her ear, _I did it... another successful party._

Michael and Russell sat on either side of her, receiving a gentle back scratch; Russell's fresh bruising robbed him of his usual enjoyment of the experience, but he wasn't about to miss the opportunity for affection.

'Thank you Russ-cell for such a thoughtful present, I didn't know Michael liked football cards so much.' Then without thinking Dimitra added something she regretted immediately, 'Maybe at your party Michael can be so thoughtful.'

Russell had never had a party.

_What did I just say?_ Dimitra chastised herself. She didn't know if it was the second glass of red wine or her relief at getting through the busy day, whatever the reason, she was angry at herself for making the mistake.

Both Russell and Michael could feel the situation becoming tense.

'It's alright Mrs Halias, when I grow up I'm going to give myself a party every year.'

Russell's comment only made her feel worse.

Michael sensed the awkwardness and attempted to change the subject. 'Want a drink Russ?'

'Yeah, that'd be great.'

Michael ran off to find some lollies too, hoping they would ease the moment.

With Michael busy preparing a mini feel-good banquet, Russell asked a question he had been trying to ask for over a year. Whenever he asked anything about his mother people would politely change the subject in an attempt to ease the suffering, their own.

'Can I ask a question about my mum?' he edged onto her chair and leaned against her leg, wriggling closer in to the back scratch.

Dimitra hesitated. _He is older now; look at his eyes, he should know --he must. _'What do you want to know?'

Russell was quietly surprised, it was more a case of what _didn't_ he want to know. He had only ever seen one photo of his mother and that was locked away in his father's locker.

'What did she smell like? Did she have a nice smile?' The questions tumbled out.

'Don't you have a photo in your room?'

Russell shook his head still remembering the beating he received from his father for finding the old wedding photo.

'Beth, go inside and bring out the photo album.'

Michael's younger sister reluctantly complied. She returned with the album and a smile for Russell.

Dimitra flicked through the pages of precious family memories finally finding what she was looking for. 'Here, look at this.'

Russell leant forward to take a closer look. At first he didn't recognise everyone in the photo. _That's Mrs Halias but who is that pretty lady? Unless..._ 'Is that my mum?'

'Yes sweetheart, that's your mother,' Dimitra said smiling, her eyes misty with tears.

Russell studied the photo with the expectation of never seeing it again. He traced the curve of his mother's face with his finger, looking deep into her unknowing eyes, realising the terrible fate that awaited her.

'See, she's got her hand on her stomach, she's pregnant with you.'

Russell stared in wonderment at the realisation that his mother was touching him. Both women were laughing, squinting into the bright spring sunshine at Nic who was taking the photo.

Dimitra ran her fingers through Russell's straight strawberry-blond hair. 'Her hair was the same as yours, and you share the same eyes, like Michael and me.'

'Is it,' Russell paused, he had to know the truth, 'is it my fault my mum died?'

Dimitra froze, she had been doing well to contain her emotions but Russell's innocent questions suddenly tore at her heart. The little boy's silent anguish moved her to tears. Even though he was looking down she turned her head to hide the welling in her eyes; battling her maternal instincts to protect her best friend's son, she took a deep breath. 'Why do you think such things? Life sometimes is bad, it's not your fault.'

Even though Nic had been lying quietly he had heard every word, he had propped himself up on his elbows, listening to his wife's delicate answers.

'Don't ever think it's your fault Russell, no one does.'

'Dad says it's... that it's my fault,' he said, turning and looking up for absolution.

Dimitra wanted to scream, she managed to contain her fury in the face of Russell's misery, but her eyes told a different story. Those eyes Nic knew so well. _She could melt steel with that look,_ Nic would often think.

Dimitra turned Russell towards her, the sudden pressure on his injuries caused him to flinch. 'It's not _your_ fault and it's not your _mother's_ fault.' Dimitra gripped his shoulders with both hands again causing him to wince with pain. Despite her anger she noticed his discomfort. Dimitra glanced down Russell's shirt and gasped, _What?... what is this?_ It took all her self-control to inspect the bruised back of a child who only deserved love, not cruelty. She screamed internally, _What sort of animal does this to a little boy?_ 'Go play with Michael.' Dimitra carefully guided Russell off the chair, concerned she had already caused him enough pain.

'Did I do something wrong?' Russell asked realising Dimitra was upset.

'Darling,' She held Russell gently by the shoulders, 'you have never done anything wrong.' She kissed Russell on each cheek. 'Go play with Michael, everything will be alright.'

Nic watched as his wife stood, her relaxed composure now completely vanished.

'Dimitra!' Nic called. He stood and came over to put his arm around her. 'There's nothing we can do. It's Russell and his father's business.'

'He's no _father_ ,' Dimitra yelled, then she hissed, 'to blame his only son like this.'

'What can I do?' Nic held out his hands.

'Plenty! Go in there and tell Wall-ee he's no man and--'

'I can't do that, I won't do that.' Nic shook his head. 'This is private business.'

'Ha! This is wrong and you know it!'

Nic turned away, searching for the right answer. He turned back expecting to see his wife ready to strike like an angry snake. 'Dimitra I--Shit!'

Dimitra had gone.

She pushed her front screen door open with such force it slammed against the wall almost catching her as it bounced back. _I will show this animal,_ she raged internally. Dimitra marched down the narrow concrete path before turning left with military precision. Her floral apron fluttered like a battle flag with the speed of her progress and her expression spelled _war_. If only King Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans had Dimitra at the Gates of Hell with them, history may have turned out quite differently.

She strode past the three houses that separated the Halias and the Stratton homes, marching straight up to and in through the front door of Russell's house. Dimitra was on the hunt for Wally, ready to do battle for the heart he kept on breaking.

Wally's Saturday routine was always the same: after placing his bets he would listen to the horse races while drinking his problems away late into the afternoon. Suddenly his front door flew open.

'What the fu _--_?'

'You and me are going to have a big talk,' Dimitra informed him loudly.

'A _little talk_ is the right expression,' Wally replied, attempting to patronise his neighbour.

'NO! _I_ am doing the talking and _you_ are having a big listen.' Dimitra slammed her open hand down with a loud _whack_ on Wally's paper. He looked up, surprised by this diminutive whirlwind. Dimitra pointed her finger like a pistol; it might as well have been given his expression. Before Wally could respond Dimitra began to lay down the new law.

'Now listen, what happened to Felicity was terrible... terrible!' Dimitra said, shaking her finger at Wally, 'But if you ever, _ever_ tell Russ-cell it was his fault for her dying, I promise you...' She paused, reaching into her apron and grappling with her _words of war_ , not easy with a language you were still learning to master. 'I will...' she pulled a small vegetable knife from her apron and, too upset to translate to English, she continued in Greek, 'I will cut off your balls,' she fired with Greek venom, 'You're not a real man. A real man doesn't say such terrible things.' Dimitra was ready to explode, she took a deep focused breath and stared straight into Wally's soul, and in English revealed, 'A real man doesn't beat his own boy like that.'

Wally stared opened-mouth at the one-woman army that had besieged his back veranda. He needed no translation of her intentions.

'You understand me?' Dimitra yelled.

Wally nodded in silence at this sudden trial and execution and turned away from Dimitra's long accusing stare.

Just as quickly as she had entered Dimitra exited with her chin held slightly higher. She marched a little slower along the footpath, passing Nic along the way.

'What happened?'

'I fixed it,' Dimitra replied, raising her hand to stop any further questions, still not happy with his level of inaction.

Wally never stood a chance, Dimitra may have lacked physical presence but she was a powerhouse of emotion and had wielded her sword swiftly and accurately.

Russell had been surprised, he had expected a beating for revealing his father's abuse, but it never eventuated.

Through the years that followed Wally never accused Russell of his mother's death ever again. Wally would never qualify as Father of the Year but the reprimand from Dimitra had made him reflect; he continued to internalise his troubled thoughts but left Russell out of his misery.

The only sign of affection between father and son was the old wedding photo in a brand new frame, a gift, carefully balanced on Russell's bedside cabinet. A prime spot where his mother could now watch over her sleeping son.

Russell could now run his hand over his mother's face whenever he wanted. _I love you mum._ It was the greatest gift he had ever received.

# Chapter 3

_That stupid fridge,_ Nic thought as he tossed in bed. 'Bloody thing is costing me money _,'_ he groaned and flipped on to his back. The worries in his life keeping him from sleep. _What will Michael see in this stupid war, will he be safe?... Stop thinking. Go to sleep._

He tossed and turned, finally slipping into a troubled slumber.

Nic dreamt a lot about life, the good times, especially the fights he had fought in his glory days as a professional boxer in Europe. Since Michael had been called up for National Service he occasionally dreamt about the time Michael was only six years old and had wandered off to the rock pool during a family holiday.

Michael had almost drowned; if it wasn't for his father hearing his muffled cries for help there would have been tragedy. After the close call Nic made sure all of his children took swimming lessons from an early age.

Halfway into his dream Nic could hear Michael calling for help but for some strange reason a phone was ringing. He continued searching and the phone continued to ring, louder and louder. Nic's eyes snapped open, realising it was his home phone ringing. Dimitra had already woken to answer it. Nic rolled over to look at the time: 1.30 am.

'Who is this?' Dimitra demanded. 'Why are you ringing so late?' Her tone changed from one of anger to shock. 'What do you mean accident? Where are you? Hospital!'

Nic was now wide-awake, firing off questions in Greek while Dimitra was still talking to Michael. 'What hospital? Dimitra, _tell_ me what's going on. Is he alright? What sort of accident has he been involved in? Is anyone hurt?' Whenever Nic and Dimitra were alone they spoke in Greek, it made more sense, it was a far more efficient method of communicating.

Dimitra was too engrossed in obtaining all the facts from Michael to bother with Nic's questions. Dimitra hung up the phone with a frustrated expression.

'He gets this from your side of the family Nicholas.' Nic knew he was in trouble when Dimitra used his full name, he could only hold out his hands in defence.

'Your son has had a car accident and has been admitted to hospital'

'Is he alright?'

'He was talking like it wasn't his fault, someone cut him off.'

Nic and Dimitra quickly got changed.

Beth and Sophie wandered through the kitchen and into their parents' room.

Beth was first to speak. 'What's going on?'

Sophie yawned noisily.

'Your brother, _that's_ what's going on.' Dimitra became more accusing with every waking minute. 'Your father spoils you kids. Give them this. Give them that.'

Nic knew he wouldn't win this argument, he knew Dimitra was right. He had given the family sedan to Michael for his eighteenth birthday without discussing it with her. The car was only five years old at the time. Nic had had a very good couple of years in the fish and chip business, so good he went out and bought a brand new car for cash.

Nic and Dimitra left Beth in charge and made their way to the hospital.

*

'Can you tell me where my son is?' Nic asked politely at the front desk. 'His name is Michael Halias.'

Dimitra paced about slapping the side of her legs. 'Hurry Nic, tell her to hurry.'

Nic smiled at the Sister realising the nurse in her fifties didn't appreciate Dimitra's abruptness.

'He's in room four--'

'Finally!' Dimitra answered for her husband and stormed off down the hallway.

'Thank you Sister... my wife she worries.' Nic shrugged his shoulders. 'She doesn't mean to be rude.'

The nurse frowned and watched Nic scurry down the hallway after his wife.

'You let your son do whatever he wants,' Dimitra said, throwing her accusation behind her.

'He is a grown--'

'Quiet Nicholas,' she said just as Nic caught up.

*

_Shit, here they come._ Michael could hear his parents arguing from three corridors away. He sat up quickly when they walked in. 'Hi mum... I--'

'Look at you!' Dimitra pushed her way past Nic and grabbed her son's jaw turning it from side to side. Michael had a swollen nose and bruised ribs from the impact with the steering wheel. Dimitra made a thorough inspection, checking his head and under his gown for wounds, exposing his naked bottom.

'Mum!' Michael felt like a piece of meat being inspected for quality.

Satisfied his injuries were minimal Dimitra raised her hand and slapped him hard across the back of the head.

'Ow!'

Michael's head bounced forward from the blow. Nic tried not to smile at his strong son being manhandled by his tiny mother.

'Ahmm.'

Nic turned noticing a distinguished looking doctor entering the room.

'Dimitra,' Nic snapped, 'Dimit--'

'Your son behaves like a child.'

'Dimitra! The doctor is here.'

'Good morning, I'm Doctor Chesley,' said the doctor into the embarrassed silence. 'I'm here to make a final examination of Michael before discharging him.'

'Is he alright Doctor?' Nic had remained cool calm and collected throughout Dimitra's passionate tirade.

'The X-rays reveal that his chest is only bruised, so fortunately, there are no broken bones. He's very lucky.'

'So I'm good to go Doc?'

Nic looked at his son's face. 'What about his nose Doctor?'

'I don't know about that,' the doctor answered, hesitating, 'that happened later. Apparently the father of the young lady Michael was travelling with objected to your son's driving... and other skills.'

*

Rachael hadn't been hurt in the accident but had decided to stay with Michael at the hospital. She called her parents to let them know a friend had been in an accident and she was looking after them.

Rachael's father's detective sixth sense could 'smell a lie a mile off' and he decided to check things out personally. Once he realised it was Rachael's old boyfriend who had endangered his little girl's life he only had one thing on his mind.

'Where is the little prick!' Detective Kelsie demanded marching into the casualty ward.

Doctor Chesley had met the detective twice before, the first instance was when a child molester's genitals had come off second best with Kelsie's boot and the edge of a chair. The second time occurred after three drunks decided to go 'Copper bashing'. All three men were admitted when the police caught up with them and Kelsie had personally beaten each man unconscious in the holding cells.

The doctor quietly respected the lawman and knew what was coming.

'I told you before you greasy prick, stay away from my daughter.' Kelsie delivered a lightning straight right into Michael's nose. 'Come on Rachael!' Kelsie grabbed his daughter by the arm and marched her out the room.

*

'Mum it wasn't my fault.' Michael was never in the wrong as far as he was concerned. 'We were just driving along.' He was busy moving his hand up Rachael's thigh. 'This guy just ignored the lights.' Michael didn't even see the lights. 'I just swerved to miss him and hit the power pole.' If it wasn't for the other driver's alertness both cars would have collided. 'Just lucky I only got hurt a little, hey Dad?'

Dimitra knew something was wrong with her son's story but couldn't put her finger on it. Frustrated and tired, she threw his clothes at him, collecting him in the face, before leaving the room.

Michael dressed with his father's help. As Nic put his arm around Michael's shoulder he gave him a kiss on the cheek. 'You okay good-looking boy?'

'Yeah Pop, I'm good.'

'I love you Mickey.' Nic used to call Michael 'Mickey' up until his tenth birthday at which point he protested against the endearment.

'I dreamt you were in trouble, be careful next time. Pull over before you make nookie with a girl.'

'Dad!'

'That's my boy.' Nic pretended to punch Michael in the ribs causing him to flinch.

The two men walked along the hallway with Nic's arm wrapped tightly around his son's neck. Nic imagined what could have been: Michael's mangled body smashing through the windscreen, his only son laying in a pool of blood by the side of the road, strangers trying to douse a burning car--a young woman trapped inside. Nic shuddered. _I wonder if he really knows how much I love him._

*

Morning revealed the true extent of the damage to Michael and Russell's hopes of a Surfers Paradise holiday. The once immaculate EH Holden had folded symmetrically around the power pole almost as if the driver had aimed it. Beth had phoned Russell the moment her parents had left for the hospital to give him the news; Russell hadn't slept another wink.

Russell waited impatiently for the car that both he and Michael had lovingly worked on for over two years. The car was going to take them on an unforgettable holiday before Michael was to be shipped off to a foreign land to fight against a people he had never met.

'It's probably not even that bad.' Russell convinced himself, standing in the Haliases' driveway. 'Mick's always exaggerating, the bullshit artist.' Russell smiled and looked down the predawn street.

The tow truck rounded the corner, Russell could hear the damage before he could see it. He watched in disbelief as the once-perfect specimen scrapped behind the tow truck and rattled to a stop.

'Where do ya want it mate?' the tow truck driver barked, his face bloated and tired. Russell remained speechless by the side of the road. The car's tortured front panels hung in the air. The tow truck's hooks crudely pushed through the mangled front end as a butcher would a carcass.

Russell pointed silently at Michael's driveway.

'Ya fuckin' kiddin' aren't ya? It's narrower than a greyhound's cock!' The tow truck driver shook his head and muttered more obscenities while he struggled to squeeze the vehicle down the narrow driveway beside the house.

Russell spent the next few hours inspecting the wrecked 'dream machine', the car's complete front end had been destroyed. From what he could see from under the car, the engine had come off its mounts and the steering arm was bent. He wasn't jumping to conclusions but he knew deep down that Michael was responsible, even if he wasn't going to admit to it.

Nic hadn't slept since coming home from the hospital. He showered, changed and headed straight off to the fish markets. Nic sighed at the thought of his once-pristine car, destroyed at the hand of his unappreciative and careless son. He refused Dimitra's attempt to make him breakfast, instead settling for two strong cups of coffee, the early morning events now hit him hard. _Mickey could have died._

Michael awoke at 9.30 am, he could hear a frustrated tinkering sound coming from somewhere outside. Momentarily unaware of the previous night, he went to get out of bed. 'Shit!' A sharp pain shot through his stomach and ribs reminding him what had happened. _Fuck, the car._ He dragged on his clothes and rushed outside to inspect the damage.

Even though it was Michael's car, Russell had completed all of the modifications over the last two years. Otherwise, the sporty Holden would have remained a respectable family sedan. Russell finally managed to free the bonnet after two hours of pushing and pulling. _Shit!_ he thought as he viewed the damage in all of its entirety. It was far removed from the engineered perfection Russell had worked so hard to achieve.

'Hey Russ, how's it look?' Michael casually asked, making his way down the driveway, Russell ignored his greeting. It wasn't unusual for Russell to ignore people when engrossed in anything mechanical.

After the accident Michael had been dazed and injured. He had been bundled into an ambulance before being whisked off to hospital. It was only now that he saw the level of destruction, the result of his careless actions.

'Shit!' Michael exclaimed. He walked to the front of the car. He ran his hand over his face. The radiator had become one with the engine, which in turn had been torn off its mounts sideways, crushing the steering. The unblemished panels were now a twisted mass of crumpled metal.

Up until this point Russell had been able to contain his emotions but with Michael's presence, he was beginning to struggle.

'You okay?' Russell's tone wasn't convincing.

'Yeah. I'm a little bruised but...' Michael only realised _now_ how lucky he and Rachael were. 'But bloody lucky, I reckon.'

'Looks like you hit your face.'

Michael frowned. 'That was Rachael's dad. He just walked straight up and punched me, the prick.' For a split second Russell wished he could do the same.

'You think we could fix it up?'

Russell dropped his spanner on the concrete driveway, the chinking sound was followed by an uncomfortable silence. Russell turned in disbelief. 'How hard did ya hit ya head?' Russell's expression showed he was far from caring. 'Did you suffer some brain damage or somethin'?'

Michael looked surprised at Russell's unusually aggressive manner and shrugged his shoulders.

'I'll just take my magic fucken screwdriver here,' Russell said, holding it like a club, 'and we'll be right to go by this arvo, no worries!' Russell looked back under the bonnet feeling a little better for the release of tension. He continued his conversation from the shade of the engine bay. 'You know you've stuffed the whole trip up don't ya?' Michael tried to answer but Russell continued, 'I've even chucked my job in to go with you.'

'What! You did what?' Michael thought Russell had organised some time off, he hadn't realised the extent of the sacrifice Russell was making to spend some time with him before he left for South Vietnam. Russell's boss had revoked his holidays after finding out his best mate was going to Vietnam. Russell retaliated by calling him a 'commy prick' __ and his employer responded by shouting, 'You're fired'.

'Russ.' Michael tried to find the right words. 'I'm sorry mate. I...'

Russell could only shake his head, frightened to say what he really thought.

Michael opened his mouth to tell Russell he had been so preoccupied with Rachael that he hadn't seen the intersection, but instead he blurted out, 'Honestly, this guy last night came out of nowhere!'

Russell could tell his friend wasn't lying but knew how distracted Michael became around pretty women, especially when they were blonde and big breasted.

'I thought you got time off work.'

Russell didn't tell Michael the real reasons for his resignation. 'The boss is just an arsehole, that's all.'

'What are you gunna do for work?'

'I'll figure something out.' Russell dropped the bonnet back onto the crumpled front end of the car. 'It's not like I'm going anywhere, is it?'

'What about the ute?' Michael asked.

Both men looked over at the tired rusty old ute parked in the street.

'We could give it a tune-up,' Michael continued but he already knew the answer.

A retired plumber had offered the twenty year old ute to anyone who worked at Russell's workshop when it failed its registration inspection.

Russell baulked at even thinking about setting off on the five hundred mile journey. 'I'd be thankful if it got me to work, let alone all the way to Surfers Paradise.'

*

Nic arrived home from a tiring day at work, the replacement fridge had failed to arrive and he had been battling a headache for most of the morning. If the day hadn't been hard enough he now had to walk down the driveway past his once-prized Holden. Trying not to dwell on the extent of the situation Nic looked away from the crumpled mess and shook his head. He muttered to himself, 'People don't look after things they don't pay for themselves.'

Nic noticed the boys sitting under the pergola looking dejected; he suspected it was about their car, and the cancelled holiday, which the two of them had been talking about incessantly for the past year.

'Hello boys.'

'Hi Dad.'

'Hello Mr Halias.'

Both young men spoke in monotones, as though their lives had come to a grinding halt along with their car.

Dimitra heard Nic's voice and brought out a strong cup of coffee. She watched him slowly walk on to the patio, his broad shoulders carrying the family's worries. Nic slumped into a cane chair. _He looks bone weary_ , she thought, resting her hand on his for a second.

Despite being exhausted Nic never let life affect the way he spoke to his family and friends. Dimitra placed the coffee on the table in front of Nic. He gently grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, kissing her sweetly on the cheek. Dimitra playfully hit him with the tea towel that seemed to be permanently over her shoulder.

'I need nothing more than the love of a great woman,' Nic announced.

Dimitra smiled as she left the three men, to continue her preparations for dinner. _Nic will say the right words to cheer them up._ Nic was never short of a good story and she was sure he would come up with an idea to help the boys.

Nic was hoping the boys' spirits would improve with a few words of wisdom. He thought for a moment, something in his past just might be the philosophical medicine they needed. 'Boys!' Michael and Russell looked up with sullen faces. 'Michael, get three glasses of the nice Lambrusco.' Nic always kept a case of this fruity red wine in stock.

Michael returned with three glasses full to the brim of chilled wine.

Nic held out his glass and the boys raised theirs in reply.

'Now listen,' Nic lowered his baritone voice, 'I'm going to tell you a story that will make you think different.' Nic pointed to his head and stared deeply into the boys' eyes.

'About what Dad?'

'About your problem, with the car, which wasn't your fault?' Nic raised an eyebrow knowing how Michael's actions, right or wrong, were probably contributing factors in the accident.

'Now listen.' Nic looked over at an old poster of himself and Aleksy Lisowski, a Polish boxer he had fought in Germany just before meeting Dimitra and moving to Australia.

'You see that poster?' Both Michael and Russell looked at the faded poster in the worn frame. 'That fight changed my life, for the better.'

'Didn't you _lose_ that fight?' Michael knew full well his father had lost that bout but until now he never knew how.

Nic stood up and walked over to the poster hanging next to a boxing bag in a covered corner of the pergola. He placed his hand on the worn canvas, and grinned thinking of all the action the bag had seen. Nic remembered back.

'Come on Russ, hit it harder,' __ twelve year old Michael said in front of his father. 'I am, I am,' Russell had replied, the very next punch accidently knocking Michael out.

Nic shook his head and smiled at the memory.

'You two are old enough to learn from what I'm going to tell you.' Nic pointed his glass towards the poster. 'It was 1952 and I had won the last four matches by knockout.' He smiled as he remembered the feeling after each victory. 'I was twenty years old, like you two. I was strong like a _bull!_ ' He growled the word bull. 'And the women,' Nic looked around to make sure Dimitra wasn't listening, 'they threw themselves at me.'

Michael looked a little embarrassed at this intimate confession.

'But this fight, this fight changed everything for me.' Nic tapped the glass covering Lisowski's face. He carefully placed his Lambrusco down next to the wall.

'The first round I was careful,' Nic demonstrated how he moved around his older and taller opponent. 'He was taller by four inches!' Nic was reliving the fight he still dreamt about from time to time. 'Alesky Lisowski was thirty-two but he looked fifty-two. He was a good fighter, before World War II robbed him of his youth.'

Nic demonstrated how he had dodged the fast left jabs and how he had attempted to land strong body blows, his specialty against his taller opponents who often outreached him.

'Five rounds go by and I think,' Nic pointed to his head, 'his legs are getting tired, he starts to drop his fists.' Nic walked up close to the boxing bag. 'He starts to make mistakes and he doesn't cover his ribs.' Nic punched the boxing bag with six lightening fast punches that surprised the boys with their power.

Russell smiled at this practical demonstration.

'And then I hear it. CRACK!' Nic opened his eyes wide. He continued the story. 'I hear his right ribs cave in and the air woosh out of his mouth.' The boys stared like two children mesmerised by a horror story.

Nic punched his hand, startling them. 'I now know I've got him.' Nic paused and picked up his glass to have one last sip, to help him focus on the climax to his story. 'Lucky for Lisowski the round ends. I go to my corner looking over my shoulder.' Nic demonstrated, walking away from the boxing bag. 'I remember it like it was yesterday. This man has broken ribs. His lungs are bruised but his face is cold like death. Yet he shows _nothing_.'

Nic didn't know it at the time but Aleksy Lisowski had survived the Russian death camps and two years as a _guest_ of the Germans, as a prisoner of war, where he was subjected to daily bashings and other atrocities. Nic's punches did nothing to dampen the big Pole's quest for victory.

'My trainer and me decide,' Nic walked up to the boxing bag and thumped it again, with a ferocious smack. The powerful punches lifted dust into the air. 'We go after the ribs. After ninety seconds I'm punching, punching. Lisowski is just trying to protect himself. I look at his face. It looks like he doesn't feel any pain. Blood starts to spurt from his mouth, from me grinding his lung. He starts to cough blood on me.'

Nic's graphic description was making Russell feel nauseous. _I feel like I'm gunna spew._

'And then it happens.' Nic bent down to pick up his drink, he swirled the crystal wine glass and finished the sweet red wine.

'What happened next Dad, did you knock him out?' Michael asked, momentarily forgetting the outcome.

'Then it happens! Whack!' Nic demonstrated with a punch to his right hand. 'A left hook, so fast. I'm so desperate I don't see it coming. I go backwards, my legs feel weak.' Again Nic demonstrated his frantic attempt to steady himself, staggering backwards under the pergola, moving from side to side.

'But it's too late. I'm too busy thinking, _where did this punch come from? How did I not see it?_ Instead I should be thinking about "the now"! The "what is happening next?" Lisowski starts punching me with everything he has; he coughs more blood over me. He makes me bleed.' Nic stopped to show the boys a scar just above his right eye. 'See that? The scar looks small now, but in the fight my face blows up like a balloon... My eye she's like a watermelon, I can't see shit! Now it's my turn waiting for the bell to ring, but it never does.' Nic paused, the memory felt like yesterday.

'What do you mean Dad?' Michael asked, he knew the duration of boxing rounds. His father's story didn't make sense.

'I'm out! He knocked me out.' Nic stared into the distance, the boys waited with trepidation for the conclusion to the story.

'I wake up in the locker room.'

'How come you never told me this before?' Michael asked.

Nic shrugged his shoulders. 'You're old enough to know now.' Again he paused to focus on crux of the life lesson. 'This left hook, it leaves his entire side wide open for me to finish him, but he has nothing to lose and throws the punch and that's it.' Nic paused long enough to draw a breath then with shining eyes he changed direction. 'But this is a good thing, I lose; this left hook I get is a, is a...' Nic clicked his fingers, looking for the English translation. 'You say it with me Michael... metaphora.'

'Metaphor!' Michael supplied.

Nic nodded at Michael, realising it was basically the same pronunciation as the Greek word.

'Metaphor! It is my metaphor for how to live.' Nic's eyes shone with the excitement of how that experience had impacted on his life.

Russell stared blankly at Michael, then at Nic; Nic realised Russell wasn't making the connection.

'You know this word, don't you Russell?'

Russell still looked blank and glanced at Michael for help. Russell hadn't done particularly well at school, so this stuff was hard for him to understand.

Michael searched for an appropriate example for Russell to understand. 'You know what _a can of worms_ means? And _it's raining cats and dogs?_ ' Michael continued, 'They resemble other situations...'

Russell slowly nodded his head as the definition of a metaphor began to register.

Michael looked back at his father, he didn't understand how the 'left hook' metaphor applied to his life.

'I don't get it Dad.'

Nic looked frustrated that neither of them fully grasped the impact of this event on his life, forgetting that he had a twenty-year head start on them, two decades more time to learn how to interpret the greater meaning of significant events such as this.

Nic slowed his speech to better emphasise the key points of the lesson.

'Boys,' Nic pointed his finger at both of them, 'I lose that fight because I worry about something that already happened. I can't change it. But because I keep thinking about that punch I don't think about the now, how I gunna stop him.' Nic took a deep breath. 'And because of that he wins, he knocks me out. All over red rover.' Nic pointed at Russell.

Russell realised it was a test. 'That's a metaphor too!' Russell answered excitedly.

'Good boy.'

Nic walked around the edge of the pergola, kicking at a loose brick, building the tension for the conclusion of his story. 'But,' Nic turned to face the young men and raised his finger again, 'because I lose I go back to Greece, meet this beautiful blue-eyed woman.' He smiled.

'Mrs Halias, right?' Russell interrupted, getting caught up in the story.

'Course it's my mum, ya dick!'

Nic ignored the interruption. 'We get married and start a new life in this great country.' Nic stretched out his arms, smiling and looked around at all that was his.

'Dad, I don't mean to be rude,' Michael interrupted, trying to be as tactful as possible, not wanting to demean his father, 'this doesn't get Russ and me to Surfers.'

Nic looked at his only son, disappointed with his lack of insight. 'Don't you see,' he said, walking over to the driveway where the damaged Holden lay, contorted, 'it is wrecked, yes?'

Michael and Russell leant back and once again stared at the crumpled piece of metal before answering in unison: 'Yes.'

'You two thinking about it, looking at it, won't change that. Yes?'

Again the young men answered in a monotone: 'Yes.'

'That is just like my "left hook".' Nic's eyes opened wide to confirm the similarity with the dilemma the boys faced. 'I was too busy thinking about what had already happened that I couldn't find a solution. And then I got knocked out.'

Russell was the first one to see the connection, nodding his head as Nic finished his explanation. 'You're right Mr Halias,' Russell said, smiling. He turned to his friend. Michael was still lost in the metaphor and was oblivious to Russell's line of thought.

Nic was happy, if not a little surprised, that Russell had accepted that the holiday would be cancelled.

Russell looked as though he had just discovered a treasure map. He had stopped thinking just long enough about their smashed car to find a solution. He grabbed Michael by the shoulders. 'Mick! We can swap the ute with your old man's, I mean with your dad's, station wagon.'

Nic didn't process the information as quickly as Michael.

'Dad that would solve everything.' Michael and Russell looked ecstatically at each other. Nic suddenly realised what they had suggested. Nic instantly thought of the once immaculate Holden that now lay smashed and battered, blocking the driveway.

'No! No! No!' Nic held his open hand up to curb the boys' enthusiasm. 'That is _not_ what I mean.' Nic raised an emotionally charged finger. 'I mean,' Nic spoke even more slowly so that the boys wouldn't misunderstand him, 'you have to know your car is smashed and there isn't anything you can do about it.' Nic stood up and walked inside, muttering to himself, 'Give them my car, _ha!_ ' Nic shook his head in disbelief that they had even considered swapping a beaten-up, old ute for his shiny station wagon, even if it was only for a week.

Michael and Russell lapsed into silence. The afternoon wind stirred up the leaves under the shady pergola and sent a shiver across their skin. Nic's words of wisdom resonated with each of them.

Russell kept finding himself glancing around the corner of the house at the smashed Holden, the Halias family's former pride and joy.

Unbeknownst to Russ, Michael too kept sneaking a peek at the shiny and crumpled body panels.

Russell finally broke the despondent silence. 'Your dad's right, how are we going to find a solution staring at... at...' Russell couldn't bring himself to say the words. He glared at the car he had invested so much time and effort in and turned away. 'At this piece of shit?' he sighed.

Russell's words instilled a similar perspective in his friend. Michael stood up. 'Let's go to the pub, we're never gunna sort this fucked-up mess sitting around here.'

Russell unfolded his limbs and leapt up, united with his friend in resolving their dilemma.

'BOYS! Language!' Nic called from inside the house.

'Sorry Dad.'

'Me too Mr Halias.'

The two young men were now committed to finding the answer to their predicament. Nic's words of wisdom had enabled them to refocus, Michael and Russell marched off, strong and determined, even if slightly chastised.

# Chapter 4

What had always been a five-minute drive to the local pub was an underestimated two-mile hike. The long walk gave Michael and Russell time to think out loud, to sound ideas and possible solutions off one another, to make their holiday a reality.

'Catch the train,' Michael suggested.

'Don't be stupid, we need wheels up there,' Russell snapped.

'Maybe swap the engine from the wreck to the ute?' Again, Michael was the only one making suggestions.

'Haven't got enough time and the engine's components are screwed,' Russell replied, a little less aggressively.

Russell walked past an empty beer can and stopped. 'Hey, you remember this?' Russell turned the can on its end and crushed it. The result was a hockey-puck-sized object that Russell kicked towards Michael.

'Don't be stupid,' Michael protested, but felt his competitive streak rising.

'You remember when we were kids?'

'I remember winning every time,' Michael said, smiling at the memory of how frustrated and uncoordinated Russell became during a game of street soccer.

They kicked the crushed can along the footpath making their way towards the pub. The conversation ceased about their wrecked Holden and the cancelled holiday.

Michael and Russell pushed and grappled with each other to gain an advantage. 'Get out Mick!... Don't... no way!' Their preoccupation with the game distracted them not only from their problem solving but also made the long walk seem a little quicker.

They continued the game onto the footpaths that lined the local shops. Early evening commuters returning from work cursed and dodged the two men fixated on the crushed can bouncing around on the concrete. The footpaths were only illuminated by the lights in the shop-window, adding to the challenge. They took turns kicking, laughing as the can bounced between the pedestrians going in the opposite direction.

'Grow up you two,' an older lady snapped.

Russell ignored the woman's rebuke and attempted a trick shot. His uncoordinated effort sent the can wobbling a meagre few inches.

The rules were rather loose, Michael took advantage and moved in for his turn, his actions drawing a howl of protest from Russell. 'No way! I didn't even touch it.'

'You did so ya lying prick.' Michael attempted to take his shot.

Russell quickly tried to kick again.

They both began feverishly kicking at the can to resolve the dispute. Russell tried to hook the can up into the air at the same time as Michael performed the identical manoeuvre. Michael's foot kicked the underside of Russell's foot, resulting in Russell kicking a lot higher than he had anticipated. The momentum jerked Russell's remaining leg off the ground, sending him backwards onto his rear end with a solid thump. Russell winced.

Surprised at the dramatic consequence of his unintentional actions Michael stared at Russell, lying motionless on the cold, hard concrete. Michael began to laugh.

'Cut it out... it's not funny... my arse is killing me,' Russell protested.

Still laughing, Michael reached forward to grab Russell's outstretched hand. _What the?_ Something caught his attention in the large shop window. He lowered his hand much to the disbelief of his injured friend and walked away.

'Thanks a lot!' Russell complained. He struggled to his feet, not knowing what had grabbed Michael's attention.

The large window of the local electrical retailer had been organised to display the latest in black-and-white televisions, ranging from the small sixteen inch up to the indulgent thirty-four inch.

It wasn't the array of televisions that caught Michael's attention but the content of their screens. All of the televisions had been tuned to display the one channel, it wasn't a television show but a commercial that was set to change the way motoring companies would promote their products.

The television commercial showed beautiful young women admiring various unassuming men driving the 'unbelievable Valiant Charger'. A car that had been designed for the future, for the fast pace of the 1970s, two doors, striking colours and a groovy catch phrase, 'Hey Charger!' The catch cry was also accompanied by the peace symbol, two fingers held outstretched to the driver. The ad campaign would eventually become one of the most popular television commercials of its time.

The boys had seen the commercial before but their predicament made the idea of bikini-clad girls mobbing a couple of young men driving the 'unbelievable Valiant Charger' very appealing.

'How good would that be?' Michael whispered.

Russell answered with a nervous swallow.

With images of the commercial replaying in their heads, they walked the short distance to the pub in silence, the same thoughts running through both their minds. The concept of buying a new car solely for a week-long holiday, seemed less ridiculous with every passing minute.

*

The combined money they had been saving since their first paper rounds was going towards their long-term plan of going into business together.

When they were eleven it was for a property to run sheep and shear themselves to riches. That idea ended when Michael found he was allergic to hay and certain grasses.

At thirteen, and inspired by the space race, they wanted to raise enough money to go to astronaut school, that was, until they discovered you had to be a pilot and being a pilot involved heights, which Russell was afraid of.

Their final business idea was conceived during one of their money-making schemes, when they stumbled across a service they both had talents for. Russell would scavenge various rubbish tips for old lawnmower parts. Michael would clean and repaint the parts before Russell reassembled the components. The end result was lawnmowers that looked and ran liked new.

Both teenagers decided immediately that one day they would open a one-stop-automotive workshop that could cater for their customers' needs. Russell would become a mechanic and Michael would become a panel beater and together they would become successful businessmen.

The plan was going well until Nic pressured Michael into working in the shop. 'I do this business for you to one day run it.' Now, to make matters worse Michael was heading off to South Vietnam. But despite all of the challenges they both still held onto the dream.

*

Russell handed Michael a beer and joined him at a small round table. 'So what do you think?' Russell opened the conversation with a vague question.

Michael took a sip then replied, 'About what?'

'You know what?' Russell was reluctant to suggest what they were both considering; he didn't want to be the one to lay all his cards on the table. He wanted to pressure Michael into suggesting the purchase of a new car, that way if it all went wrong it would be Michael's fault.

'Alright,' Michael said, placing his beer firmly on the table, 'I'll be the one to say it.' Michael looked Russell in the eye, knowing his friend was too full of insecurity to make the first move. 'We buy a new car for the trip,' Michael announced, bringing no protest from his pessimistic friend.

'I know it would be great, but,' Russell's lips were saying no but his eyes were saying yes, 'what are they, two and half grand or something?'

Russell was fighting the desire, just for once in his life, to give in to temptation, to do something spontaneous regardless of the cost. _That's almost a year's wages!_

'Yeah, I know.' Michael was feeling the identical emotions to Russell. 'It's half of what we've saved for the workshop... it'd be stupid.'

They each took a sip from their beers, avoiding eye contact, contemplating one another's opinions.

'We'll just go and check one out at the dealer, only to have a look.' Russell's tone was authoritative; he had always taken the more sensible role in the relationship.

'Okay. Fine.' Michael's tone resounded with equal self-control.

They both took another sip, looking each other in the eye: _How good would a new car be?_

*

Russell and Michael decided it was imperative not to appear too eager at the car yard. They arrived just on lunch at the Chrysler Valiant dealership, resolute in the fact they were 'just looking'.

Russell's tired, old ute came to a squeaking halt across the road from the modern showrooms. The building was new and boasted large windows, revealing the latest and greatest vehicles on offer to the public.

Michael was first to open his door, the worn hinges instantly dropped a good inch forcing him to lift the door to close it. Russell faced the same inconvenience with his door before jiggling the key around for a few moments to lock it.

'Did you just lock it?' Michael laughed, 'You're joking, aren't ya?'

Russell looked at his sad black ute. _Good point!_

'Jeez, this is nice,' Russell said commenting on the air-conditioned showroom. The few solid walls that did exist were covered in blue-and-purple-circled wallpaper. Framed advertisements adorned the walls, featuring various Chrysler models, from the Ranger and sedan right through to the 'unbelievable Valiant Charger'.

In the centre of the showroom, with its rear wheels elevated on ramps, was the car Michael and Russell had dared to dream about. A lime-green Charger immaculately polished with various lights positioned to emphasise the coupe's designer lines. Two other vehicles, a sedan and a station wagon were parked flat on the showroom floor, their presence insignificant compared to the green machine taking pride and place in the middle of the showroom.

Three desks lined the back of the blue-and-purple walls. Behind one of the desks was a well-dressed salesman wearing the latest safari suit. He was talking on the phone and his body language suggested he was furious with whomever was on the other end.

The salesman gestured to another person whom Michael and Russell had failed to notice; they had been too preoccupied with the glistening car on centre stage. Michael instantly became fixated on the _someone else_ walking his way. He elbowed his friend in the ribs. 'Check this out.' Moving towards the smiling pair was a tanned young woman, her bright yellow miniskirt contrasting magnificently with her long brown legs. The dress appeared to be a size too small, not that either young man was protesting. Michael and Russell didn't know where to look.

'Hi guys, I'm Brooke,' said the blonde-haired creature, her symmetrically flicked fringe framing her warm smiling eyes.

The normally confident Michael couldn't help but feel intimidated by the young woman's beauty. He felt that he had somehow wandered onto a modelling catwalk.

Brooke came to a breathtaking stop. 'Don won't be long. He's just talking to a client. Can I get you anything?'

_I can think of a couple_ , Michael smirked.

Michael and Russell shook their heads, unable to compile a sentence. The blonde temptress pirouetted on her high heels and strode back towards Don's desk, her hair swirling around in a luxuriant golden wave, boosting the boys' elevated hormone levels.

Russell and Michael, their senses stimulated by the eye candy, both metallic and flesh, were enjoying their day out more than they had expected.

Brooke sashayed up to Don, who was still talking on the phone, fully aware of the eyes that watched her every move. The power that she wielded over the opposite sex brought a small smile to her face. She _thrived_ on it.

'Don! I thin _--_ Don--' Brooke attempted to interrupt his barrage of words.

Don Mathers was a ladies' man, all you had to do was ask him and he'd confirm it. He was in his mid-forties and exercised regularly, not that he would admit to it. 'It's all natural,' he would declare, regularly. His clothing was expensive and his hair and sideburns well groomed; the bone-coloured safari suit complemented his blond hair, which was natural, of course.

'You said you'd pick it up this mornin _--_ I wasn't joking, I'll sell it today if you're not here by four--Hello... hello? Ah FUCK IT!' Don slammed the phone down.

Brooke slowly bent over to whisper in Don's ear, 'I reckon these two are buyers.' Her pose revealed a partially underwear-covered bum cheek, much to the pleasure of her two besotted onlookers. She finished her sentence and turned, catching their goofy grins. Brooke smiled back and winked.

Never daunted by a challenge Don exhaled sharply and shook his hands in the air, a routine he had established long ago to reset his focus; it looked dramatic but its effectiveness was proven beyond doubt. _What a dick,_ Don thought, _the bastard said he'd take it... fuck!_ He twisted his neck from side to side; he turned and looked at his reflection in the large showroom window. He admired the man he was and winked. Don Mathers, as he often referred to himself in the third person, exuded confidence as he strode towards Michael and Russell.

'G'day boys.' Don extended his hand with his palm facing downwards forcing the boys into a submissive handshake. Step 1 in Don's handbook: 'Dominate the situation'.

Don shook the boys' hands with more force than was required instantly provoking Michael and Russell to return a forceful grip.

'You boys have quite a grip there.'

Russell and Michael warmed to the compliment to their masculinity and both smiled. Step 2 in Don's handbook: 'Flatter the customer'.

'What are you boys drinking?' But before either one could respond Don continued, 'Beer, scotch...?'

Russell was momentarily bamboozled by the onslaught of salesman talk and stumbled with his words.

Don let out a laugh. 'Fellas, I'm kiddin' around, relax. How about a couple of Cokes?' He didn't wait for their reply. 'Brooksie!' Don gestured to Brooke who was preparing a late sales report. 'Bring these couple of studs some Cokes will you?'

'Right away Don.' Brooke smiled but as soon as she turned away it faded instantly.

While waiting for the drinks to arrive Don commenced a more direct approach. His method of selling had earned him the coveted award of 'Most Sales in a Month' for any Chrysler dealership across Australia, a goal he had achieved twice that year.

'So boys, I reckon you're just looking around at...' Don leant back and glided his fingers across the back of the polished green coupe, 'at Chargers, in particular?'

Russell had nominated himself as the negotiator. When it came to talking cars and interacting with men he was confident, women on the other hand were a complete mystery and he routinely fumbled his words.

'Yeah, just looking,' Russell replied, casually walking around the green Charger with all the calm of a lazy dog, when in actual fact his insides were dancing.

Don joined them, pointing out the various attributes of the revolutionary Valiant Charger. They admired its style. 'The Hemi motor's designed to produce twenty-five percent more power, "Wheels Car of the Year".' Don pointed to the poster-sized award on the wall. The young men acknowledged the industry award but didn't take their eyes off the machine before them. Don smiled, knowing the boys were taking the bait and decided to crank up the heat.

'Step back fellas and take a _good_ long look.' Don encouraged. 'Bet ya can't find a better looking car.'

They rose to the challenge, ducking and craning and eventually nodding in agreement; they couldn't fault the flowing lines.

Brooke arrived with a smile and three drinks balancing precariously on a small tray. 'Here you go boys.' Again, Brooke wore the face of the ultimate hostess.

Don took advantage of her defenceless position and pinched her on the bottom, causing the drinks to teeter and clink on the tray.

'Careful there Brooke. Not too good under pressure these working women.' Don announced behind his hand.

Russell and Michael smiled at Don not with amusement but to show respect for someone older.

Each of the three took a can of Coke, Russell and Michael thanking Brooke, Don ignoring her and returning to the task at hand.

Brooke smiled, turned and walked back towards her desk, her face immediately crumpling into a frown. 'Dickhead,' she muttered.

Don ogled Brooke's retreating form, unaware of her sledge. 'Nice arse,' he mouthed to the boys, who were helplessly mesmerised by 'the view'.

'Ya know boys, _that's_ what this car's all about,' Don said, leaning forward. 'Raunch! It draws the chicks.'

'What do you mean?' Michael craved more information.

'The chicks love it, cruising around, everyone looking at 'em in a new car.' Don slowly moved his hand towards the car as if he was introducing someone.

'Yeah right.' Russell wasn't buying the idea that a car alone could entice girls to randomly throw themselves at him and Michael.

'No bullshit fellas, take another look at the car.' Don took a few steps back this time holding the boys under the arms, bringing them with him. 'Take the Holden Monaro, the GT Falcon, all ugly boxes; now take a good long look at the Charger.' Don paused to allow this statement to sink in fully. 'This is one hell of a sexy car!'

Don studied the boys' faces for a reaction, that connection with an inanimate object that only men seemed capable of. He noticed Michael's face first.

Michael imagined himself driving around with beautiful bikini-clad girls, drawn to a car that exuded sexiness.

Russell on the other hand wasn't falling for it. He wasn't going to let the fast-talking salesman convince him to think with any other part of his anatomy.

Don could tell he had hooked one fish but the one he really needed wasn't biting.

Russell had prepared himself mentally with mechanical data to launch a calculating defence. Russell was adamant that this self-assured salesman would be no match for his mechanical knowledge. 'Don!' Russell smiled. 'I'm a qualified mechanic.' Russell paused to let the impact of his statement take effect. It was irrelevant that he had only completed his apprenticeship two weeks earlier. 'I'll admit the Charger's got the looks but Ford's GTHO Falcon can hit 140 miles per hour, she can do the quarter mile in 14.9 seconds!' Russell smiled at the extent of his own knowledge. 'It's the fastest car in Australia,' Russell continued, riding a wave of confidence that even impressed Michael. 'The Ford's got the status, the horsepower,' Russell concluded confidently.

'Russell,' Don said, placing a firm hand on Russell's shoulder, 'mate, I agree with everything you just said.'

Russell was perplexed, his entire argument crumbled in the face of Don's accordance, which is exactly what Don expected. The smooth-talking salesman was deviating from his normal procedure; he was desperate to make this sale on the last day of the month. If Don could convince one of the young men to purchase a new vehicle it would result in him becoming the top-selling salesman for three consecutive months, it would be a record amongst his peers and not go unnoticed by the corporation.

If the sale he was counting on hadn't fallen through just as the boys walked through the doors, he wouldn't be under this sort of pressure. But this was the 'Unbelievable Don Mathers'; he was an enigma, a self-made guru and he was determined to make it happen.

'Listen Russell, and you too Mick. Did I tell you I did some test driving on these babies in South Australia?' Don ran his hand over the back of the green car as though they were romantically attached, 'No I didn't did I?' Don became nostalgic at the recent memory. 'I want to show you something.' Don walked towards a single door located between his desk and Brooke's signalling the boys to follow him, 'Somethin' out the back you two should take a look at.'

Don took them through a door that led down a long brick hallway, a number of plain white doors with small windows lined the corridor, some of the titles under each window included 'Lunch room' and 'Toilets'. Russell peered in to the lunch room window observing a number of workers enjoying the air-conditioned environment, _Lucky buggers,_ he thought.

Don pushed open the door at the end of the hallway instantly filling the corridor with sunlight reflected off the concrete car park. Russell and Michael squinted as their eyes adjusted. 'Keep up boys,' Don called behind him as he strode out across the open area. Russell and Michael tentatively followed across the rear sales lot, both surprised at its size.

The sales yard had a number of new cars waiting to be delivered, sedans and Chargers in various bright colours. 'Check out the pink one!' Michael pointed, Russell wrinkled his nose in disapproval.

'Wait here guys.' Don instructed both men to wait outside a large steel garage used for servicing and detailing.

In complete contrast to the cool showroom, the midday sun had a surprising bite to it.

'Shit it's hot,' Russell said, pulling at his collar.

'Not wrong,' Michael answered scratching the back of his ear.

The change of environment jolted Russell to his senses; he began to rethink the whole idea of buying a new car for a simple holiday. He glanced at Michael who also looked uncomfortable. _Is it the hot concrete yard or is he also having second thoughts?_ 'What are you thinkin' Mick?'

Michael stared up at the sun then back at his friend with a serious face, 'I'm thinkin',...' Michael smiled. 'I'm thinkin' how am I gunna get into Brooke's pants.'

Russell pushed Michael who shoved him back! They fell about laughing.

'You haven't got a chance,' Russell replied.

'Watch me go back in there and ask her out.'

'Bullshit you will.' Russell smiled, knowing that Michael would attempt the brazened move at the first opportunity. 'I meant about the car, ya _goose_.'

This time Michael looked around the yard to get his bearings. 'How about we chance the trip in the ute?'

Russell nodded, 'We could give it a good tune-up; swap the wheels off the wreck.' Russell was beginning to come up with solutions to their problems.

Michael was also thinking of ideas. 'We could put the bucket seats from the--'

Their conversation was interrupted abruptly by a mechanical growl from the shadows of the open garage. The crackle from the exhaust, in conjunction with the engine roar, meant only one thing to both boys; it was the unmistakable signature of a racing engine, that belonged on the track rather than in a sales yard in the Sydney suburb of Bankstown.

Russell and Michael stared at the garage. Slowly, out of the shadows, a silver two-door Charger emerged revealing its highly polished and menacing body. The car's black bonnet and front guards, the latter with their striking racing stripes down each side, cut an imposing impression. They were the unmistakable markings of the new 'R/T', Road and Track, Charger, a car designed with one purpose in mind, to challenge the motor companies of Ford and Holden at the Hardie-Ferodo 500-mile endurance race.

It was the era of Australian muscle car and the new creation from Chrysler was a high performance thoroughbred. Its 300-plus-horsepower engine combined with its light body made it a strong contender for the title.

The rules for production-car racing required a specified number of vehicles to be produced to qualify for the Bathurst race. The end result meant the everyday person had an opportunity to drive a race car on the suburban streets. 'Race on Sunday, sell on Monday,' was the car-sales mantra.

Michael and Russell's eyes were hypnotised by the aggressive-sounding coupe as it pulled up alongside. Don watched their faces as he brought the car to a stop. Michael and Russell were left speechless by the spectacle, by the symbiosis of sight and sound. Don stepped out of the car with his usual grace. 'Which one of you wants to drive first?'

To the spectator it was like watching the two remaining children in a game of musical chairs, competing for the last chair. They bumped and jostled each other, in a bid to decide who was going to drive. Don made his way into the back seat when Russell eventually won the right to drive.

Don was sure to let the high performance engine warm up properly before moving off to 'stretch its legs'. Never letting an opportunity pass he used the time to show off the various attributes of the stylish interior, pointing out the black racing seats, vanity mirrors, which he used frequently, and the sports dash loaded with instruments required for racing.

Michael had completely fallen under the car's spell but Russell was clinging onto self-control, if only by a thread. He was armed with facts and was searching for them desperately somewhere in his mechanically impressed mind.

Quickly remembering that the restrictive three-speed gearbox was a chink in the Charger's armour, Russell looked over his shoulder at Don. 'Sounds good but it still only has a three-speed.'

'Ya blind are ya?' Don called out over the engine noise before pointing at the gear lever.

Russell looked down to see a four-speed configuration indicated on the top of the gear knob. _That's not suppose to be there._ He glanced back at a smug Don who now held all the cards.

Don smiled. 'Don't know what you're lookin' at. Don't know what you're sitting in either?'

Don leant forward between the bucket seats to explain to the boys, why he had brought them out to the service area.

'This is a giant killer.' Don took a breath as though he was revealing a family secret. 'This is the prototype second-generation R/T Charger. We've tweaked the head, changed the cam and got the experimental Borg-Warner four-speed in her. And I'm tellin' you,' he leant even closer, 'nothin', and I mean nothin', can catch her from sixty to one hundred miles per hour; she just takes off!' His eyes widened, he became excited about the next breakthrough-in-performance information he was about to share. He glanced around, as though someone from Ford and Holden might be watching. 'And the quarter mile? Fourteen seconds! I've even got it just under; that's quicker than the GTHO Falcon,' he whispered.

Don was temporarily exhausted after that volley of information, but in true Don Mathers' style he recovered quickly. 'The new E49 model comes out next year with all these features, I'm prepared to do you a deal on this beauty. But first, let's go for a run.'

Armed with their new-found knowledge, the young men felt as though they were riding in a ballistic missile and feared a lunar launch if they dared accelerate too quickly. Michael took his turn behind the wheel cruising around the suburban streets, feeling as though the world was watching; he even caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window and smiled. _Hello there... Mick, ya lookin' good._

Russell's analysis was more forensic than Michael's. _Shit, this thing accelerates like no ones business._ He noticed the car searching for more power, never satisfied with the driver's enforced speed limit. _This thing isn't happy unless it's going hard._

Both men completed their turns behind the wheel, treating the car like an antique rather than a high performance muscle car.

Satisfied the boys had developed a taste for the car, Don decided it was time for an education at the hands of a professional, and as far as Don was concerned, they didn't come any better than him.

'Okay boys, it's time for you two to see what this car can really do! Pull over Rusty.' Russell winced at Don's new nickname for him.

'Get in the back, Mick. Rusty, you get in the passenger's side,' Don commanded in an authoritative tone.

They complied only because they knew they were in for another thrilling experience to add to this already exciting day, and if Don was half as good as he made out, it promised to be worthwhile.

Don strapped himself into his seat with the new-concept retractable seatbelts and reached into his shirt pocket. 'Hold this Russ.' He threw a stopwatch at Russell who almost juggled it right out the window. _What the hell's this thing for?_

'Just push the button on the top to start it and again to stop it. Okay?'

Russell nodded, still not quite sure of its purpose. _This bloke's nuts._ A mixture of excitement and nausea began to creep through the young mechanic.

Don came to a screeching halt at the intersection, spotting two women in their early thirties. He couldn't help but leer at the voluptuous women in their bright orange and purple mini-dresses, chatting to one another, animatedly.

'Hey fellas, check out the tits on the one in orange.' Michael's and Russell's eyes instinctively followed Don's orders.

'Excuse me girls.' The reference to their youthful appearance instantly gained their attention. 'I imagine you two are on the way to church.'

The women gazed back at Don's charismatic face, puzzled.

'Well it's obvious,' Don said, looking them up and down before winking, 'with bodies like yours... you've definitely got something to confess.'

They both giggled at his suggestive humour. He deftly produced a business card out of nowhere and handed it to the woman in orange.

'Don Mathers, Chrysler Valiant head salesman, my number's on the back. Call me _anytime_.' Don exclaimed with another wink.

Russell and Michael looked at each other in wonder at their all-round smooth-talking driver; he was not only attempting to sell a car but was simultaneously chatting up women! Don turned his attention back to the boys and the busy road ahead while the two women studied the business card.

'See boys, the chicks love the car.' Don gave the engine a quick rev. 'Better buckle up Mick.' Don's request wasn't because he was worried about Michael's safety; he didn't want a Greek missile flying around in the backseat.

'I'm good.' Michael replied with a smile. Don looked in the rear-vision mirror and raised an eyebrow.

'Now Russ. When the lights turn green hit the button, and stop it at fourteen seconds, okay?' Don pointed to the speedo. 'Soon as you stop the watch check the speed. Got it?'

'Yeah, I got it,' Russell answered with a hint of sarcasm. _This guy's outta his tree... or flat out dangerous._

Don revved the engine interrupting Russell's thoughts.

'Where're we gunna do it?' Russell asked imagining that they were heading to a vacant industrial area to test the Charger's abilities.

'Right here, right now.'

Russell and Michael looked around at the suburban street. The stretch of bitumen was a straight four-lane quarter mile of congested road. Russell looked back at Michael who had now moved forward to hold on to each front seat. Russell nodded at Michael who shot him a glance, suggesting that Don was having a lend of them.

'Get ready Russ.' Don gripped the steering wheel.

'Yeah Don, all set,' Russell replied sarcastically, suspecting that Don was full of bluff and bluster, like the prankster he appeared to be. Russell turned back to face the road as the lights went green.

'Now! Press it!'

Russell reacted instantly and jammed his thumb on the button. In a split second his body slammed backwards into the bucket seat.

The instant acceleration of the light, powerful car threw Michael backwards into the seat, his head hitting the rear window with a thud. Russell, through a combination of surprise and gravity, sank _deeper_ into his seat. The road in front began to slide by him faster, and faster. _This guy's nuts,_ Russell thought.

For once Don was silent, concentrating on the road. A devious smirk had begun to appear at the corner of his mouth. The car accelerated at breakneck speed. It passed the other unsuspecting cars as though they stood still. Its sole reason for existence was being exploited dangerously through the streets of suburban Sydney.

The first car to fall prey to the 'revolutionary Valiant Charger' was an older pink Holden with four ladies on their way to a game of lawn bowls. A thunderous silver flash brought a chorus of: 'Goodness Gracious!', 'Heavens above!' and 'What was tha _--_?'

Don's plan was to drive the quarter mile in under fifteen seconds, to impress the boys and convince them beyond a doubt to buy the car. He seamlessly changed gears, Russell wasn't sure if he used the clutch or not. Again, Don planted the pedal on the floor, still producing enough torque to keep all three men snug in their seats. The roar of the engine consumed every sound.

The next car, oblivious to the approaching vehicle, was a late model brown sedan driven by a middle-aged couple. The couple, not familiar with the area, were struggling to find their next turn. Suddenly, the woman gave her husband a late direction. Frustrated, he made an abrupt change of lanes without indicating.

'Shit!' Don yelled as the space ahead closed.

Without backing off speed Don swerved violently to the left, the charger skidded sideways barely under control. The sudden change of direction sent Michael tumbling towards the right. _Shit!_ Michael thought, _I should've worn the seat --_Don counter-steered to bring the accelerating vehicle back in line, the slingshot effect sent Michael sliding across the seat to the other side of the car. For a moment in time Michael watched the road ahead through the small side window. Don accelerated out of the sideslip and continued to hurtle down the road towards the magic quarter mile, which, in this case, ran past the local post office.

Don was certain his driving display would impress his two passengers. It wasn't quite the same from Michael and Russell's perspective as they clung onto anything secure. Their expressions were identical in fear.

Another gear change occurred. Russell realised they were in fourth but didn't remember third even happening. The high-pitched revving of the engine drowned out any possible conversation in the cabin, as they shot past pedestrians, lampposts and cars; Russell's heart felt like it was about to explode.

'PRESS IT NOW!'

Russell instinctively followed orders and stabbed at the button on the stopwatch. With morbid curiosity he dared to look at the speedo. To his horror it read '101 miles per hour'.

Don began decelerating, back through the gears, yelling, 'Oh, yeah baby! How's that?'

Russell and Michael, on the other hand, were stunned, not just by the skilled driving performance but also by the fact that at any stage they could have been injured or killed. It would have only taken a stray car or pedestrian wandering into their path to end in disaster.

Michael's olive complexion looked unusually pale. 'Pull over... quick!' He battled out of the rear seat, squashing Russell between his own seat and the dash pad. Michael barely made it out of the car and staggered a short distance before decorating the gutter with his lunch.

'Watch the car.' Don remarked, concerned as always.

Russell got out and tried to comfort his friend without laughing. 'You okay Mick?'

Crouched low, with his head down and his hands on his knees, vomiting, every convulsion jabbed at Michael's injured ribs.

'Can you believe... what just happened?' Michael grunted as his stomach convulsed from the roller-coaster ride from hell.

'Yeah, it was fantastic.'

Russell's comment took Michael by surprise; Russell was usually the sensible one. 'Are you serious? That bastard could have killed us.'

Michael's comment caught Russell off guard; Michael was normally the adventurous one.

'Come on boys, enough fun, let's go back and have a chat.' Don signalled to the boys to get back in the car after making the necessary adjustments to his hair in the rear-vision mirror.

The drive back to the dealership was more civilised than the previous journey, the boys were now more concerned than ever about Don Mathers, the crazy, fast-talking ladies' man.

There was a method to Don's madness: he was educating Russell and dispelling his argument, to better enable a sale, and was, in effect, attempting to break Russell's spirit.

'So which one of yas are looking at buying?' Don said, driving around a corner.

'We both are,' Michael and Russell answered in unison.

'You're after a car each or buying one together?'

'We're thinking about buying one together,' Russell answered. _I don't see the problem, Mick and me are like brothers._

Don nodded, _I thought the cocky wog bloke was the buyer. I thought the tall prick was just here just to get in my way. Together huh?_ Don let another smile escape. _This is gunna be easier than scoring in a brothel._

Don turned into the dealership, the throb of the sports exhaust echoing as they cruised in through the narrow entrance of the garage before coming to a stop, like a lion at rest after a hunt. The three men clambered out of the vehicle and made their way back in via the showroom's rear entrance. Michael and Russell glanced back over their shoulders at the race car now resting in the shadows.

'You young blokes are going to have a great time in this car. Jeez, wish I was twenty again.'

'Hang on mate.' Russell realised what Don was doing. 'We're not agreeing to anything yet.'

'Well what the hell are you doing here, just tyre kicking?' Don applied just enough pressure to prod them into action.

'Back off!' Michael said, stepping between Russell and Don. 'Listen mate, we're going on a holiday to Surfers before I go to Vietnam.'

_Shit,_ Don thought, _the kid's got balls._

'And we're _considering_ looking at Chargers,' Michael said, with his chin slightly higher, 'but we'll probably just take the car we've got outside.' Michael looked across at the old ute all alone on the other side of the road.

Don peered outside and squinted. 'All I can see is a heap of black shit.' He paused, realising it was the very car Michael was referring to. 'You're joking right? You're going to Queensland in _that?_ That looks like it won't get up the street. Lucky ya mate's a mechanic.'

Russell and Michael stared at the tired old ute that had outlasted its purpose and considered the idea of cruising up the coast in a silver dream machine.

'Look fellas.' Don placed his hands on their shoulders and considered a momentary flash of madness, or brilliance. 'I'm getting my hands on the next R/T model and I'm feeling generous.' It was more about achieving the sales record for a third time that year, and securing a promotion, than helping the boys out. 'I could probably sell you the R/T demo for...' Don hesitated just long enough for Russell and Michael's hearts to skip a beat, 'the same price as the base model; that's $2,795. But considering it's got a few miles on it, I'll let it go for $2,600.'

Both Russell and Michael did the sums in their heads, they knew the Charger had two and a half thousand miles on the odometer, but it was still a huge saving for such a special car.

'The thing is, boys, the deal's got to be today, or it's off.' Don was feeling just as excited as Michael and Russell. _Come on boys... you know you want it. If I can sell it before the end of the day I'll be a legend around here... the fellas upstairs 'll have to notice me then._

Russell looked at his watch, 'But it's almost two o'clock. We'll have to get home, get to the bank and drive back here.'

'Well what the fuck are ya wasting time talking to me for? Go get some cash if you're serious.' Don smiled. 'Otherwise I'll park it out front and sell it to the next bloke who comes through the door.'

Michael looked completely perplexed, but strangely Russell's mind raced as fast as his intended purchase. In the split second that Don announced the deal price, Russell immediately recognised an opportunity.

Russell and Michael sprinted to their old ute with no time to spare. Russell accelerated as fast as he dared too. _Don't fall apart on me now old girl._

Michael knew that Russell wanted the car but it was uncharacteristic for his friend to make such an impulsive purchase.

Russell drove carefully through the traffic, he seemed to get every red light on the way home. Russell sensed his friend's confusion and began to explain what he had realised. 'This is a great price Mick. I'm telling ya, we get the car, drive to Surfers and when we get back sell it for five hundred more than we paid for it.' Russell spoke as though it was a matter of fact.

'Ya reckon?' Michael wasn't as astute as Russell when it came to money but he trusted his friend.

'Absolutely, guaranteed.'

They grinned at each other at their entrepreneurial good fortune and turned the overheating ute down their street. This time Russell didn't bother to lock the door, with key in hand he ran to his door ready to grab his bankbook and change his future.

*

The two friends had saved more than $3,500 towards their dream of owning and operating their own automotive business. They had decided to start out small doing mechanical and smash repairs. Russell had already started to accumulate tools and workshop equipment salvaged from various scrapyards and auction houses. Michael had worked long hours with the family business and attended night school for metal fabrication and panel beating.

When Michael had unfortunately won the 'lottery of death' and had been selected to serve overseas it never stopped the two from planning to one day open their own business. As far as the two mates were concerned, buying the car was just another way of making money and solving a problem at the same time.

*

Michael ran through his front door and into his bedroom. He turned a number of times in the untidy room, trying to remember where he last left his bankbook. He began ransacking his top drawer searching in vain for the pocket-sized document. 'Where is it? Dammit!'

Michael realised, mid-inspection of his sock drawer, where he last saw the bankbook. 'Hey Mum!' he yelled, still holding two pairs of socks in each hand. 'Where'd you put my new jeans?'

'Three drawers down,' Dimitra yelled back from somewhere within the house.

Michael pulled his drawer open with so much force that it to came out of its frame completely and landed on the floor. The entire contents spilt out across the carpet. 'Shit!'

*

Russell marched into his room and straight to his bookcase; his room was orderly and looked too clinical for someone's bedroom. He removed a thick book on popular mechanics and slid his bankbook from the inside cover. He had never trusted his father ever since he had taken Russell's savings from his paper-boy rounds at the age of nine.

With a hop and a skip Russell left just as quickly as he had entered, expecting Michael would also be on his way out to the ute.

*

Dimitra walked into Michael's bedroom to find him rummaging through a mountain of clothes. Outside Russell started pressing the worn out horn to speed Michael along.

Michael finally found his new jeans with the bankbook still in the back pocket. 'Got it!' he announced with a smile, grabbing his life's savings. He jumped to his feet and kissed his mother on the cheek as he brushed past. 'Thanks Mum.'

Michael's room resembled a war zone with clothes thrown over cupboard doors and strewn across the floor. Dimitra walked into the middle of the room with both hands held out, she let out a sigh of frustration and looked up, for strength.

*

Russell and Michael handed over their withdrawal slips to the middle-aged teller; she looked over her glasses at the composed but sweaty young men. The more desperate they became the slower the transaction seemed to take.

'There you go, one bank cheque made out to Valiant Chrysler Corporation for $2,600.' The bank teller was expressionless as she handed over what seemed to be an incredible amount of money, more than three-quarters of their combined savings on one small piece of paper.

Russell carefully folded the cheque in half and placed it neatly in his wallet. 'Let's do this,' he said with conviction.

The two men walked to the door like hurried tin soldiers. The second they got outside they sprinted towards the car.

Russell wasn't sure if it was his heart he could feel, or Michael's he could hear. He had pushed the old ute to its limits. The journey from the dealership to the bank, via his home, and back again was, once more, met with almost every red light.

Russell's ute came to an overheated stop. He and Michael shared a smile as they ran through the doors into the cool interior of the dealership.

'G'day boys.' Don's voice was solemn.

Both young men knew immediately: something was wrong.

'Got some bad news, fellas.' Don bit his top lip. 'I've sold it.'

'What?' Russell thought his heart had been ripped out. 'You said it was ours.'

'I said I'd sell it to the next bloke who came through the door.'

Michael's ability to communicate was replaced with blood rage. His thoughts racing, _You fucken arsehole. Wait till I'm through with you. I'm gunna --_

'Just fuckin' with you boys. She's out back and ready for some lovin'.' Don let out a sadistic laugh at his misguided interpretation of humour, 'Let's get the paperwork outta the way, and get you two driving.'

Russell and Michael looked at one another and shook their heads. Michael barely managed a smile.

Don put his arms around the shoulders of both men and led them to his desk. 'Had youse going there for a while, didn't I?' He laughed again, not realising how close he had come to a fat lip and missing teeth.

*

Michael had suggested that flipping a coin was the best way to decide who was driving their new silver treasure home. Two out of three tosses had ended in Michael's favour. His smile looked as though it would have to be surgically removed. Russell's expression wasn't much better, both young men were euphoric with their new, albeit slightly run-in, purchase.

'I can't believe it, we did it! We're on our way.' Russell was barely able to contain his excitement, running his hands over the black dash and continuing to caress the car's interior. 'How do you think your parents are going to react?' he asked, but was more concerned how they would react to _him_ , after all, he was supposed to be the responsible one.

Michael shrugged his shoulders, he hadn't thought that far ahead.

'What do you think your old man will say?' Michael asked.

'Who gives a shit about what he reckons.' Russell wasn't going to let his dysfunctional relationship with his father spoil the day.

Michael pulled into his parents' driveway behind the smashed Holden, with the old wreck and the new model facing one another. He blasted the loud factory-fitted trumpet horns. Michael and Russell sat, smiling, in their car, waiting for Michael's parents to appear. They laughed when Dimitra opened the curtain to peer at the strangers parked in the driveway, before quickly disappearing. The curtain soon reopened to reveal Dimitra, Nic and then Sophie, peering out at the unfamiliar car on their property. The boys laughed even louder. Eventually the trio emerged curiously from the house for a closer inspection. Michael and Russell got out the car with smug smiles.

'Whose car's this?' Nic was first to ask questions.

'Where did it come from?' Dimitra soon followed.

'Hey Charger!' was Sophie's contribution.

Michael threw the keys into the air and caught them again. 'It's ours.'

Russell smiled and nodded his head. Nic looked the shiny silver coupe up and down, trying to hide his enthusiasm. 'How much?'

Russell and Michael smiled at each other.

'Mr Halias, we got a great deal.'

'How much boys?' Nic knew how much these new-look Valiants cost; he had been in the market for a new station wagon because the old workhorse was in need of replacing.

'$2,600 on road,' Russell announced with pride.

Nic raised his eyebrows thinking, _These fancy Valiants are close to $4,000._ 'What about your savings? What about your plans for business?'

'When we get back from Surfers,' Russell said, approaching Nic, 'we're gunna sell it for five hundred more than we paid.'

Nic tilted his head, smiled and pinched Russell's and Michael's cheeks. 'Smart boys! Smart boys.'

While Russell, Michael and his father were looking over the new car, Jeff from across the road had noticed the excitement and came over for a closer inspection. Jeff was a retired auto-electrician and had shown Russell and Michael a few things about cars and their wiring.

'G'day Nic. See you've got a nice new car boys. She's a beauty.'

Even Russell's father had managed to make his way down the footpath with a half-finished bottle of beer to join the small group of onlookers. Russell opened the bonnet to display the race-bred Hemi engine. The boys took turns educating their audience with the information they themselves had only just learnt.

'Over three hundred horsepower, that's more than one horsepower for every cubic inch,' Russell started.

'Zero to sixty miles per hour in 6.1 seconds,' Michael announced.

'Chrysler Corporation spent thirty million dollars to develop the motor,' Russell commented, as though it was a worthy investment.

Wally stuck his head under the bonnet and looked at the non-boosted brake configuration. 'How much did they spend on the brakes, to stop it?'

The other four men leaned in to take a closer look at what Wally had noticed; his comment was accurate. The Chrysler company's decision to stick with the under-sized front brake rotors and non-boosted brakes was a serious oversight by the car company. The standard brakes were no match for the raw power of the high performance engine.

Nic pointed at his son and Russell. 'He's right boys, keep that in your heads.'

_What would Dad know, the drunk,_ Russell thought surprised that his father had anything worthwhile to contribute, he hated to admit it, but he was right.

_Look at those men,_ Dimitra thought. _Cars, engines... blooming old car is still blocking the driveway and they buy another one!_ She looked at the crumpled up family sedan and sighed. She threw her tea towel over her shoulder and headed back inside the house, _I have better things to do_.

Nic pressed Michael for more details while he fiddled with a fuel line. 'So you boys go Sunday and come back in a week?'

'Yeah Pop.'

Nic noticed the brand of triple carburettors lined up alongside the engine. 'Weber! These are Italian. They go on Ferraris too.' He was impressed with the European connection.

All the men moved in for a closer inspection. None of them had noticed Sophie inspecting all the fascinating dials and knobs from the driver's seat. Suddenly, the loud trumpet horns blasted in the engine compartment, startling everyone. Russell and Jeff collected their heads on the bonnet with two resounding _thunks_.

' _Sophie!_ ' yelled Nic.

The little girl sat frozen in the driver's seat. 'Sorry _Baba_.' She flashed Nic her best apologetic grin through the windscreen.

'Don't worry, Dad; she's okay. Just be careful Soph.' Michael was in too good a mood to let anything upset him.

Peels of laughter broke out under the bonnet.

'Christ that hurt; now I'm deaf _and_ concussed,' Jeff remarked.

Russell rubbed his head, from the impact, the horn blast still ringing in _his_ ears too. Michael looked at his best mate and winked, they could feel their adventure about to begin.

*

They decided to garage the vehicle at Russell's house for two reasons: Russell's mongrel cattle dog, which was rumoured to be half dingo and half brown snake by the local children, had always successfully guarded Russell's possessions in the garage; but the main reason was Michael's wrecked Holden was still blocking the driveway.

The purchase of the new car filled every waking minute of conversation between them. 'We can put a cut-out switch under the dash,' Russell said sitting at the Halias' breakfast table. Dimitra slopped a serving of scrambled eggs onto Russell's plate, he could hear her murmur, _Cars, cars, cars._

'Something to stop the fuel supply,' Michael suggested, scooping a large serving of porridge into his mouth.

'Ya reckon Jeff's awake?' Russell said. 'He gets up pretty early, he'd be up for it.'

*

'I reckon you blokes are pushing the friendship getting me up before seven.' Jeff said, groping around under the dash, trying to wire and mount the switch. 'I remember...' Jeff groaned, as he struggled in the tight space, 'why... I don't... miss this anymore.'

Russell silently appreciated the skills of his neighbour.

Michael looked on. _I hope he doesn't scratch anything,_ Michael thought rubbing his chin.

'You two boys got a real nice ride here.' Jeff had always treated the boys like friends rather than taking the role of older and wiser mentor. A comparison popped into his thoughts and he chuckled. 'This is like putting a chastity belt on your girlfriend. So no one can get in her.' Michael and Russell laughed politely.

'You know, the kings of old would blind the locksmith who designed the chastity belt, so no one could figure out how to open it.' There was an uncomfortable silence as they grasped his meaning.

Jeff paused when the boys didn't reply and looked up from under the dashboard. 'Don't get any ideas you little pricks.' _That_ comment brought immediate laughter from the car's two overprotective owners.

The boys continued installing other devices: a tap to cut off the fuel, accessed through the boot, and a hidden slide lock under the bonnet, to prevent anyone from opening it and jump-starting the engine.

The rest of the Saturday included last minute vehicle checks and packing the essentials for a week of adventure. Dimitra cooked a large family dinner for her two boys; she knew in her heart that it would be the last decent meal they would eat for at least a week so she cooked all their favourites. Russell had seconds.

# Chapter 5

'They won't go hungry now,' Dimitra said, sealing the large Tupperware container of food in her kitchen.

'There's enough food here for a whole family,' Nic commented.

Dimitra smiled. 'My boys won't go hungry before they get to the Surfers Paradise.' Her smile turned in to a yawn from the late night and early morning, which had enabled her to prepare this multitude of meals.

Russell had also been awake before dawn, going over his itinerary for the trip in obsessive detail. His methodical approach ensured that no stone had been left unturned when it came to their car's preparation, despite the car being new. Russell had only ever driven what he termed as 'shit boxes' _._ He had packed enough hoses, gaskets and fan belts for them all to break twice. His approach to this holiday extended to include his small travel bag, it resembled the way he lived, every sock, shirt and piece of underwear was neatly folded and stored in the most efficient manner.

Michael had slept soundly; he had planned to get up early and help Russell but had enjoyed the comfort of his bed. His time in the army had been a rude awakening for a young man who had a doting mother at his beck and call. The early starts, followed by the cross-country runs with loaded packs, all before breakfast, were a surprise for the young army engineer. Since returning home for a brief break before deployment, he had easily settled back into his old ways, although with a new appreciation of his mother.

Michael's door flew open. 'Breakfast!' Dimitra called, for the fourth time.

'Mum!' Michael whipped his sheet back over his naked body.

'I seen it before, come. Breakfast is getting cold.'

'Shit,' Michael whispered as he sat up in bed only to receive a clip across the ear for his profanity. Army life had exposed him to a male dominated domain of expletives and sexual innuendo. The second night back on leave Michael had sat down for dinner with his family and had casually said, 'Pass the fucken butter.' The table had frozen until Sophie began to giggle and Dimitra slapped Michael twice on the back of the head. The young offender had looked up, surprised at being punished for his simple request, until he realised his mistake and apologised, trying not to laugh.

Michael dressed and stumbled into the kitchen to find his entire family, including Russell, enjoying a large hot breakfast, all before 6 am. Beth was busy loading Russell's plate with a second helping of scrambled eggs and bacon.

'Hey! Leave some for me,' Michael quipped, searching for a place at the crowded table.

Beth's smile faded and she pulled a face at her brother.

Michael squeezed in next to his little sister who was gulping down a glass of chocolate-topped milk. Michael smiled, and waited until her mouth was full before making a funny face with cross-eyes. Sophie started to giggle. Then he flashed his monkey grin, which always made her laugh. It was too much for Sophie, her entire mouthful of chocolate milk erupted back up through her nose and mouth, all over her breakfast.

'Sophie!' Dimitra protested at her daughter's misbehaviour. She glared at her son knowing that he had a hand in the mess that now confronted her. Dimitra quickly grabbed a tea towel as she approached her son and whipped him on the back, the tip smacking him with a painful snap. Michael sat bolt upright.

Sophie laughed at her indestructible brother, flinching at her mother's hand. 'I'm going to miss you when you go away Mickey,' she announced, feeling privileged to be the only one using her brother's pet name.

'I'm only going for a week Soph.'

'No.' Sophie turned to face him, 'When you go to the war, in Veal-nam.'

Everyone focused on eating their breakfast, not wanting to ruin the mood by acknowledging the finality and truth of the little girl's words. Michael smiled at his little sister, he had formed a different relationship with Sophie than Beth; it wasn't that he loved her more, it was just more of a protective role.

'It's Vietnam.' Michael pointed at Sophie's chest, causing her to look down. Just as she tilted her head Michael quickly lifted his finger up, softly catching the tip of her nose. The surprise made Sophie jump and momentarily forget her concerns for his safety.

Michael understood all the women in his life, especially his mother and sisters. 'How about I bring you back a...' Michael stared at the ceiling in an exaggerated expression of contemplation.

'A what? What will you bring me?' The little girl's eyes widened at the thought of a present.

'How about a... fluffy, little tiger cub.'

Sophie's eyes lit up at the prospect of receiving an endangered animal of her own.

'Don't be mean Michael,' Beth snapped, knowing firsthand how cruel he could be, never forgetting the time that Michael wrapped a simple rock in foil, painted it and convinced her it was from the moon. It was only once she had taken it to school for 'show and tell' and the teacher unwrapped it in front of the class that she knew the truth; her classmates had consequently erupted in laughter.

'Sorry Soph, how about a gold necklace of a tiger cub instead.' Michael grabbed his little sister's chin and kissed her on the cheek. Beth scrutinised her brother, not believing for a moment he would honour his promise.

The two eager travellers gobbled down their breakfast, keen to commence their adventure. The family gathered around the young men just as dawn began to break. 'I'll just check the oil again,' Russell said, Dimitra rolled her eyes as the bonnet popped open.

'You got enough money?' Nic attempted to shove some last-minute cash into Russell's front pocket.

'No Mr Halias, I'm good.' Russell said dodging Nic's outstretched hand.

Michael wished his proud friend had taken his father's money.

'Take this boys.' Dimitra handed over a large container of meals and snacks for the long journey north.

Russell instantly eyed off a number of his favourite Greek delicacies, baklava in particular. Michael's family surrounded them, kissing and hugging them goodbye. To Michael it was a hindrance, but to Russell it was a cherished moment.

'See you in a week.' Michael waved as Russell slowly accelerated away.

'Have fun boys. Drive good,' Nic called out, secretly wishing he could join their adventure.

Russell glanced at his own home as he drove by. _Wonder if the old prick 'll even noticed I've gone_ ... _probably not._

Michael noticed his friend's sudden silence and, as usual, distracted him with an off-subject conversation.

'Did you just kiss my sister goodbye?'

_Shit...I didn't think he noticed_. 'It was just on the cheek, everyone was huggin' and kissin'.'

'Just don't get any ideas arsehole.' Michael smiled and punched the defenceless driver in the shoulder.

Russell winced and changed the subject. 'That breakfast ya mum cooked is gunna make us fart all the way to Surfers.'

'Not on these seats you're not.'

Russell laughed, not realising Michael was serious, but Michael loved everything about their new car, in particular the styling; he had taken two rolls of film in as many days, from every conceivable angle. Half an hour into the trip, Russell noticed Michael stretching out straight and lifting his backside off the seat.

'What's up with you?' Russell asked.

'I told you, I'm not farting on the seats and neither are you.'

Russell stared blankly at his friend for a moment, thinking again that he was only joking. Then shaking his head, he returned to concentrating on the roads.

After sixty minutes of wrestling with the heavy steering through the city streets, he turned onto the highway. The car's engine had been designed for speed and not this stop-start city driving; it had been a challenging first hour of driving.

'Finally!' Russell exclaimed, slowly increasing to a comfortable cruising speed.

'What?' Michael had been oblivious to the Russell's sighs of exasperation; he had been too preoccupied with people's reactions to their shiny new car. 'Look at these kids up ahead.' Michael pointed.

'Hey Charger,' a group of children chanted from a bus stop, giving the obligatory two-finger peace sign that accompanied the catch cry. Michael and Russell smiled and returned the gesture as they zoomed by.

Half a mile up the road Michael saw something else to get excited about.

'Hey Russ, check out the chicks at the lights.' Michael scanned the girls in mini-dresses, his girl radar on high alert. _My god! look at the one in white... she's beautiful._ 'Check the blonde one out,' he said, realising an opportunity.

The three young women spun around at the grumble of a high performance car approaching, it wasn't the car that they were interested in, but the guys who drove them.

_Bloody Mick, we'll never get there at this rate._ A small smile escaped the corner of Russell's mouth when he thought of an opportunity. _This 'll be fun. The lights are already red - but not for long._

'G'day girls.' Michael greeted leaning out the window, making sure they could see his muscled arms and shoulders.

The girls instantly jostled for attention watching the silver car and the cute passenger come to a stop.

'How's it going?' Michael said with a wink to the vixen in white. Her straight blonde hair reaching all the way to the exposed small of her back.

'Hi,' the _angel_ spoke, her eyes revealing instantly Michael was her kind of man.

Michael glanced at Russell hoping his friend had witnessed the sexy interaction. _Didn't see it Russ? Your loss mate._ 'So do you girls LI-VE...' Michael heaved the words out just as Russell accelerated away. _What the... I gotta... who is she?_ 'What's ya number?' Michael called back, watching his opportunity fade away.

The girls squinted at the silver car dart down the highway and around the corner.

'You prick!' Michael said, glaring at Russell.

'What?' Russell pretended he was innocent.

'That chick in white. The one that looked like a model.'

'The girls at the lights you mean?'

'Yes... the _girls_ at the lights,' Michael said, shaking his head. 'I was this close to... just a few more seconds and--'

'Just a few more seconds,' Russell smiled, 'and ya dick would have punctured the upholstery.'

'Ya did that on purpose.' Michael realised.

'The lights changed, I had to go. And any way, we're--'

'We could have offered them a lift.'

Russell changed gears and frowned at Michael. 'A lift? To Surfers? Jeez you think with the wrong head sometimes.'

Michael pulled a face and slumped back into his seat. _Bloody Russ... Thinks he's a funny bastard._ _Wait till I show him. There'll be that many chicks up in Surfers he won't have a chance when they see me._

Michael's self imposed silence lasted only a few minutes before he reached behind him and removed something from his bag. 'Got a surprise for ya Russ.'

'What?' Russell asked, overtaking a slow-moving caravan.

'You'll see.' Michael slipped a cassette into the new Slimline radio-cassette player. He slowly turned up the volume and watched Russell's face for a reaction. The song began to play, 'Viva Las Vegas'; __ Russell nodded his head to the beat. Elvis Presley was Michael and Russell's favourite performer. They listened to other popular music at dances but when it came to their own company, the two mates would often sing Elvis's songs word for word. Michael could even impersonate his voice, to perfection; he would sometimes answer the phone and carry on an entire conversation without faltering.

The boys cruised along the highway singing 'Viva Las Vegas', substituting Las Vegas with Surfers Paradise. Every time they finished singing their substituted lyrics they would laugh so hard they almost cried, feeding off each other's reaction.

'Hey Russ, check out the cows,' Michael said, pointing at the paddock filled with livestock, 'that one looks like your first girlfriend.'

'Piss off,' Russell said, shaking his head.

The suburban landscape was slowly being replaced by green hills and meandering highway. Russell had decided to make use of the factory-fitted double fuel tanks and see how far they could travel before stopping. Their plan was to arrive in Surfers Paradise in one long day with minimal stops. It proved more difficult than they had anticipated when they realised _they_ needed a rest long before their car did.

They agreed to swap the driving every three hours, to stay fresh, but after consuming most of Dimitra's food they felt drowsy, and decided to make an unscheduled stop.

'Look at that!' Russell pointed at a sign that read 'Steak House', in three-foot-high letters, 'this'll do for lunch.' He parked the car directly in front of the dining room windows that faced the petrol station and car park. _I'll be able to keep an eye on the car from here and --_

'Russ park the car here, we'll be able to see everyone looking at it.'

Russell smiled at Michael's ability to sense his thoughts.

*

'I can't believe your eating all that,' Michael remarked, 'after all the food mum made.'

'You ate it too.' Russell managed between chomps of his country-style steak.

'You ate most of it,' Michael said and cut in to his rare cooked steak.

'At least I eat my meat cooked.'

_That's right weak guts,_ Michael thought, remembering Russell's reaction to blood, _I forgot about that._ 'Hey Russ, look at this.'

Russell innocently looked down at Michael's plate. _Oh shit._ His stomach began to turn watching Michael's fork swirl the mashpotatoes into a swirl of red.

'Don't...' Russell managed in between suppressing swallows. 'Ya making me crook.'

'What's that mate... ya... gunna - urr!' Michael stuck out his tongue pretending to vomit. 'Look Russ, it's still got a pulse,' Michael said, laughing, prodding the piece of half-cooked meat with his fork. 'And when I'm done, I've got _strawberry_ ice-cream.'

'Ya dick!' Russell said, jumping up covering his mouth, before sprinting to the bathroom.

'Piss weak,' Michael said with a smile and cut another piece of meat. _That makes up for losing that chance with that chick back in Sydney --I wonder where she lives?_

*

Russell lifted the bonnet, feeling better after spending ten minutes in the toilet. _Bloody Mick making me crook; what a waste of a five dollar steak._

Michael leant against the back of the charger enjoying the midday sun. __ Michael and Russell enjoyed the attention their car received.

'G'day,' a man interrupted Russell while he checked the oil, 'ya mind if my young bloke has a look at this beauty?'

'Sure mate,' Russell answered proudly, winking at the man's son. 'This baby's got over three hundred horses: that's more than one horsepower for every cubic inch,' Russell boasted, the young boy nodded, not really understanding what horses and babies had to do with the new car. 'Ford and Holden can't even match that,' Russell continued with his lecture.

Michael left the maintenance to the mechanic and concentrated on other, more desirable, pursuits in his immediate vicinity. He leant back against the car in his best James Dean pose, making sure the sunlight caught his physique in all the right places.

It didn't take long before two young women strolled past, sipping soft drinks. Dressed in tight jeans and even tighter t-shirts, they drew plenty of attention: comments and glances of admiration, and envy, even a few wolf-whistles.

Michael smiled as they approached, both girls coyly returning the gesture.

'Hey girls, why'd ya buy the drinks?'

The two women stopped. 'Because we're hot.'

'You got that right!' Michael winked. As always, it worked a charm.

Both women giggled at his apparent spontaneity. They had noticed this dark-haired stranger and his hot car pulling in to the truck stop earlier.

'You from the city?' the taller girl inquired.

'Yeah. I'm Mick and that's Russ.' Michael casually indicated over his shoulder with a thumb.

'I'm Joanne and this is Geena.' The shorter girl spoke for the first time, inspecting Michael from head to toe, and back again, the obvious inspection making him slightly self-conscious.

'Is this your car?' Geena asked, moving closer to Michael, running her fingertips along one of the black flashes on the rear panel.

'Yeah, it's mine and Russ's: we're brothers.'

The girls glanced back and forth between the two men. Their eyes said, _Dark and gorgeous as opposed to fair and cute? Hmm..._ 'Brothers? Really?' Geena queried. She crossed her long legs at the ankles and leaned back slightly.

'Yeah I'm adopted, never knew my parents.' Michael had used this approach in the past with great success; his sad story always brought a collective sigh and this time was no different.

'That's awful,' Joanne murmured. Geena nodded supportively.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm okay with it.'

Both girls edged a little closer to him, trying to engage in conversation. Michael had leant backwards, arching his back and posing like a peacock. The young women now had a close-up view of his marvellous physique.

'Are you guys staying in town for a while?' Geena asked, with a suggestive smile.

'Nah, we're just passing through.'

'Go on, we're having a party at our place tonight and we could have a lot of fun.' Joanne got a little closer and winked.

Michael was a little surprised that his charm had worked so soon _. Maybe it's the car after_ _all,_ he thought. 'Hey Russ. Why don't we spend the night in town?' Michael called behind him.

Russell had been showing off the engine bay, explaining every fixed and moving part in minute detail. Michael's question caught him by surprise.

'You want to what?' Russell didn't know if he'd heard correctly but as soon as he looked up he realised why. Michael indicated with his eyebrows that he had a reason to stay, possibly two.

'Mick!' Russell said, shaking his head. 'Remember the schedule? We're already booked in.'

Michael's hopes were quickly dashed, he had known the answer before he asked but hoped that Russell might bend his precious schedule. Russell rolled his eyes as Michael turned back to face his forbidden fruit, thinking, _Fucken schedule._

'Sorry girls, we gotta be somewhere.'

'Go on, it'll be great, promise.'

Michael shook his head, but his heart said yes and his eyes mirrored his disappointment. Joanne shrugged and sidled closer; she grinned and suddenly reached forward, grabbing him on the crotch. Michael jumped and gasped.

Both girls burst out laughing as they stumbled away. 'At least I got to touch it,' Joanne called back.

Michael was stunned at the temerity of the two young women. He looked around, hoping Russell had witnessed the brazen attack on his manhood; he would never have believed it otherwise.

'Did you see that?'

'See what?' Russell replied, looking around the open bonnet.

'Those girls. The short one. She grabbed--' Michael realised that there was no way Russell would believe what had just happened. He glanced back at the voracious country girls bumping into each other, advertising their wares to every male in the service station. Michael could hear their giggles fading away, he heard more wolf-whistles from a panel van pulling up for petrol.

Russell carefully closed the bonnet and walked to the passenger's side.

'Come on Mick, stop mucking around and let's go,' Russell said, throwing the keys to his friend, 'it's your turn to drive.'

Michael was still pondering what had just occurred; he was confused about whether to feel violated or flattered, he decided to see it as a positive. _Christ!_ Michael suddenly thought, _maybe Don was right about the car._

Excited after the female interaction, Michael decided to give the locals a small demonstration of what his performance car could do. He accelerated out of the restaurant driveway, spinning the rear wheels just enough to send some loose gravel and smoke backwards.

'Take it easy.' Russell had just babied the car for three hours and didn't appreciate Michael's _showing off_.

'Hey! We own half each.' Michael accelerated aggressively, providing a further acoustic display as they ripped through the township. 'You drive your half how you want, I'll drive my half how I want.'

Russell couldn't fault that logic and sulked for the next few minutes at _his_ half of the car being subjected to such heavy-handed treatment.

Michael didn't dwell on their small debate, as usual, and quickly changed the subject. 'You know those two chicks back there.'

'Yup.'

Michael sensed his animosity. 'The short one grabbed me on the dick!'

Russell was looking out the window and despite all his determination not to, he smiled.

'Seriously,' Michael continued, 'she just reached in and pulled it like a dunny chain.'

Russell couldn't restrain himself any longer and burst out laughing. 'You're so full of shit.'

'She did. On my life, she really did.'

They laughed at each other's expressions of honesty and disbelief, neither of them paying any attention to the car approaching from the rear at speed. Michael was still calming down from his laughing fit when he noticed something in his rear-vision mirror.

'Shit!'

'What?' Russell said as he turned around, 'Cops. Great, how fast were you going?'

'I wasn't speeding. Honest.' Michael's honesty was sometimes questionable but on this occasion he was telling the truth. The white highway-patrol car turned on its lights and siren for Michael to pull over.

'Pull over Mick.'

'I am, give me half-a-chance.' Michael looked in his small side mirror then back at Russell. 'What's next.'

Russell shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. 'Buggered if I know; what's the cop doing?' Russell replied, not able to see the tall police officer walking up to Michael's window.

'Licence?'

Michael had already anticipated the obvious and had his licence ready. The constable casually took it and walked to the front of the car. The officer squatted down and looked at the Charger from front on, then, moving his head to the side he squinted down the side of the car.

'What's going on?' Michael whispered.

'No idea.' Russell replied in an equally soft voice as the police officer stood up and walked down Russell's side, this time gliding his hand down the new silver paintwork, before stopping and scrutinising the rear of the car. The inquisitive policeman again walked back down Michael's side and looked in the driver's window at the car's instrument panel and interior; he scanned the car as though no one was in it. It was the first time Russell got a good look at the constable aged in his twenties; his square jaw suited his short black hair and cap.

'This your car--' the officer said, looking at Michael's licence properly for the first time, '--Mr Ha-Halli-as?' Russell smirked at the common mispronunciation of Michael's surname.

'Yeah it's mine and my mate Russ's.'

The constable's impassive expression changed to one of envy.

'Nice car fellas; haven't seen any like this up here before.'

Michael and Russell breathed properly for the first time in minutes.

'She's one of those R/T jobs, isn't she?'

'Sure is,' Michael replied, smiling with relief at his new fan.

'Bet she's a goer. How fast you got her up to?'

Michael realised he was possibly being set up to confess to a crime and responded accordingly. 'Whatever the speed limit is indicated.' Michael answered quoting almost verbatim from the drivers handbook.

'Nah, seriously.' The officer was sincere in his questioning but neither young man would incriminate himself. The constable stood up and took a good look over the vehicle's symmetry. Russell and Michael looked at each other wondering if the officer was going to book them or not. Michael didn't want to suggest he receive a ticket, but was becoming anxious.

'Was I speeding officer?' Michael asked with respect.

'No, not at all.'

The two friends let out a combined, silent sigh of relief.

'So, can we go?' Michael asked.

The officer didn't reply; he took another step backwards and once again admired the car before pulling out his infringement book.

'Unfortunately for you two,' the constable said, looking Michael in the eyes, 'I was at the servo in town when you took off.' He opened his book, pen poised to start writing.

Michael looked at Russell, he could read his friend's expression in a second. _Sorry Russ_.

Russell dared to speak first, 'What'd we do wrong?' Pretending he didn't know.

The constable continued to look at his infringement book not yet putting pen to paper. 'Well mate, you failed to maintain control of your vehicle.'

Michael turned nervously back to see Russell's boiling eyes. _He looks like he wants to job me._

'You see, when you took off in town your rear tyres lost traction?' the officer said and raised an eyebrow.

'Really?' Michael sounded genuine, not that the officer was _buying_ it.

'Look fellas, I hate to spoil your fun but the law's the law,' the officer said, stepping back and taking one more covetous look at the boys' car before approaching Michael. 'Listen mate, we might be able to make an arrangement.'

'An arrangement?' Michael questioned. 'What sort of arrangement?' He frowned and turned to Russell, who looked like he already knew what was about to happen. Michael looked back up at the grinning policeman and raised his shoulders curiously.

*

'Don't worry boys, I'm a professional.'

Michael and Russell watched in disbelief as their silver Charger hurtled away down the highway.

'You idiot Mick.' Russell accused kicking the gravel edged road.

'He's gunna let us off... and like he said, it's for testing purposes.'

'Bullshit! He's having a lend of us--uhh!' Russell cried throwing his hands into the air.

Michael and Russell watched by the side of the road as their car quickly disappeared down the highway.

'Sounds good, doesn't it?' Michael was attempting to see the bright side of the situation.

Russell stared blankly at his friend. 'You're fucken kiddin', aren't ya? This isn't bothering you at all?' He walked to the side of the police car and leant against the door, peering back over his shoulder into the pursuit vehicle.

Five minutes later Michael could see a silver flash approaching at lightning speed. 'Here he comes.' Michael smiled at the spectacle, despite the controls being in someone else's hands.

*

Inside the Charger's cabin the young officer beamed with excitement, the engine hummed while the road blurred past at over one hundred miles per hour. 'Fuck, I love my job!' he yelled into the wind that ripped in through the open window.

*

'And there he goes.' Russell sarcastically finished Michael's sentence as the Charger hurtled past.

Michael looked over at his friend who was kicking the dirt in frustration. 'He's a cop Russ, he's coming back for his car.'

Russell didn't doubt the officer would return. He was more upset that someone was mistreating their pride and joy. _Typical Mick showing-off. It's always about him._ Russell glared at Michael before walking to the road's edge, shielding his eyes from the bright midday sun. The bitumen shimmered in the distance, melting up into the mirage that hovered above the highway. Russell squinted, trying to make sense of the distorted view ahead, eventually a silver object flashed into, and then out of, sight.

Russell took the unprecedented action of raising his hands, signalling the car to stop. Suddenly their roles had been reversed. The officer drew over, with a childish grin.

'How was it?' Russell asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

The officer ran his hand over the car's instrumentation and dash with new-found respect. 'Fucken beautiful,' he replied, still not taking his eyes off the vehicle's interior. 'It's a bit floaty over a hundred and twenty though, but still bloody good.'

Russell heart raced at the officer's admission. _OVER a 120 miles per hour!_

'Let's have a look under the bonnet.'

_When's this nightmare gunna end_ , Russell thought, lifting the bonnet.

'Jeez, it's got some guts for a six.' The officer grinned. 'It feels even quicker off the mark than the GT.'

Russell looked over at Michael hoping his friend could read his thoughts, _How can I convince this cop to let us go?_ 'I pulled you over because I think I heard your radio going,' Russell said.

Michael turned to look at his friend and raised one eyebrow.

'Shit! Why didn't you tell me before?' The officer strode across to his car, glancing back at his joy-ride.

'HP35 to base, over.'

'What do we do?' Russell whispered to Michael, 'Can we go, stay, what?'

'Fucked if I know,' Michael whispered back.

'Yes, copy that. HP35 out.'

The police officer strolled back towards the boys. 'Alright fellas, you can go, but drive carefully,' he said with a grin. 'I know what I'm doing cause I'm a professional.'

Michael and Russell scrambled into their car.

'Oh, and... you two should watch out; I just got word there's some idiot out there fangin' around in a Valiant,' the police officer joked, chuckling to himself as he climbed into his own vehicle.

Russell and Michael read each other's thoughts, _The townspeople and cops seem a little off-centre_.

Michael decided the best option was to put as much distance between them and the town as soon as possible. Minus the loss of traction, he accelerated away and headed north as quickly as the speed limit allowed. Russell continually watched over his shoulder, expecting blue-and-white company at any moment. After half an hour they began to relax, and even joke about their experience.

'Should have seen your face Russ,' Michael chuckled, 'you where like, "Sir this, Sir that". You were shittin' ya self.'

'It's always a big joke to you isn't it?' Russell said, his grin turning into a yawn. 'I'm stuffed from lunch. I'm gunna take a nap.' Russell got comfortable in the passenger seat and then opened a weary eye. 'And don't go speeding.'

'Course not.' Michael tried to look indignant, _Jeez, he knows me too well._ Michael enjoyed the solitude while Russell slept. He played two entire tapes while his friend barely moved. _This guy could sleep through a cyclone._ Michael watched the changing landscape silently, drinking in the lush mountainous scenery; the dense subtropical forests that flanked the highway seemed to be everywhere. Michael glanced over at Russell. _I wonder what the lanky prick will do without me while I'm away?_ A flash of memories filtered through Michael's mind: Russell and himself fighting bullies, their disastrous billycart race ending in a visit to hospital for both boys.

Michael looked at his friend _out-cold_ , Russell's lips mouthed something with a smile. _He's probably dreaming about some chick. He's probably --_'OH SHIT!' Michael cried out, suddenly spotting a black cow on the dark grey highway. 'Fuck!' he yelled veering left then right. The rear of the Charger swaying violently onto the other side of the road. Michael's eyes went wide-eyed realising a car was coming from the other direction. He wrestled with the steering wheel just managing to keep control. The car slingshotted back onto the right side of the road.

The cow, oblivious to the close-call continued to chew the fresh grass before wandering off to safety.

'You right Mick.' Russell yawned, looking around and stretching his arms above his head, oblivious to the narrow escape. 'You look sweaty.'

'Yeah... do I?' Michael swallowed. His fingers gripping the steering wheel like a vice.

'I told ya you shouldn't eat under-cooked meat,' Russell said and looked at the passing scenery.

'Yeah... that's what it is.' Michael answered in shock from the cow and Russell's ability to sleep through almost anything.

Michael shook his head clear. _Don't take ya eyes off the road Mickey-boy._ He checked his watch, _Five o'clock... right where we should be, Russ is good with his planning._

Russell also checked his watch. _Shit, I've been asleep for three hours._ 'Any problems with the car?'

'Na,' Michael answered shaking his head. _If only Russ knew._

'Shit!' Russell said, sitting bolt upright.

'What?'

'Look how fast ya going.'

'Shit, it doesn't feel like ninety.'

The engine purred along, tricking both men into a false sense of speed.

'Fuck, Mick! Slow down will ya,' Russell commanded.

'Sorry Russ, the car just loves it.'

'I'll tell ya what _I_ love: gettin' to Surfers in one piece.' Russell motioned to pull over for his turn behind the wheel.

Michael happily complied, coming to a smooth stop alongside one of the vast sugarcane fields of northern New South Wales. They clambered out and stretched their backs in the late afternoon light.

'Here Russ, have a chew on this.' Michael snapped off a small piece of sugar cane and threw it to his friend.

'It's a bit chewy,' Russell said, chomping away on the fibrous stalk, unaware that Michael had spotted a dead brown snake on the side of the road. Without warning Michael threw the snake at Russell's feet and yelled, 'Snake!' Russell tried to scream with a mouthful of green fibres while he stumbled backwards, away from the motionless carcass.

Michael couldn't contain his laughter. 'Gotcha, ya girl.'

Russell spat what was left of his half-chewed sugar cane at Michael. Narrowing his eyes, his smile dripping with revenge, he hissed, 'You prick; you'll keep.'

'Should have seen your face.' Michael mimicked his friend's expression, exaggerating it times ten. 'I want my mummy, I want my mumm--' Michael halted his harassment abruptly. 'Sorry mate, I...'

'Forget it. I'm still gunna get you back for that stunt,' Russell growled and got into the driver's seat.

The sudden case of 'foot- _in_ -mouth disease' didn't keep Michael from talking about everything he planned to do on their vacation. For over an hour he was the only one speaking. 'First up, I'm gunna perfect surfing.'

Russell rolled his eyes not bothering to mention to Michael that he didn't even own a surfboard.

'I reckon the chicks will really dig me on a surfboard, don't ya reckon?'

'You wouldn't even know the front from the back of a surfboard.' Russell smirked and shook his head. _It's like listening to a fairytale, 'Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's got the biggest ego of them all'._

The weary travellers passed the 'Welcome to Surfers Paradise' sign, just on 10 pm, both letting out a tired cheer at spotting this milestone.

After travelling up and down the same road for half an hour Russell eventually swallowed his pride and asked for directions at a nearby petrol station, only to discover they had passed the Salt Spray Caravan Park three times already.

'Ya sure this is the place?' Michael asked, squinting down the dark narrow driveway.

'It's gotta be. The bloke said...' Russell spotted a small fibro office under a single spot light. 'Thats gotta be it.'

'There's a woman inside,' Michael said as they came to a stop.

From their car the two men could see a large woman sitting at her desk, engrossed by a small black-and-white television.

'I got this,' Russell said, staggering out of the car. 'Oh my back,' he complained with a stretch before walking towards the garage-sized office.

Russell swallowed nervously as he entered the reception area that resembled a lounge room more than an office. The lady sat expressionless, watching _Rosemary's Baby_ on the small screen, not once acknowledging his presence. Russell felt as though he was intruding on her leisure time and stood politely. After a minute Russell interrupted. 'Excuse me--'

'Shoosh!' she hissed, 'I gotta know what this poor woman's gunna do, I'll be with you in a minute.'

Michael stretched out in the passenger's seat and for the first time realised the front seats could flatten out completely, instantly, deviously thinking, _This'll be good for rootin'_.

The woman gasped and shivered at the demonic ending . 'I won't sleep for a week after watching that movie.' Her face was now animated and friendly. 'I don't know why they make stuff like that.' She spoke to Russell as though he had watched the entire movie. 'Blood and bad bastards everywhere. Makes you scared just to go for a walk at night.' Russell nodded politely. With the distraction gone, she looked him up and down, making an instant assessment based on his clothes, haircut and the car he drove. She had developed a formula based purely on instinct to determine who was going to give her trouble or not. 'What's your name young fella?'

'Russell, Russell Stratton.' Russell felt as if he was ten years old, standing in front of the principal.

'That's a funny name. We don't get many Russell Russell's up here,' she joked, letting out a hoarse smoker's laugh that filled the room. Russell smiled politely. He was too exhausted from the long journey to interact more than he had to.

'I'm Mrs Jessop, and if you need anything, anything at all, after 11 pm don't call me!' Her eyes opened wide and she laughed loudly again. 'Here's your keys, you've already paid for one night so you still owe the balance, and remember, no guests without permission, otherwise you'll answer to my hubby. And also,' Mrs Jessop pointed her finger at Russell, 'no yahooing and no parties.'

Russell pulled out an envelope with 'Accommodation' written on it and removed the exact amount of cash for the caravan. Mrs Jessop smiled, she was correct in her assumption about the tall young man standing before her; organised and not likely to cause any trouble.

Russell made his way out the door and hopped back in their car. Michael navigated through the narrow roadways, finally reaching their tiny caravan. They silently unpacked their small suitcases and stumbled inside, collapsing on their single bunks.

'Car locked?' Russell murmured from his narrow bunk.

'Yeah.'

'Got all the security switch--'

'YES, okay!' Michael was tired of driving and anything related with it.

Despite their intentions of hitting the town they fell asleep before midnight fully clothed, but determined not to waste another minute of their holiday, starting in the morning. The new day promised to be the first of many chock-a-block with good memories.

# Chapter 6

Thick salt air mixed with the distant crashing of waves. Russell smiled and opened his eyes. His holiday had begun.

Everywhere Russell and Michael looked they saw holiday makers. Shirtless surfers walked the streets with surfboards under their arms. Bikini-clad girls walked down the main roads.

'Check out the chicks on the corner.' Michael pointed through the window.

'Shit!' Russell replied, almost rear-ending a car for following orders.

Michael and Russell had begun their holiday with a trip to the beach, but felt instantly out of place in their dated swimwear.

'Who are you pointing at Mick?' Russell smirked, looking at his friend standing on the beach in nothing but his Speedos.

'What?' Michael answered seeing Russell laughing and pointing at his crotch. 'Very funny dickhead,' Michael snapped, already feeling uncomfortable in his city clothes. _Look at me: I've got short hair, I'm Greek, and none of my clothes look right... Fuck I stand out_.

Russell found an outdoor milk bar and was busy enjoying his chocolate milkshake and watching people come and go. He was too preoccupied with the passing parade to notice Michael's uneasiness.

It was only their first day in Surfers Paradise but Michael was already concerned, _If the rest of the week's gunna be like this we might as well have stayed in Sydney._

'Hey Mick,' Russell asked between sucks on his straw, 'what do you wanna do tonight?'

'Nothin', just hang around the caravan, watch the tellie.'

Russell noticed Michael's dejected tone. 'No _way_ have we come five hundred miles to sit on our arses in front of the box.'

Michael shrugged his shoulders, a trademark response to questions he didn't have an answer to.

'I've got an idea. You'll see.' Russell stood up and approached the takeaway counter, Michael returned to his milkshake with a despondent look.

Russell spoke to the young woman behind the counter, their conversation appeared very detailed, even involving her writing something down on a serviette.

_At least someone's enjoying himself_ , Michael thought, watching Russell talking with the young woman.

Russell returned to the table where Michael was struggling with the remainder of his milkshake. 'I know what we're doing tonight.'

'What? We playing scrabble or something?' Michael asked sarcastically.

'We're going to the Skyline.'

'The what?'

'The Skyline Drive-in, it's in Southport, about half an hour away.' Russell studied the crudely compiled serviette map. 'I think.'

Michael gave a small smile. _Finally_ , _I'll cruise in, check out the talent; it won't take me long to pick up._ Michael wouldn't admit it, but the idea of not having to get out the car also appealed to him. His self-confidence was tied to many things but more than anything to his fashionable clothing. When he arrived in Surfers Paradise he soon realised it was the one thing that made him stand out the most, and it continued to make him feel uneasy.

'See I told you I'd come up with something.' Russell looked quite proud of himself for organising an evening that allowed Michael to prowl a captive female audience. _Mick'll love it._

*

The Skyline Drive-in stretched out over an acre. The movie was rarely watched, its customers more content to cuddle in the shadows within their cars.

Michael drove in through the main gates just after sunset and decided to do a short tour of the drive-in, for three reasons: firstly, to announce their arrival to the girls, secondly, to show off their cool new wheels and lastly, to secure a prime parking spot to watch the movie and any girls that walked past. Many pairs of eyes followed their progress, feasting on the racy paintwork and stripes. The car stood out against the older vehicles, its fresh coat of polish gleamed, reflecting the early evening sky.

The admiration was all that Michael needed to lift his spirits, it was the very reason Russell had insisted Michael drive.

Michael pulled into a space directly opposite the kiosk, making Russell happy. Delicious aromas drifted in their direction, confirming to Russell that it promised to be a good night out.

After only half an hour Russell couldn't resist the tantalising smells any longer. 'I'll get us something to eat.'

Michael shook his head at his friend's ability to consume large quantities of food and then be hungry an hour later. _I'm gunna worm him when we get home._

Russell joined the queue of customers waiting to place their order. He scanned the long list of delicious hamburger combinations with unique-sounding names to match, 'Skyline Hawaiian Delux' and 'Tropical Feast'. Russell could feel his mouth watering as he read the ingredients in each combination. His fair six-foot-two frame and strawberry-blond hair stood out against the tanned bodies in line.

'What do ya want Blue?' Russell's concentration was interrupted by a sweet country voice from behind the counter. He hadn't been called Blue for a long time, the affectionate Australian colloquialism for a redhead person caught him by surprise, considering he was more blond than red.

'I'll have a...' Russell froze with embarrassment when he looked down at the cute young woman behind the counter. _Don't look at her tits, make eye contact._ His concentration immediately drawn to her loosely buttoned blouse, which was the colour of sunshine and barely contained her well-shaped cleavage. He smiled nervously; she smiled back.

'Well cutie?' Her expression was as suggestive as her choice of clothing, which magnified Russell's embarrassment. He couldn't help but notice her name badge placed precariously close to her exposed skin; it read 'Evie'.

'Look at ya. You're turnin' as red as your hair.' Evie smiled through her flicked fringed. Her light-brown shoulder-length hair bounced as she spoke, her sensual blue eyes hinting at a devilish personality.

'Um...' Russell tried to remember what it was that he was going to order. 'I'll have two with the lot.'

'Two what?' Evie asked, with a cheeky grin.

Russell didn't stand a chance. 'I'll have a burger... I mean a milkshake with sauce...'-- _Just look her in the eyes damn it --_'I'll have two burgers with the lot and...'-- _Just breathe... Christ you're hopless --_'and a large chips with two chocolate milkshakes.'

'Shit, that's a lot for one bloke, even for a big unit like you.' Evie scanned Russell from top to bottom, bringing on a second wave of blushing.

'No it's for me mate... er...' Russell suddenly remembered his friend's name. 'Mick! He's my mate... Mick's having half as well.'

'Oh! Yeah. I saw you pull up, silver Charger right?' Evie looked beyond Russell towards his and Michael's car.

'That's us.' He felt proud for no other reason than a pretty girl had noticed him arrive.

Evie leant over the counter, knowing that she would expose a little more cleavage than the kiosk owner cared for, unless it was for his benefit.

The owner, Mr Jules was in his early fifties and had made the mistake of consuming too much of his own product, which had produced a stomach that made it difficult to navigate around the shop's narrow workspaces. A benefit he enjoyed, allowing him to brush up against the all-female workforce. Mr Jules only employed the prettiest girls, regardless of their experience, so that he could harass them, and attract more male customers, of course.

Mr Jules had reprimanded Evie a number of times about flirting with the customers, but it was hard for him to be upset, food sales had increased twenty-five percent in the three weeks since Evie's arrival. If truth be told he didn't mind at all, but his wife routinely objected. 'If she does it again I want her _out_ of here.'

When Evie leant forward over the counter, she forced Russell back against a steel pole used to keep customers in line. 'Come here,' she whispered as though she had a secret to share, Russell struggled to maintain eye contact.

'Listen Blue, when your order's ready, I'll bring it out myself. Okay?' Evie smiled and winked as she slowly slid back over the counter. She noticed Mr Jules perving at her partially exposed underwear as she ducked back behind the bench; she also noticed his wife, standing right behind him, scowling.

Russell returned to the car where a restless Michael was waiting. Russell slid into the front seat with a broad grin. 'You won't believe what just happened.'

'You ordered three burgers instead of two.' Michael was thoroughly bored with the venue and lack of action.

Russell ignored his friend's sarcasm. 'I've got a surprise for ya.' Russell grinned. 'A girl's bringing out our food.' Russell was anticipating Michael's reaction to the sultry Evie.

Michael looked at Russell. 'What are you smokin' Russ? It's called table service.'

'Nah. You'll be impressed.'

Michael didn't bother to comment and turned back to watch the large screen. 'This is shit,' Michael said, gesturing towards the Tom and Jerry cartoon.

Russell kept an eye out for the surprise that would soon raise his friend's spirits. He knew as soon as Evie appeared Michael would try to chat her up and before long he'd ask her out. Russell's underlying plan was to keep Michael busy before shipping out to South Vietnam. He didn't know if his friend was worried, or scared. Russell and Michael were as close as brothers, but when it came to their feelings they didn't have the maturity to discuss their inner fears.

The owner's wife was arguing with her husband about 'Evie, that flirtatious and sexy waitress!' Evie couldn't hear all the details but she knew that she had given Mr Jules enough cute smiles in the past for him to defend her actions. What she was about to do next, however, would put him over a barrel.

The kiosk staff processed the orders as quickly as possible prior to the screening of the main feature. All five staff members including Mr Jules and his wife worked as a team to meet this deadline. The production line of hamburgers, chips and drinks ran like clockwork until Russell and Michael's order was ready to be served. Evie had kept an eye on Russell's number and waited for the moment it was called.

'Order number fifty-five. Order number fifty-five,' one of the other girls called out.

Evie sat up on the counter and swung her legs over the bench; she grabbed the full tray of food and glided towards the door. Mr Jules had been closely monitoring the organised chaos of orders coming and going. It was so busy that he failed to notice Evie's escape, until she was almost out the door.

'Where are you going, missy?' He didn't wait for a reply. 'GET BACK HERE!'

'Special order boss,' Evie called back without looking.

Mr Jules jumped into the vacant position on the production line in a bid to prevent a culinary disaster. He tried to cope with the impending chaos while his wife hurled abuse at staff in front of customers.

Evie paused momentarily as she passed through the shop's front entrance, smiling as she caught her reflection in the large window.

Michael was arguing with Russell about what a stupid idea it was to be at a drive-in without any girls. 'People are gunna think we're poofs.'

'Give us a kiss ya hunk.' Russell pretended to lean in for a hug. Michael punched him in the shoulder. Russell contained his scream internally, only an open mouth gave any indication of the level of pain.

Russell's response to the punch cheered Michael up immediately; he laughed heartily at Russell's wide eyes and gritted teeth, slapping his thigh with mirth, his laughter only slowing when all his attention was drawn away by the cutest distraction he had ever seen.

Evie moved seductively through the twilight to the beat of a silent rock song. Michael's eyes widened at the sight of the sexy young woman walking towards him balancing a full tray of food and drinks. _My god,_ he thought, feeling his heart beginning to race. __ Michael instinctively scanned Evie in slow motion, his eyes moving up her tanned legs, across her tight miniskirt and lingering on her blouse, which reminded him of the perky sunflowers in his dad's veggie patch. _Where did_ that _thought come from?_ He couldn't help but smile at her glistening brown hair dancing across her cheeks, intrigued by how it hid-and-revealed her cheeky grin as she moved.

Evie skirted around the car to Michael's door; his heart now racing with the anticipation of talking to her. Evie bent down to the window, giving both young men an eyeful-and-a-half of cleavage, and not by accident; she knew only too well how to manipulate men.

'Hi guys, here's your order.' Evie smiled at Russell and then for the first time _really_ noticed Michael. For a moment she stumbled with her words. _Phwoar, he's hot!_ She instantly noticed, as all women did, Michael's piercing blue eyes, only inches away from hers. _Those eyes, they're like the ocean on a summer holiday._

Evie smiled seductively and drew a steadying breath. 'G'day.'

Michael grinned.

'So what's your name Blue?' Evie asked Russell, much to Michael's bewilderment.

'I'm Russ and this is Mick.'

'So you boys from New South Wales, huh?'

'Is it that obvious?' Michael spoke for the first time, his voice uncharacteristically nervous. Usually it was Russell who was nervous around girls.

'No, ya goose, ya numberplates.'

Michael grinned stupidly at the sweetly voiced insult. Evie looked the boys up and down as she talked to them, spending a little more time on Michael. He could feel the close scrutiny and felt simultaneously excited and uncomfortable.

'Well I better hurry up before my dickhead boss fires me.' The boys smirked at each other, not used to foul language from a woman. 'The dirty old bugger's been trying to crack onto me since I started.'

Michael felt the temptation to go over and punch Evie's boss in the face. _This is crazy,_ he thought. _I've only known this chick for ten seconds and I want to protect her._

Evie leant across Michael to give Russell his burger and drink, her apple-scented hair brushed past Michael's face, Michael breathed in her fragrance; he felt as though everyone could hear his heart beating.

Evie handed Michael his meal, her fingers touching his in the process, sending a rush of excitement through her. She inhaled sharply, _Get a grip girl, he's cute, so what._ She stood back to inspect the impressive new car then ducked her head back in the window. 'Nice Charger guys.' The boys were mildly impressed with Evie's automotive knowledge. 'We don't get many R/T Chargers like this up here. What is it? An E38?'

Russell gave Michael a goofy grin, as if to suggest the perfect woman had just entered their world. Evie had mentioned the unique code that identified the exact model of their car; only enthusiasts knew those specific details.

Michael made a face at Russell to 'keep it cool' he didn't want to come across too impressed.

'You know your cars,' Michael looked at her name tag pinned close to her open neckline, 'Evie.'

'I grew up in the country, you know us country girls, we can drive and ride anything,' Evie proclaimed proudly with a smile. Their innocent discussion was interrupted by yelling from outside the kiosk; it was the very unhappy Mr Jules. Evie's exit had brought the takeaway production line to a grinding halt, and along with it some of the profits.

'You're FIRED, girlie!' Mr Jules yelled from the entry of the kiosk, his fists on his hips. Evie turned to the direction of the yelling. 'I've had a gutful of your antics, ya piece of garbage.' Mr Jules called out, waiting defensively for a response.

Evie gave him a reply but not the one he expected. Still leaning into the boys' car, she looked over her shoulder and glared at Mr Jules with utter contempt. Slowly she raised her middle finger, and silently mouthed, 'Get fucked.'

Mr Jules was stunned, normally when he abused his staff they submitted, like frightened puppies, but not Evie, not this time. No sooner had Evie delivered her response than Mr Jules's wife bustled out of the shop, unleashing verbal hell upon her husband. It wasn't one of his better days.

Michael and Russell looked at one another, unsure of what to say; they felt responsible in some way, even though they were innocent bystanders.

Evie broke the silence first, her pretty face bobbing up at Michael's window again. 'The job sucked anyway.'

Russell felt most at fault. 'I'm really sorry, if I hadn't ordered so much food, you wouldn't have to bring it--'

'Relax, will ya?' Evie interrupted. 'Ya gunna give yourself a heart attack.'

She spoke with such familiarity it was if she had know Russell since childhood. The boys still found it difficult to talk while Mr Jules was being chastised in the background.

'You owe me now boys.' Michael and Russell looked at one another. 'Since you got me fired, the least you could do is give me a lift home.'

Michael couldn't get out fast enough to allow Evie into the back seat. The narrow area was cramped even for her small frame.

'Let's get out of this shit-hole,' she said as she got comfortable in the confined space.

'Where do you live?' Russell asked as he started the car.

'Currumbin,' Evie replied, grinning out the car window at her former employer.

'Right.' Russell turned the car around without knowing where Currumbin was.

Evie smiled. 'Don't worry, I'll show ya where it is. Hey! Pull up here.' Russell slowed down right in front of the kiosk where Mr Jules and his wife were still arguing. Evie squeezed between the two front bucket seats to stick her head out of Michael's window. Her body pressed hard against Michael's chest and shoulders, the physical contact causing his pulse to race, again.

'Shove ya job up ya arse, ya fat bastard!' Evie shouted out the open window. She paused and smiled. 'And don't try puttin' ya hand up anyone else's dress.' Evie gave Mr Jules a bonus middle-finger salute. 'Floor it Russ,' she commanded.

Russell was more than happy to oblige. He gave the engine just enough fuel to create a small wheel spin and complementary white smoke. Then the newly formed trio accelerated away from the drive-in, the crackling of the exhaust only fading away long after the car had disappeared into the night.

The half-hour journey back to Evie's small flat was filled with laughter and the exchange of stories about each other's lives.

'How come you don't care about loosing your job?' Michael asked, turning to look at Evie, his eyes and ears ready for every word.

'I'm heading home to Sydney anyway, in about a weeks--'

'To Sydney? We're from Bankstown,' Michael tried not to sound too excited, 'where abouts in Sydney?'

'From Cronulla, but I grew up in the country.' She scratched her nose and momentarily glanced away. 'So you guys are up here on holidays are ya?' she said, changing the subject.

'Mick's going to Vietnam so we're havin'...' Russell turned and smiled at his friend, 'just a mates' holiday together.'

'That explains the haircut,' Evie said, running her hands roughly over Michael's short hair.

He enjoyed every second of it.

'A lot of our local guys have been over there.' Evie kept it to herself about the few who didn't come back. She leant forward and kissed Michael softly on the cheek. 'That's for luck.'

'I could do with a lot more luck,' Michael quipped.

Evie could see him blushing even in the poor light of the car's interior.

Both Michael and Russell had warmed to her personality, she was fun and her good looks didn't hurt either. Michael had had more fun in the last half hour with her than he'd had during most of their holiday.

'Just down here guys.' Evie pointed to a small two-storey block of flats that backed right up to the beach. Russell pulled up to the side of the flats and turned the engine off; the car's idling tended to attract attention.

Evie and Michael laughed as she tried to squeeze out of the back seat into the street. In a rare moment of chivalry Michael helped her exit, he held Evie's hand as she stepped forward. Her exit was graceful until her foot got tangled in the long retractable seatbelt. 'Shit!' Evie said, hopping on one leg as though someone had grabbed her ankle. The uneven driveway and her precarious balancing act resulted in her falling sideways. Michael lunged forwards and grabbed her around the waist.

_God he feels strong._ She could feel his strength as his hands steadied her with ease. Evie looked up into Michael's eyes. 'Thanks...' She hesitated. 'Mick.' Evie smiled as Michael released his grip and awkwardly found a place for his hands in his back pockets.

'The night's still pretty young... why don't we...?'

'It's been a shitty day Mick.' She immediately saw his dejected expression.

Michael realised with finality that their brief, but chemistry-charged, meeting was coming to an end.

'Why don't you and Russ come back tomorrow morning.' Michael's facial expression did an emotional 360; he had to fight to contain his enthusiasm.

'I'll have a surprise for you both,' Evie continued.

'Great! I mean, yeah okay.' Michael smiled broadly. Instinctively Evie smiled straight back and they held each other's gaze.

'Let's go Mick, I've gotta figure out how to get back to our place,' Russell interrupted.

Michael blinked as though he had been snapped from a dream. 'See you tomorrow then.'

'See ya then,' Evie replied with a smile, realising that Michael was attracted to her. She waved and picked her way across the lawn to a row of council bins. She lifted the lid on the closest one and her name badge clattered into its depths.

Michael got back in the car and punched Russell squarely on the same arm, in the same spot as last time.

Russell grabbed his arm in agony. 'Whad ya do that for ya prick?'

'I'm not sure.' Michael smiled and then laughed. A combination of adrenaline and hormones had heightened his emotions, not to mention the fact that Russell had inadvertently interrupted the _moment_ between Evie and himself. All he could think of in reply was, 'Home James,' in an exaggerated British accent.

Russell made his way back to the main road and turned in the direction of their caravan park. Michael took careful mental notes of the way back to Evie's flat. Both had enjoyed the evening's action, particularly Michael. 'How fantastic is Evie?' Russell could only nod his head because Michael didn't give him the opportunity to answer. 'Hear how she told that bloke off? What a goer!'

In all the time Russell had known Michael, particularly since puberty, Michael had been complimenting girls on their appearance rather than their personality.

'And how cute is she, her smile, she's gorgeous, and did ya see her tits?'

Russell smiled. _At least he mentioned her smile before her tits; that's a first._

Michael was in emotional overdrive; he tossed and fidgeted while they lay in their bunks. 'What d'ya reckon the surprise is?' he asked Russell, for at least the sixth time.

_'_ No-o idea-a,' Russell muttered slowly as he drifted off to sleep.

Michael lay awake, he couldn't help but play the eventful evening over and over in his mind: the smell of Evie's shampoo, like green apples, the light touch of her body against his when she fell. All these memories were being hardwired into his brain, each attached to a different sensory element. Morning couldn't come fast enough.

*

Russell's eyes were closed but he could hear the crackle of bacon and the smell of toast drifting through the air. He peered with one eye at his watch, _6.15_.

Michael could sleep all day if he was given the chance, but the thought of Evie had motivated him into action.

'What are you doin' Mick? It's quarter past six.' Russell rolled over and tried to cover his head with a pillow.

'Get up Russ, we've got a big day.'

'What are you talkin' about?' Russell muffled through the pillow.

'Remember?' Michael flipped a couple of eggs in the caravan's kitchen. 'Evie said come back in the morning, a surprise, remember?'

Russell lifted his pillow to reveal a mass of hair resembling a large bird's nest. He squinted at his friend, trying to make sense of Michael's words. Gradually his brain kicked in, aided by the aroma of bacon and eggs. Russell began to remember the previous night's conversation; he turned to look at Michael, leaning on one elbow, 'You know what she's going to say when you rock up?'

'What?' Michael stopped cooking, hoping to gain an insight into Russell's understanding of Evie's mind.

'Here's a street directory, now piss off back to Sydney, ya greasy wog.' Russell quickly curled up in a ball and tried to protect his head with the pillow. He never made any derogative racial comments outside of his friendship with Michael. It had been a longstanding joke for as far back as he could remember. In return, Michael would call Russell 'Skinny Ginger' or 'Ginger Nuts' whenever the two were joking.

Michael launched himself onto Russell's curled-up body, pinning his arms together with his legs. Michael feverishly poked and jabbed his fingers into Russell's side and neck.

'Cut it out Mick.' Russell managed through the pillow. Russell tried in vain to escape but Michael had him trapped.

'Call' me a greasy wog, did ya?' Michael began to laugh at Russell's cries for help. 'What's that? I can't hear a word.' Michael jabbed two fingers into Russell's side for a response. 'Speak up.'

The only audible words through the pillow were: 'poofter', 'get off' and 'Greek'.

Michael ended the onslaught with a knee to Russell's thigh, instantly immobilising him with a corked muscle. Russell had no alternative but to protect himself with the only defence left available to him, he broke wind through the blanket with immediate effect.

'You dirty prick!' Michael stood up, leaving Russell cocooned in a blanketed stench. Russell remained face down in the pillow, laughing at his crude solution.

'I don't think I can stomach breakfast after that,' Michael said, shaking his head.

'I'll eat it!' Russell staggered up and limped after Michael to the table. 'That hurt, Mick.'

'Sit down and eat; this'll fix it.' Michael laid a selection of fried eggs, three slices of toast and six rashers of bacon in front of his friend. Russell soon forgot his aches and pains and eagerly tucked into his breakfast. 'You cook like ya mum,' he managed to say between mouthfuls.

'Yeah... well hurry up so we can get going.'

Russell need no prompting and scoffed down his breakfast.

*

'Check her out.' Michael smiled as Russell pulled up outside Evie's small flat.

'Where ya been?' she said, dangling her legs over the first-floor veranda.

Michael looked up to see a smiling Evie, 'I didn't want to look too keen.' _She's even more beautiful than I remember,_ Michael thought. _Look at the sunlight catching every curve of her face and body... God she's sexy._

Evie smiled and made her way down the stairs to where the boys were waiting. Michael watched her intently in her cream crocheted bikini. In the past Michael had been attracted to women either for their looks, their spirit or even their hair, but this was the first time he had met a woman who embodied everything he desired.

'Come around the back.'

Evie led the boys to the rear of the flats; she pulled back a large canvas to reveal half-a-dozen surfboards, some with crude fibreglass repairs and others in reasonable condition. 'Ya said ya wanted to surf, didn't ya?'

Russell looked at Michael then back at Evie. 'We can't surf.'

'We don't have any swimmers either.' Michael lied.

'No swimmers? You've come all this way to Surfers and ya don't go surfing?'

Russell and Michael looked at each other hoping the other would come up with an answer.

Evie was enjoying the boys' awkwardness. Russell picked up one of the surfboards studying it up close. 'Are these yours?'

'They belong to Tony from downstairs; he sort of hires them out,' Evie said as she selected two of the best boards.

'But we don't have any swimmers.' Russell was trying to negotiate his way out of surfing.

'I'll take care of that; follow me.' Evie stepped between the two men and grabbed them firmly by the arms. 'Come on, I won't bite. My flatmate Cheryl works at the surf shop around the corner.'

Michael raised an eyebrow at Russell, suggesting a possible double date. Russell screwed up his face. Michael held up an open hand, gesturing 'why not'.

Evie turned around catching the boys making faces at each other. 'You'll love her. Great personality.'

Russell immediately thought, _Great, bet she's lagging in the looks department_.

Evie turned back and walked up the timber stairs to her small second-storey flat. Michael and Russell bounded up the stairs, after her, two at a time. Michael smiled, enjoying 'the view', _What a bum!_

They followed her inside the small two-bedroom flat. The walls were covered in surfing posters and clothing strewn over furniture. In the kitchen Russell and Michael could see someone making a cup of tea. 'Cheryl?' Michael whispered to Russell. She was tall and slim with long brown hair tied back from her striking Nordic features; her tanned skin contrasted with her white jeans and purple tie-dyed top.

Michael nudged Russell with his elbow, for the second time that day.

'This is Cheryl. Cheryl this is Mick,' Evie said, raising an eyebrow at her flat-mate, 'and this is Russ.'

'Hi Mick, Russ.' Her voice was smooth and sweet.

The very fact an attractive woman had said hello to him, caused Russell to break out in a sweat.

'Hi' they replied, simultaneously, a nervous laugh running between them.

'I was telling the guys you work at the surf shop, they came to Surfers without any swimmers.'

'I can get you a great discount on some board shorts.'

'That's good, 'cause Russ's tighter than a fish's arsehole,' Michael quipped.

Russell jabbed Michael sharply with his elbow, but it was too late, the girls and Michael were already laughing, all sharing a joke at Russell's expense, a practice Michael had perfected over the years.

Evie had mentioned how cute the guys were as soon as she got home, but she had warned Cheryl, 'I've already got my eyes on Mick.' Cheryl had a few days off and was curious to see how cute Russell was.

From the corner of his eye, Russell caught her examining him from head to toe, he immediately felt self-conscious.

*

'What's that smell?' Russell asked walking into the small surf shop.

'I don't know,' Michael whispered, 'just act normal.'

The boys trailed behind Evie and Cheryl and were immediately engulfed by the heady aroma of holidays. Surfboard wax, cane mats and incense filled the room.

'Come here,' Evie said, grabbing them by the arms making them feel even more noticeable. She led Michael and Russell like two overgrown children to the men's section. The shop was already full of tourists at 10 am. She looked Michael up and down. 'Thirty-two inch waist?'

'Thirty inch,' Michael replied proudly.

Evie held two pairs of board shorts up for inspection, finally selecting a blue and white pair. 'Here Mick, size thirty-two; you want them a little loose,' Evie said, smiling, thrusting the shorts into Michael's arms.

'Alright, your turn now.' Evie selected a maroon pair with a white waistband for Russell.

'Go on, try 'em on,' she insisted, pushing the boys towards the change rooms.

'Take it easy,' Russell said, resisting the whole way.

'Jes-us you two,' Evie strained, pushing them into the changeroom. 'Ya'd think your both five year olds.'

Evie and Cheryl exchanged grins while the boys changed, both of them visible from the neck up behind the tiny change-room doors. Evie sneaked over towards Russell's door.

'Cut it out!' Russell braced himself against the doorframe to block her view. 'Christ girl!' he called out.

'Take it easy Russ, I was only jokin',' Evie laughed loudly, drawing stares from fellow shoppers. 'Come on you two, you gunna take all day?'

Michael came out first, wearing the baggy board shorts and white t-shirt.

'Let's see how it looks,' Evie demanded.

'See how what looks?'

'Without a shirt... You know, like at the beach?'

Michael shrugged his shoulders and pulled his shirt up over his head, Evie's eyes lit up at the sight of Michael's muscular physique, every muscle defined as if a sculptor had carved him from stone. It was Evie's turn to nudge her friend in the side. Cheryl whispered something in Evie's ear making both girls giggle. Michael inspected himself in the large mirror at the end of the change-room corridor.

'Not bad, not bad at all,' Michael said, nodding at his own reflection; he wouldn't have ever considered wearing board shorts but being around the locals had soon changed his mind.

_Shit, I'm as white as a ghost,_ Russell __ thought coming out next.

'Jeez Russ,' Evie said, nodding her head. 'Ya got some shoulders on ya.'

'Ya reckon?' Russell said and looked in the mirror.

Russell surprised both girls with his build; his physique may not have been as spectacular as Michael's but the years of working with heavy engines and car parts had produced muscular shoulders and arms.

'What da reckon Mick. Do I looks stupid?'

'Na mate, I reckon we look good,' Michael answered impressed with his own reflection, 'but of course ya gunna come in second next to me.' He grinned.

'Oh yeah?' Russel smiled giving Michael a friendly shove.

'Oh yeah, let's see?'

Michael and Russell jokingly pushed and shoved each in the men's wear section.

'Are you two finished playing with each other?' Evie grinned. _Look at the two gooses staring at me._ 'Good... let's go and try them out.'

Evie had already organised to borrow two surfboards from her neighbour and after much deliberation convinced Russell to put a set of roof-racks on his car.

'I don't know Mick, what if I scratch the paintwork.'

'You're a smart bugger Russ, you'll figure something out.'

Russell carefully placed pieces of rubber under each clamp that supported the roof-racks, he wasn't prepared to damage his investment.

Evie and Cheryl took the two new surfers to a stretch of deserted beach flanked by tree-lined hills; the location was something Michael and Russell had only ever seen in magazines or movies.

'Catch this.' Evie threw a cake of surfboard wax to Michael.

'What's this?' Michael said, smelling the round cake of wax.

'It's for the boards. So you don't slip off.' Evie demonstrated with a circular motion.

'I get it,' Russell exclaimed copying Evie's action. 'I think surfing might be easier than I thought.

*

'Shit!' Russell yelled catching his first wave. 'Watch out Mick, I can't control this bloody thing.' It had taken an hour of punishing attempts but Russell was the first one to catch a wave.

'Bugger it!' Michael blurted, he began to laugh at how hopeless he was at surfing. 'Ya know,' he said, turning to Evie, the waist deep water lapping at her tanned stomach, 'I thought I'd master this surfing stuff straight away.'

'It takes a little time,' Evie smiled. 'Lie on the board again.'

Michael awkwardly slid on to the board.

'Just hold here.' Evie bit her lip leaning over his muscled back. _God he feels good._ 'Just move your arms a little wider, it'll make it a little more stable.'

'Like this.' Michael grinned, his hand slipping down Evie's side.

Evie and Michael knew what each other had been doing: a wayward hand here, wet bodies touching there, an accidental fall causing both to fall into the water.

Michael sensed the time was right to make a move. _God she's cute... I'll just --_

Evie saw the desire in Michael's eyes. _Not yet, not this easy_. 'Look at this giant!'

'What?' Michael said, turning around facing a ten foot monster wave. 'SHIT!'

'This is too good to waste.'

'I'm not catching that--'

Evie grabbed the board. 'Outta the way.' She shoved him in the chest and launched herself forward.

'What are you doing?' Michael didn't get an answer, instead he got a revelation. _Jesus! Look at her go._ Michael watched her arms plough through the water, propelling her faster and faster. He felt the unbroken wave lift him higher and higher off the sand. In an instant Evie was up and slicing across a mighty wall of water. _She's perfect._ He watched Evie's wet hair trail behind a face full of life, lost in a moment of pure adrenalin.

*

'Hey Russ, let me have a surf,' Cheryl asked, rushing up to Russell in the water. 'How about you show me your secret.'

'Secret? I...' Russell began to fumble his words watching Cheryl in her bikini come to a breathtaking stop. 'I __ just caught my first wave.' Russell's eyes looked everywhere except where he wanted to.

'Come on,' Cheryl moved closer, 'do I stand up on it like--whoops!'

Russell instinctively moved closer catching Cheryl in his arms. He could feel her firm body slide over his wet muscles. _Jesus Christ, I... this is..._ 'Careful Cheryl,' Russell said, letting her go. 'Ya could of hurt yourself.'

Every flirtatious attempt by Cheryl ended the same way. _I've never met a guy so proper. If I didn't know any better... no he couldn't... could he?_

*

Morning turned to a dreamy afternoon and sunbaking bodies became tanned, or in Russell's case... pink.

'Look at the time,' Michael said, picking up his watch, 'it's two-thirty!'

'What?' Russell replied, waking from a nap, not remembering Cheryl laying so close to him. 'No wonder I'm so hungry.'

Michael grabbed the car keys. 'Come on Russ, let's get lunch for everyone.'

Evie rolled on to her stomach and got comfortable on her towel.

'Evie,' Michael whispered, bending down next to her, his cheek so close he inhaled the scent of her wet hair. 'Russ and me are going to get some lunch, okay?'

'Sure.' Evie smiled with her eyes closed, she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She rolled on to her side and eyed Michael's body as he sprinted off after his friend, the fine sand squeaking under his feet; she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes against the glare.

'How cute is Mick?'

'He's great, hot body too,' Cheryl answered rolling onto her stomach, enjoying the heat of the midday sun on her skin.

They both giggled.

'You like Russ, don't you? He's a good sort.' Evie wriggled her toes in the warm sand.

'He's nice.' Cheryl wasn't very convincing. 'I think he might be--'

'What?'

'You know? Gay.'

'No way!' Evie shook her head, still lying flat on her back with eyes closed.

'I don't care if he is, he just... well you know, I keep giving him opportunities and he freezes up.' Cheryl was a little indignant, normally men threw themselves at her.

'No way! I was flirting with him last night at the drive-in. He's not gay.' As soon as Evie spoke she realised something, _Maybe Cheryl's not his type, maybe I'm his type._

'Whatever the reason,' Cheryl said, brushing some sand off her stomach, 'at least I'm getting a killer tan.' She raised an eyebrow and smiled at Evie. 'I think Mick appreciates my body.'

Evie's eyes popped open. She quickly turned on her side to see Cheryl starting to laugh.

'You bitch!' Evie said, joining in the joke and flicked some sand at her friend.

*

'Is this the best holiday you've ever been on or not?' Michael smiled, driving through the lush tropical rainforest with one hand on the wheel.

Russell nodded, gazing at the passing scenery and thinking, _All this green, the beaches, all these gorgeous chicks... shit?... I can surf now._

'Cheryl's got the hots for ya.'

'Na, she's a bit cold--'

'Cold my arse. She's all over ya.' Michael shook his head. 'And what a body!'

'Yeah she's cute...'-- _Why can't he leave it alone, I already like someone else... but he'd be pissed off if he --_'Mick! Watch out!'

Michael steered left, the car began to slide sideways narrowly missing a goanna in the middle of the road. Michael threw the gear stick into third and accelerated hard. The Charger sling-shotted back onto the road.

'Shit Mick!'

'What?'

'Ya _did_ that well.' Russell breathed a sigh of relief.

'I'm just a naturally good driver.' Michael smiled remembering how the cow incident was almost the same. 'How great is Evie!' he said, changing the subject, continuing to smile every time he mentioned her name.

'I can tell,' Russell smirked, 'you're walking around with half a fat all the time.'

'Fuck off!' Michael shook his head. 'Seriously though, see her catch those waves.' He simulated Evie's wave-riding skills with his hand, simultaneously adding sound effects.

Michael's speedy driving had them at the isolated takeaway shop in ten minutes flat. The shop looked more like a run-down weatherboard boat house than a food outlet, the white paint flaking off in various places.

'I'll order the food Mick, why don't you give the Charger the once over.'

'No worries mate,' Michael said, popping the bonnet, feeling on a high from being with Evie.

Russell looked inside his wallet, everything was in its place just like in his life _._ _Mick's right... I am a tight bastard_. __ He looked up at the blackboard of seafood combinations _._ _Mick's going away and all I can think about is money...Fuck it_. __ 'I'll have two fisherman's baskets and chuck in that lobster.'

'That'll be twenty dollars son.'.

_Shit!_ Russell's hand trembled as he handed over a days wages to the heavily tanned owner, the man's face creased with a smile from the sale.

Michael checked the oil and water levels; he was busy inspecting the car when a man appeared out of nowhere. 'Huh!' Michael said, stepping back.

'G'day,' the stranger said with a yellow toothed smile, 'Nice car mate, this would of set ya back a bit?'

Michael nodded looking at the thirty something man, his short bristly brown hair was the same length as his beard. _Ahah, another motoring enthusiast, come for a closer look._

'Yeah sure did. Me and my mate, Russ, had to chip in together to buy it.' Michael stepped back next to the stranger to admire at the car's design. The man's stance was strong and rough.

'You and ya mate locals?'

'Nah, we're just staying at the caravan park at Burleigh Heads.'

The man rubbed his chin and studied the engine bay.

'Well you and ya mate enjoy yourselves, it looks like you've got the car to do it.' The stocky stranger patted Michael on the back and slowly returned to his table, he sat down studying the car while he finished his lunch.

'Come on Mick,' Russell said, pushing the screen door open, 'let's get this back before it gets cold.'

'What do I owe you?'

'It's on me, mate.'

'You sure?' Michael said, pulling out his wallet. 'I think the sun's burnt your brain.'

Russell smiled walking to the car. _He doesn't get it. In a fortnight he'll be gone for a year facin' god knows what. What's wrong with a mate shouting for lunch._

'Shit Russ!' Michael said, peering inside the paper wrapped lunch, 'There's a lobster in here.'

'Is there?' Russell smiled and closed the car door. 'Well, get us back to the beach so we can eat it.'

*

'This is so nice,' Cheryl murmured, drifting in and out of sleep.

Evie didn't respond, she was exhausted from the sun and surf and slept unaware of the eyes that were watching them.

Through the beach-grasses a clenched fist hid a devious plan. Evie twitched, her natural defences sensing something before it happened. Suddenly her eyes sprang open. 'What the fuck!' she cried out reaching behind her. 'Who... is that a... is that a spider? SHIT!' She sprang up like her life depended on it.

Michael burst out laughing watching Evie jump and squeal.

'You dick!' she accused, realising the cause of her panic was a dead crab. 'I nearly had a heart attack. I was bitten by a red-back once.' Evie snarled, her heart racing from the shock.

'That was so...' Michael fell backwards into the sand, his sides beginning to hurt. 'That was hilarious.'

'I'll give you hilarious.' Evie picked up the dead crab and hurled it at Michael's head. The tiny crustacean hand grenade disintegrated on Michael's forehead.

'Ow!' Michael said, feeling his stinging skin. 'That bloody--' before he could finish a foot-scoop of sand covered his face.

'Now that's hilari--'

Michael recovered in a flash and launched forward scooping Evie up into the air.

'Put me down. What are ya doin'?' Evie looked around watching the sand rush by. 'No don't, I'm all dry.'

'Not for long,' Michael laughed and sprinted into the water.

'No--' Evie reached out, splashing into the cold surf.

'Come on you two,' Russell yelled out, 'lunch is gettin' cold.'

Russell tried not to estimate what each prawn cost.

'Jeez Russ,' Evie said between chews, 'they must be paying mechanics good to afford all this.'

'Not so much of a tight-arse now, am I?' Russell enjoyed the accolades for the surprise banquet.

The conversations flowed and every piece of delicious: fish, scallop, prawn and lobster vanished in an hour of carefree consumption.

'That was delicious,' Evie said, finishing the last prawn and licking her fingers. 'Do you guys want to come with us tonight, there's a new band playing at the Wallaby.

'Where?' Michael asked.

'The Wallaby, it's a really good pub, it's about twenty minutes from Surfers.'

'Definitely,' Michael said and picked up his board. 'But first I gotta perfect this surfing thing--come on Russ,' he called back as he ran over the hot sand.

'Can't,' Russell waved, 'I'm stuffed.'

Russell lay flat on his back with his eyes closed. His stomach made strange noises struggling to digest twice as much food as anyone else ate.

Evie rolled onto her side and faced him; she was positioned between Cheryl and Russell, preventing him from seeing her friend. Cheryl's foot twitched as she drifted back to sleep.

'Have you known Mick for a long time?' Evie asked.

'My whole life,' Russell murmured without opening his eyes.

Evie thought carefully about her next question, looking back and noticing Cheryl was awake now, listening to the conversation. 'Do you like Cheryl?'

Russell lifted his head to see if Cheryl was awake.

'She's asleep,' Evie whispered.

'She's really nice.'

'Really _nice?_ ' Evie questioned.

'Yeah. She's a top chick.'

Still not satisfied, Evie continued the interrogation. 'You like girls don't you Russ?'

'Course I do.' He didn't completely understand Evie's question.

She whispered slowly, 'I mean, _really_ like them?'

'What?' His eyes flew opened with clarity at that question; he flipped onto his side and supported himself on one elbow. 'You think I'm,' he blurted out, then quickly lowered his voice, 'a poof?'

Evie held his gaze without blinking.

'What makes you think that?' Russell whispered, stunned.

'So what if you are Russ? It's the seventies you know.' Evie could sense his eagerness to defend his sexuality, which is exactly where she wanted him. 'Well Russ,' Evie paused, 'you see, when a hot chick like Cheryl over there,' Cheryl smiled knowing what Evie was up to, 'is making moves on you and you keep ignoring her...' Evie made a face and shrugged one shoulder, 'well, I'm just saying, us girls get suspicious.'

Russell felt emasculated by Evie's statement. 'Hey,' he dropped his voice again, 'I've got a girlfriend okay!' He turned and lay face down in an act of defiance.

'So Mick knew you had a girlfriend and still thought it was okay to hang out with Cheryl?'

Russell didn't respond, he wasn't sure how to answer the question without providing Evie with even more knowledge about his private life.

'Has Mick got a girlfriend?'

'No. He did before but he's been away in the army, you know? Training.'

Evie smiled at this confirmation that Michael was unattached. She rolled backwards onto her towel, staring up into the cloudless sky, relishing the thought, but her satisfaction soon faded and was replaced by a growing curiosity. She rolled back onto her side. 'So why doesn't he know about your girlfriend? I thought you two were best mates.'

'It's complicated.'

Russell's response only made Evie even more curious. 'How so?'

'Jesus!' Russell was becoming flustered by the interrogation. 'You're full of questions.'

'Okay, okay! Take it easy.' Evie knew when she had pushed someone just far enough to get the truth and when she had pushed them too far. 'So you think Cheryl's a cutie but you've got a girlfriend, right?' Evie prodded him for a response.

'I think Cheryl's sexy as hell.' Russell's bluntness surprised even himself. Evie clearly had an ability to extract the truth from even the most reserved person, including him.

'She's stunning but I've got a serious girlfriend, now leave it alone, will ya?'

Evie smiled and rolled onto her back again, staring up at the heavens. 'Hear that Cheryl? You're sexy _and_ stunning!'

'What!' Russell turned to stare at Evie's cheeky grin, and beyond her to Cheryl who was also smiling, with her eyes closed.

'Nice to know,' Cheryl replied, as though she had known all along.

Russell's jaw dropped, realising Cheryl had been listening the whole time. He tried to respond but the old Russell, full of self-doubt, crept back in.

'You... that's not... I thought...' Russell abandoned his defence and jumped to his feet. 'I'm goin' surfing.' Russell picked up his surfboard and ran towards the water, away from the two clever minxes who had just played him so well.

Cheryl now realised Russell's lack of interest wasn't personal but was for honourable reasons; she felt more relaxed and decided to have a little fun with him. 'Nice arse,' she shouted.

Russell shook his head at the girls' boldness, and kept running. Their brazen laughter echoed after him, mingling with the cries of the gulls and the thundering of the surf.

'Hey Russ!' It was Evie's turn for a bit of fun. 'We can see your bum crack.' That brought gales of fresh giggles as Russell hiked up his loose board shorts with his free hand, clutching onto his bouncing surfboard with the other and splashing through the shallows.

Michael was surprised to see Russ back in the water so soon. 'Thought you weren't coming back in?'

'Changed my mind.' Russell splashed a large volume of water up into Michael's face. Michael responded with his own watery attack.

The two mates spent the next few hours practising their new-found skill, even though they did more falling than surfing. Eventually, when it was time to go, they caught a final wave and surfed in unison, almost to the shoreline.

Flicking the water out of their hair and eyes, they grinned at each other, proud of their accomplishment. Life had always been good, and they were lucky; they had lots to be grateful for. Mick picked up his surfboard and chased Russ up the beach.

# Chapter 7

'This place is fantastic,' Michael said, scanning the popular night club.

'It's pretty loud,' Russell added while he manoeuvred around the dancing couples.

'Catch up,' Evie called over the music. She reached back and grabbed Michael's hand. 'There's a table over here.'

The two couples surrounded a table on the edge of the dance floor. The night spot was jammed with people dancing to the live band playing popular music.

'I love this song,' Cheryl said, moving her shoulders to the beat of the music. 'It sounds just like real one.' Cheryl swayed her hands in the air listening to the band play 'Eagle Rock'.

'Come on Mick, let's dance,' Evie said, taking Michael's hand.

Evie enjoyed the music as much as Michael enjoyed watching her; she danced with her eyes closed at times, lost in a world he desperately wanted to share.

_I've only known you for two days girl, but... but I've never felt like this before._

She danced seductively to the beat of the music, her mind wandered free from the constraints of her troubled life.

_She's so free._ Michael smiled as she grooved to the music. _I want to know all your secrets._

Russell and Cheryl talked like old friends now that they had an honest understanding of one another. As the music played they discussed life's big questions and the current topics of the day.

'Have you and Evie been friends for a long time?' Russell asked over the loud music.

'Just two weeks, but we clicked from day one.'

Russell nodded and took a sip of his beer.

'So...' Cheryl said with a smile. 'Tell me about your girlfriend?'

Russell gagged on his beer at the thought of his secret romance being discussed so openly, but then he realised, _Why would it matter if I tell her, I'll never see Cheryl again in a few days anyway. What the hell..._ 'She's beautiful,' Russell smiled, 'she's smart, has black wavy hair.' Russell's face lit up at the thought of his first and only true love. 'I've known her for years, she's the best, we talk all the time.'

Russell's smile was contagious. Cheryl could feel the love he felt for his girlfriend. _She's so lucky to have a guy like Russell. I hope I meet a guy like him one day._ 'So why the big secret?'

Russell felt complete elation at expressing his love. He looked over his shoulder at Michael and Evie on the dance floor. Michael looked the happiest he had ever seen him, reality suddenly crept into Russell's world, a world where his best friend was soon to be sent off to fight in a country that people had barely heard of, for a reason he didn't truly understand. The one thing Russell was positive about, he wasn't about to hurt his best mate. He turned back to Cheryl. 'My girlfriend's name is Beth, Beth Halias. Mick's sister.'

Cheryl's eyes widened, 'Really!' She suddenly realised the complications Russell faced by secretly dating Michael's sister. She placed her hand on top of Russell's. 'I think Mick would be proud for his sister to have a boyfriend like you.' She leant over and kissed Russell on the cheek. 'Don't ever be ashamed to tell someone you love them, tell the world if you have to.' Her eyes welled up at the honesty of Russell's heart.

He smiled at her understanding.

She took his hand. 'Want to dance?'

'I'm crap at it,' Russell yelled over the music.

'No one cares.' Cheryl was right, no one did care. Russell only ever danced in private; his father's constant harassment, about everything he did, robbed him of his self-confidence. Russell jiggled about in his awkward style, lost in the sea of people who didn't care whether he could dance or not.

The four friends danced and laughed the night away until late became early. Eventually everyone called it a night and the boys dropped Cheryl and Evie home before making their way back to their accommodation on wheels.

'Salt Spray Caravan Park' the sign attempted to capture all that the area offered. Its wording dwarfed the small image of a waterskiing couple waving to their audience.

Russell drove carefully into the caravan park, trying to make the least amount of noise possible.

'Good morning! Salt Spray patrons--'

'Shut up Mick, ya wanna get us kicked out?' Russell shook his head trying to drive quietly through the caravan park.

They were exhausted after a full day of surfing, eating, dancing and one too many beers. Russell had been careful not to let Michael drive, _He's as pissed as a nit_. Russell, who rarely got drunk, was also feeling _very relaxed_.

'Shit you're heavy,' Russell said and pushed Michael up the steps of the small caravan.

They stumbled into the darkness of their modest accommodation, bumping objects off ledges and hitting their heads on the low ceiling.

'Fuck!' Russell said, thumping his head on something. 'Where's the light switch?'

'Ahh!' Michael cried, tripping over a suitcase he had forgotten to put away.

'What the--' Russell managed before tripping over Michael's body in the dark.

'That's my face,' Russell mumbled through Michael's fingers.

'Don't.' Michael laughed feeling Russell's lips speaking into his hand.

'Shit!' Russell giggled, 'Shut up. We're making too much noise.'

It was hopeless. The harder they tried, the louder they laughed. In an act of desperation they covered each others mouths to stop the onslaught of giggles. Strange suction sounds came from their mouths, snot sprayed from each of their noses.

'Stop Mick!' Russell managed. 'I'm gunna die laughing or crap myself first.'

'Stop laughing then,' Mick laughed.

'On three then.' Russell sounded serious.

'One...' they both counted, 'two... three...' The caravan fell silent... but not for long.

'Huu...'

'Don't Mick, not again.'

It was too late, Russell and Michael struggled for an another half-an-hour in the dark, laying and laughing until exhaustion triumphed. Too tired to care about the mess, they crawled into their bunks and slipped into a sound sleep, minds free of life's troubles, guaranteed of a peaceful night's rest.

*

The grounds of the caravan park took on the appearance of a moonscape under the light of a full moon. The ghostly scene was devoid of all movement, holiday makers fast asleep in their caravans and tents.

A lone figure slunk through the shadows, moving with caution, stealthily avoiding the well-lit paths, choosing the cover of the dew-soaked grass corridors instead.

'There it is,' the sinister stranger whispered to himself. He smiled and rubbed his bristly chin, admiring the silver metallic paint glistening in the moonlight. _Looks even better than when I saw it at lunch._ He slowly drew an object from under his coat, seconds later unlocking the door with a click and silently pulling the bonnet release.

Russell and Michael slept, oblivious to the theft taking place.

In less than sixty seconds the menacing character was preparing to shatter the dreams of these two honourable young men, but what should have been a routine task was becoming a challenge. The bonnet refused to open. The process was taking much longer than it should. The nocturnal operation wasn't going to plan.

Russell stirred at the faint metallic rattle; it was a strange sound but after years of workshop experience he knew a frustrated reaction when he heard one. He sat up, momentarily forgetting where he was, and looked around the moonlit caravan to gain his bearings. His gaze led him to the closed venetian blinds. Out of curiosity he opened the blinds just enough to peer outside. His sudden awakening had dulled his senses, he wasn't sure if it was his imagination or if there really was a person looking in his car. Russell looked over at Michael who was sleeping, content as a baby. He looked back at his car and the mystery visitor.

'Shit...' Russell's mind rapidly processed the information. 'Shit!' He was now fully awake. 'Mick. Get up!'

Michael turned on his side away from the rude interruption.

'Mick! Someone's stealing the car.'

Michael's eyes opened wide, his pupils adjusting to the light Russell had just switched on. Both men jumped from their bunks. 'Shit!' Michael called treading bare-foot on his camera.

'Hurry Mick!'

Both men stumbled to the small door designed for one-at-a-time entry and exit. The commotion from inside the caravan hadn't gone unnoticed. The unwelcome stranger from the shadows attempted to return to the night.

Michael was first out the small door with Russell close behind.

'Hey YOU! Yeah _you_ , ya prick,' Michael yelled, pointing at the figure disappearing into the darkness.

Russell relied on Michael's directions and blindly followed him into the blackness. Both of them were now high on adrenaline and felt 'ten foot tall'.

'Where'd he go?' Mick called.

'There!' Russell pointed down the grassy corridor of caravans.

'Keep up Russ,' Michael yelled behind him, 'he went down here.'

The friend's noisy chase had awoken their neighbours, slowly lights began to blink on here and there; some people even wandered outside.

The two boys felt confident that the intruder had fled, their hearts still racing with pride over their heroic defence.

'What's going on?' an older man's voice called out from a darkened caravan. Before Michael or Russell could reply a lady's voice announced, 'There's a streaker!'

Both Michael and Russell looked around unsure what a streaker would be doing out at three in the morning.

'What the,' Michael said, staring wide-eyed at Russell's body, 'Where's your pants?'

'What?' Russell answered as the park lit up in a floodlight dawn. In the panic of discovering someone stealing their car, Russell had forgotten he'd taken his jeans and underpants off before crawling into bed, leaving him wearing only his white singlet.

Russell's sunburnt body glowed brightly under the powerful lights.

'Look at ya dick,' Michael laughed pointing at Russell's crotch.

They had run over three hundred feet from their caravan and now had the daunting task of sprinting back, with an audience.

'Give us ya shirt,' Russell demanded.

'I'm not gunna let ya rub ginger nuts all over my good shirt.'

Russell tried to tear off Michael's shirt, but Michael dodged away from him and dashed back towards the caravan, with Russell in hot pursuit.

Families and older van-park residents watched the two young men wrestle and run back to their caravan. Mothers covered their children's eyes and fathers voiced their anger at the display of public nudity.

Michael was first to return to the safety of the caravan. Russell had run onto a section of gravel forcing him to tiptoe gingerly over the pointed stones. _Almost there, just gotta..._ He could see his sanctuary in sight and just as his hand grabbed the door handle his wet feet slipped from beneath him. _Shit!_ Russell's legs went high and wide.

A crowd of onlookers, including the caretaker, stared in shock witnessing Russell's display of half-naked gymnastics.

'Fuck!' Russell wheezed, laying winded on his back, struggling to draw breath back into his oxygen deprived lungs. 'Mick.' Russell managed clawing at the door.

Michael ignored Russell's calls for help, preferring to peer out from behind the safety of the venetian blinds.

'Open the door ya bastard.'

*

'Never in all my time, has anything _this_ outrageous! Ever... EVER occurred,' the caretaker berated Michael and Russell inside his small fibro office.

Russell hung his head in shame. Michael fought the urge to smile at the mere memory of the night's events.

'This is a family park, with women and children.' The tall caretaker's face looked as though he was ready to explode. 'We don't put up with hooligans like you two, running around with your old fellas hanging out.'

Michael had battled to contain his composure but the mention of 'old fellas' pushed him over the edge. He erupted in laughter, barely keeping his balance on the narrow plastic chair.

'I'm sorry Mr Jessop...' Russell's attempted to apologise. 'It was a complete accident--'

Michael laughed while Russell squirmed.

'Go on. Get out!'

Michael and Russell marched out, under Sergeant Major Caretaker's orders. 'Silly old fart,' Michael muttered under his breath.

The caretaker instantly responded to Michael's taunt. 'Go on wog, piss off! Go back to the dirty hole you came from.'

Michael stopped. The years of childhood bullying suddenly felt fresh. He could hear more racist taunts slide from the caretaker's mouth, but the first one had been enough. Michael turned with rage in his eyes. He had tolerated the caretaker's anger and had treated it as humour. The caretaker, however, had confused Michael's tolerance for weakness. Michael walked back up to the older man and grabbed him by the shirt. 'Listen prick! Open your hole once more,' Michael tightened his grip, 'and I'll shut it for you.'

The caretaker stared down into eyes boiling with revenge; he knew in an instant he had overstepped the line.

Michael had fought his way out of many racially based arguments. His father had encouraged him to solve his problems without violence, but had taught him the necessary skills if no other options existed. Unfortunately, Michael liked the more physical solution.

'What's that prick? What did ya say?' Michael snarled. He took the caretaker's silence as an answer and released his grip. 'Thought so, ya gutless arsehole.' He took a step backwards and slowly unclenched his fist. 'Come on Russ, let's get outta this shit hole.'

Russell nodded, throwing a judgemental glance at the caretaker. 'Got that right mate.'

The young men made their escape at the mandatory five miles per hour along the narrow caravan-park road. Russell felt as though the entire park was watching their departure, _Like a guard of_ dis _honour!_ He hoped fervently that he would never meet any of them ever again. To his horror, an old lady winked at him as he drove past, confirming his worst fears; he shrank down in his seat, trying to disappear beneath the steering wheel.

Michael's mood had calmed, he shook his head thinking of Russell's naked rear-end. He began to grin and chuckle as he replayed the previous night's events continually in his head.

'Cut it out Mick, I know what you're laughing about.'

'Sorry mate, I'll stop.' Michael tried to clear his thoughts and stared out the window; he stretched his jaw and shook his head. The attempt to change his line of thought failed dismally, he began to giggle once more.

'Fair go Mick!' Russell snapped. 'Could have happened to you instead of me, you know!'

'Not possible,' Michael replied. 'If I forgot to put my pants on, my dick would have got tangled up with my legs before I even got out of the van.'

Russell shook his head at his friend's mirth. 'Not a word to the girls, okay? Not a single word.'

*

'And then I look down and there's Russ's old fella, staring straight back up at me.'

Evie and Cheryl threw their heads back with laughter at Michael's slightly embellished story. Even Michael had to wipe away his tears after retelling the event.

'Keep it down, will ya?' Russell tried to quieten them down as he looked around the street-corner cafe at the attention the laughing trio was receiving.

'Oh Russ, mate, you'll find it funny one day.' Michael continued to wipe away his tears of amusement.

'I don't think so.' Russell sat back from the table with his arms crossed.

'I mean,' Michael moved closer to the girls and indicated with his finger, 'it looked like a baby orang-utan pointing his finger at me.'

The girls snorted and spluttered at Michael's latest embellishment. Evie had just taken a sip from her milkshake and began to gag on its contents.

'This is unbelievable,' Russell said tiring of being the butt of the joke.

'Okay Russ. Okay mate, I'm sorry.' Michael placed his hand on Russell's shoulder, looking away and trying to compose himself.

'Seriously! I've had a gutful.'

Russell's protests only brought further roars of laughter from the table. Evie wiped milkshake off her nose and chin. It was only when Cheryl noticed the time that everyone stopped laughing.

'I've got to get back to work! I'm already ten minutes late--'

'Take a sickie,' Michael interrupted, blinking his large puppy-dog eyes.

'I'd love to, but I need the money.' Cheryl enjoyed the company but didn't feel like doing the touristy things that Russell had planned. 'Evie, I'm going up to my brother's place for a couple of days for his kid's christening.'

'Aunty Cheryl,' Michael teased.

Cheryl pulled a face at him and continued, 'So Evie, if I'm not back before you head off home, just leave your key under the mat.'

'Home?' Michael now focused on Cheryl's last few words.

'You remember, Mick?' Evie said, smiling. 'I'm heading back home soon, to Cronulla.'

Michael suddenly remembered what Evie had told him the night they had met; he had completely forgotten. Without warning he felt a strange sensation gripping his chest. _Home? But we're just starting to hit it off. I don't even know her last name, I --_

Cheryl stood up, quickly followed by Russell, both girls noticed his manners. 'See you Russell.' Cheryl smiled and leant in to give him a friendly kiss goodbye; as she moved towards his cheek she changed direction at the last second and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Russell looked up, surprised, his forehead wrinkled in a slight frown.

Cheryl was smiling. 'Now remember what I said--'

He looked at her a little confused, and surprised by her sensual ambush.

'--tell the world.' She raised an eyebrow.

Michael stood up to say goodbye. 'How about a kiss for me?'

Russell knew Michael had seen the interaction between him and Cheryl.

'I think you're going to get more than enough kisses before you go.' Cheryl smiled and hugged Michael. 'Good luck over there.'

Evie stood up and hugged her new friend goodbye. 'Write to me, okay.'

The remaining trio watched as Cheryl walked down the street. She turned one last time to wave back at these new friends who would soon become merely memories.

'It's a shame she's going,' Russell said. _What a top chick_.

'You know what's a shame?' Michael leant forward and slapped his friend across the back of the head. 'You missing your chance with Cheryl, ya goose.'

Russell was momentarily stunned by the unexpected admonishment, he quickly rebutted Michael's statement. 'Yeah, we just didn't hit it off.'

'Are you blind? She was all over you.' Michael shook his head at his friend's lack of perception.

'Leave him alone.' Evie was attempting to defend Russell's excuse, or lack of one. 'He probably prefers women with black wavy hair instead.' Evie winked at Russell, letting him know that she was aware of his little secret.

_What?... Shit!_ Russell panicked. When he had opened his heart to Cheryl, he had failed to realise that when it came to matters of romance, women tended to share every little detail. Russell now viewed every minute that Michael spent with Evie as an opportunity for the truth to be revealed, just the thought made his blood run cold.

'Where's the dunny?' Michael's interruption gave Russell an opportunity to question Evie.

He watched Michael disappear into the men's room and immediately turned to Evie. 'You can't tell him.'

'Tell him what? That you're doin' his sister?' Evie smiled as Russell's jaw froze in the open position. 'Relax Russ, your secret's safe with me.' She paused to take a sip from her milkshake. 'Don't know what the big deal is anyway,' she muttered.

Evie didn't understand the inner workings of Michael's family. Being Greek they had always wanted their daughters to marry nice Greek boys. The first generation of new Australians felt torn between family loyalty and acceptance by the only country they had ever known.

Russell was well aware of the challenges that he and Beth faced. At times the two young lovers had talked through the night about the opposition they faced. Russell had attempted to cheer Beth up with the similarity between themselves and Romeo and Juliet. Beth had cried, reminding Russell that the star-crossed lovers had died at the end of the story. Russell had forgotten that part.

Michael returned from the bathroom with a big smile across his face.

'What are you so happy about?' Russell asked.

'Russ, Evie,' Michael turned his seat around as he sat down, straddling it, with his arms folded on top of the chair. 'I've figured it out.' He smiled at Evie. 'How about you come home with us, to Sydney--Cronulla I mean.' Michael became excited at the thought of cruising and cuddling all the way home.

'With us!' Russell interrupted before Evie had the chance to answer. 'But Mick, our holiday, we still have four days up here and we're on a tight schedule, remember? Evie wants to leave in the next _couple of days!_ '

Michael blew a raspberry at Russell's schedule. _You can shove ya schedule up your arse this time mate._ 'We'll do it with plenty of time Russ, especially if we left... just a little bit earlier.'

'That'd be great, if it's okay with you Russ?' Evie asked turning to face Russell who now held the position of judge, jury and executioner over the potential lovebirds.

Russell held Michael's stare momentarily in defiance. 'We still have so much to see,' he grumbled.

'Come on Russ...' Michael pleaded with his eyes. _Ya_ _know how much I like her._

' _Shit_. Alright. Yeah fine. No problem,' he answered in a monotone, begrudgingly succumbing to their desperate pleas.

Evie and Michael's imploring expressions gave way to wide grins. Michael clapped his hands together triumphantly.

'We'll have a great time!' exclaimed Evie, with flushed cheeks. 'You won't regret it.' She scooped her glossy hair up into a ponytail exposing her slender neck.

'And most of what we have left to see is on our way home anyway,' interjected Michael, 'so there's little point staying on much longer.'

_I feel like I've just been had,_ Russell thought _. Bloody Mick is always getting his way. Havin' Evie round is like Mick havin' a twin._ He sucked on his milkshake watching them chatter continuously about all the fun they were going to have that day. He continually thought, _I wish Beth was here_.

*

_This is pretty fun after all,_ Russell thought when a parakeet landed on his head. The three of them posed for photos at the Currumbin Bird Sanctuary. Michael was determined to use all his film to record the vacation. He and Evie laughed when two parrots fought over food Michael had secretly placed on the top of Russell's head; Michael snapped away with his camera when Russell winced and smiled.

When Evie had told the boys about the newly opened Water Ski Garden, the two friends had planned to see the newly built tourist attraction by themselves, but having Evie along only made it that much more enjoyable. From the moment they arrived Russell watched Evie interacting easily with the people around her; he privately wished he had half as much confidence. _She's got so much guts._ It didn't matter whether it was with her words or her body language she always held centre stage.

'Check that out!' Michael had said, pointing when a three person high pyramid water-skied past. 'I reckon I could do that.'

'I didn't think fish could be trained?' Russell had remarked eating a hotdog, and watching two dolphins perform a series of back flips.

'They're dolphins, not fish.' Evie smiled.

'They both live in the water don't they?' Russell grumbled at being corrected. _They're dolphins not fish,_ he thought sarcastically.

'Hey Evie,' Michael called, snapping a photo of her eating a piece of fairy floss. Evie obliged by hamming it up for the camera.

_Bloody hell,_ Russell thought, feeling ignored. _Mick's gunna wear his camera out at this rate._

'Russ, take a photo of me and Mick,' Evie said, rushing up with the camera. Russell took the camera with a sigh. 'Take a close-up of us.'

'Yeah, righto.' Russell held the camera carefully, making sure that he got a good close-up of their two smiling faces, but just as he pressed the shutter Evie planted a kiss firmly on Michael's cheek; the unexpected affection made Michael's eyes widen with surprise.

*

'Check her out Russ.' Michael smiled watching Evie throwing bread to the ducks, he was mesmerised as her hair appeared to turn auburn in the afternoon sunlight. _Look at her skin glow... man what a woman._ Michael felt a lump in his throat.

'She's feedin' ducks... big deal.'

'She's not just feeding ducks...' Michael whispered.

'Well whatever she's doin' she's making us late.'

'Late?' Michael suddenly remembered he was suppose to organise another caravan.

Russell pulled a face. 'Oh _Mick_ ya didn't... Mick!--'

'It's alright,' Michael suddenly remembered something, 'Cheryl's not home; we can stay there the night.'

Russell nodded and thought, _At least we can save some money on a camp site._ 'Yeah alright, do ya reckon Evie'd be okay with it?'

'Don't see why not.'

_I wish I was a bird,_ Evie thought, watching the ducks squabbling over the bread. _They don't worry about all the bullshit in the world. For once I wish I could just --'_

'Penny for your thoughts?' Michael beamed grabbing her around the waist.

'It's nothing.' Evie smiled, suddenly feeling cold. 'We goin'?'

'Umm...' Michael bit his lip. 'About that.'

'What?'

'I forgot to book a caravan for me and Russ... Is there any chance we could sleep with you--I mean, shit, I mean sleep at your place.' Michael blushed realising his mistake.

Evie smiled. 'What have you heard about me--'

'No I... that's not what--'

'Relax,' Evie held Michael by the hand, 'Cheryl wouldn't mind.' Evie threw the last pieces of bread to the birds and moved her hand up Michael's arm. 'Come on Mick, I'll cook something up for yas when we get back.'

Russell watched with curiosity then smiled when Michael gave him the 'thumbs-up' signal.

'Come on Russ,' Evie said, walking past Russell at the exit to the Water Ski Garden. 'Ya hungry?'

'Always.'

'I'll cook ya a big dinner, how about that?'

'That'd be great, I'm starved.' Russell smiled following Michael and Evie through the exit.

'We'll have to stop and get some meat and onions.'

'Steak?' Russell smiled again.

'Whatever ya want.' Evie looked up at the sky as the ducks she was feeding flew away.

'I'll buy some eggs and bacon for breakfast too.'

'Whatever--' Evie suddenly had an idea as they entered the half empty car park. 'Mick, give me ya camera.' She smiled realising a photo opportunity. 'Russ, go and bring the Charger to the front of the sign.'

Russell parked directly in front of the tourist park's large sign. 'Lean against the bonnet,' Evie said, pointing and waving instructions.

'What she up to?' Russell asked watching her approaching a family leaving the park.

'Thanks a lot mate.' Evie flashed a smile at the father of the group and ran back to the boys with an excited skip.

'What are you doing?' Michael asked when she got closer. She squeezed in between 'her two men', turned and sat up on the car's bonnet, placing an arm around each boy's shoulder, pulling Michael slightly closer.

'Say sexy.' Evie grinned.

Russell and Michael shared a smile and joined in the moment.

'Sexy!' The trio said to the lens.

Evie kissed Michael on the cheek as the camera clicked. That photo captured the essence of the moment, a memory of, not only their holiday, but of their relationships too: friends, now grown up, and a blossoming romance.

# Chapter 8

'I'm buggered,' Russell said, carrying a box of groceries up the stairs to Cheryl's flat.

'Hang on Russ,' Evie said, slipping past and unlocking the door, 'there you go.'

She clicked the lights on and started fixing up the flat. 'I love Cheryl like a sister, but jeez she's a slob.'

'Car's locked.' Michael smiled walking in the doorway with two small suitcases. 'Any chance I can have a shower.'

'Why not ya free-loader.' Evie smiled starting to unpack the groceries and begin cooking.

'I was gunna ask that!' Russell said, checking his watch. 'It's already six-thirty.'

'So?' Evie asked. 'What's the big deal?'

'I always like to eat dinner by six thirty.'

'Is he for real?' Evie asked and pulled a face.

Michael nodded confirming his friend's rigid schedules. 'Go on Russ, I'll help Evie with dinner.'

'Thanks,' Russell said and headed straight to the shower.

'Has he always been like that?' Evie grinned unpacking the box of food.

'He had a pretty rough childhood,' Michael said, making sure Russell couldn't hear. 'Russ basically raised himself.'

'Oh.' Evie nodded. _I know how that feels._

'What's it like living in Surfers--and what are you doing up here anyway?' Michael asked, looking around the apartment realising every photo, poster and piece of clothing was Cheryl's.

'I move around a lot, I get work where I can,' Evie __ answered a little guarded.

Michael nodded accepting her reasons. 'Shit I left the beers in the car.'

Evie shook her head and smiled. _Jeez he gets distracted around me... I love it._

'I'll be back in a second, and I promise I'll give you a hand with the cooking.'

She watched Michael bound out the door. _I wish things were --_Evie's thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing,-- _Cheryl must have forgotten to tell someone she was going away._ 'Hi, Cheryl's not--'

Evie froze. 'How did ya get this number?' She listened to the answer that made her shiver. _How did they find me?_ 'I need more time. I told ya to give me a couple of days... course I'm alone.'

Michael walked back inside. 'I think--'

'Shh!' Evie said, covering the mouth piece. 'Yeah okay, I understand,' Evie forced a smiled, 'it won't be a problem, I'm sorry, yeah me too, bye.'

'Who was that.'

'It was Cheryl,' Evie lied, 'she sounded pissed off at us.'

'Why?... Is it because we're staying over?'

'Cheryl gave Tony from downstairs her brother's number in case anything funny was going on, at the flat.' Evie avoided eye contact walking closer to Michael with the phone. 'She just gotta a call saying we're having a party.'

'It's not like that.' Michael held out his hand. 'I'll talk to her, give me the number--'

'No Mick.' Evie put the phone down. 'We'll have to find somewhere else to stay.'

'At this time?' Michael said, checking his watch. _It's already quarter to seven... none of this makes sense._

'I stayed at a caravan park just a few miles away,' Evie evaluated everything. 'We gotta go, we gotta go now.'

'Now... can't we have dinner first.' Michael watched as Evie pulled a small red suitcase from her bedroom. 'You sure Cheryl--'

'Yes I'm sure--' Evie interrupted herself. 'Russell!' she called through the door, 'Ya gotta get out.'

'What?' A muffled answer sounded back.

Michael watched Evie open her suitcase then close it a second later. 'You okay? You look a little--'

'No I'm good.' Evie smiled rushing up and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. 'I reckon it'd be good spending the night under the stars.'

'Stars?' Michael looked confused and excited by Evie's sudden affections.

'Remember, ya brought a tent.'

'We did?'

'Russell mentioned it before, it's in the back of the car somewhere.' Evie began checking the room for anything she left behind.

'What's going on?' Russell asked, walking out in his board shorts while drying his hair.

'Cheryl rang up,' Evie said, putting all the food back into the box. 'It's hard to explain...'-- _Think girl, think --_'she's really funny about people being here when she's not home.'

Russell pulled a face at his friend, Michael answered with a simple shrug.

*

'Welcome to Burleigh Heads Caravan Park,' Evie said, reading the large sign while shielding her eyes from the setting sun, 'where you'll enjoy a peaceful stay.' Ha! Obviously they haven't heard about you, Russ.'

'Put a sock in it will ya,' Russell retorted driving through the entrance of the caravan park. A memory flashed in his mind of his naked chase through the caravan park, _Bloody hell, I'll never forget that as long as I live,_ an involuntary shudder passed through him.

'Pull up here Russ,' Evie instructed, pointing at the white brick house displaying an 'Office' sign.

Russell and Michael watched Evie jog up to the single story home and office.

'Why couldn't we stay at Cheryl's again?' Russell asked, watching Evie inside the front of the office.

'You know... because Cheryl doesn't want anyone there when she's not home.'

_It doesn't add up,_ Russell thought, _and I sure as hell don't remember telling her about the tent._

'All set,' Evie said, slipping in behind the passenger seat. 'There weren't any caravans so I got us a campsite with a barbeque.'

_Tent huh?_ Michael realised.

Russell carefully navigated between the tents while battling the bright setting sun.

'That's it,' Evie said, pointing at a campsite next to a barbeque and a large fig tree. 'This'll be fun guys.'

In under ten minutes Russell had the fire flickering and an array of steaks, sausages and onions sizzling on the hotplate. In the same ten minutes Michael had managed to tangle the rope, the tent and lose the hammer.

'Shit! Where'd did the bloody--shit thing go,' Michael mumbled, wrestling with the two-person tent.

'Looking for this?' Evie smiled bringing over the small hammer.

'Ah... yeah.' Michael laughed nervously, still trying to impress Evie with his tent erecting skills. 'So you and me in the tent then?' Michael asked boldly.

Russell glanced over at Michael and then quickly at Evie.

'Don't think so!' Evie said while managing a smirk. 'I'll sleep in the car and you and Russ can share the tent.' _Look at his face, god his cute..._ Evie suddenly realised her heart was winning, _Snap out of it, you can't get too close... damn it._ 'I'm gunna have a quick shower,' she said, walking seductively towards the shower block. 'Hope ya can get it up by tonight.'

'What?' Michael said, dropping the tent pole on to the dirt.

'She's talking about the tent ya dickhead.' Russell smiled flipping a sausage then realised, _How did I end up cooking dinner?_

*

'Bloody smoke,' Russell complained battling the smoke from the barbeque. _At least I'm warm, it's friggen cold tonight._

Michael laughed at Russell pulling a face whenever the smoke drifted up from the open fire. Michael leant against the wheel of the Charger and looked up at the clear night sky as embers danced skywards. _This is so relaxing,_ he thought pulling a blanket up to his chest, if it wasn't for the previous night's excitement with the car thief, the trip would have been perfect.

'Got any room for me?' Evie asked, snuggling up next to Michael under the blanket.

Michael raised his eyebrows at Russell. _This could be the night,_ he thought, feeling Evie leaning into his chest. 'How was the shower?'

Evie smiled, then whispered, 'Lonely.' In an instant she felt Michael's heart thumping against her back.

_She feels so soft in my arms_ , Michael thought, inhaling her apple scented hair. He hadn't given Vietnam a second thought until this moment. _Shit I'll miss her when I go... Go?_ Michael closed his eyes. _Stop thinking about it Mick, it's only been a couple of days since we met... but she feels so right, so natural._

Michael had been out with many girls; when he was thirteen he and Russell both fell for the prettiest girl in the class. Michael had won her heart until the following week, when another girl moved into the area, resulting in a new love and a freshly broken heart. The cycle had perpetuated itself almost up until this point.

_Evie's different_ , he argued with his conscience. _She's got a personality that lights up a room_ , _she's street smart in a way that can't be taught_. Michael felt an ache spread across his chest. _I think she's the one._ Michael leant forward and kissed her gently on the back of the head.

'That was nice,' Evie said, smiling without turning around. _Don't fall for him..._ Evie rested her head on Michael's arm. _It's been so long since I felt this way, he's not a playboy like I thought, his heart's so innocent... he's too good for me._ A secret tear slid down Evie's cheek, she pushed it into the blanket. _I feel so protected, safe... maybe there's another way._ HHHer smile slowly faded as thoughts of her _other_ world crowded in on her, a dark world to be kept secret at all cost.

'Oi Mick!' Russell's call interrupted everyone's thoughts. 'You gunna do the car?' His request was dual purpose: made out of frustration, at being the sole preparer of dinner, and out of a desire to prevent anyone else stealing the car.

Michael stared at Russell with a look of disdain, thinking, _Jesus_ _Russ, can't ya tell I'm busy? Shit!_

Russell waited until Michael had almost stood up. 'Don't worry Mick, I'll do it.' He grinned at his sadistic joke.

Michael sank back down, muttering, 'Dickhead.' His whole body had felt cold without Evie leaning against it.

Evie heard Michael and agreed with him. She felt the break in the mood and shivered in the absence of his warm embrace. 'What's Russ doing?' she asked as Russell leant under the rear of the car.

'He's turning off the fuel, you know, if anyone pinches it they won't get far.' Michael wasn't in the mood to talk cars, preferring to improve his chances of wooing Evie.

'Did you guys stop him before he got it started?'

'Nah, the silly prick, I mean the guy,' Michael was beginning to mind his manners, 'he couldn't figure out the extra bonnet release we put in. You know, so he couldn't hot-wire it.' Michael smiled proudly at the thought of their extra security measures, to prevent the theft of their investment.

Russell walked back past them to serve them their meal. 'Jeez, that smells good,' he complimented himself.

'I'm glad I let you cook Russ,' Evie said, as her mouth began to water.

'There you go lady and gentleman, steak and snags in Russell's secret sauce.' He handed them two paper plates with a flourish, knowing his specialty was barbecues.

Evie inhaled the delicious aroma and took a large bite. 'Mmm. You're going to make someone a good wife someday Russ,' she commented, between mouthfuls.

'Good or what?' Russell smiled watching and listening to the sounds of satisfied stomachs.

*

The ocean thundered in the distant darkness, birds succumbed to the night and the fire dwindled to a flicker.

'Another beer mate?' Russell asked, swaying in the light of the campfire.

'I'm good thanks.' Michael smiled, _Russ must of had two bottles all by himself_.

The conversations began to flow more freely, exploring and discussing life, and what they wanted from it. The setting was calm and tranquil, only the fire provided any action; the flames danced hypnotically in the black of the night.

'When Mick gets back from Viet lambs,' Russell giggled at his drunken blunder, 'we're oper-ning... opening our own business together,' he slurred.

'We sure are, mate.' Michael hadn't drunk as much as Russell and smiled when Russell giggled for no apparent reason.

'You're pissed, aren't ya?' Evie asked.

'Am not.' Russell giggled back. 'Just a little ti-psy.' He tilted his head forward and mimicked lifting a hat.

'What sort of business?'

'It's going to be a one-stop-automotive workshop,' Michael responded.

'Got a name all picked out and everything?' Evie smiled from partial intoxication _and_ from the detail the boys provided in enthusiastic unison.

'We're calling it Icon Automotive,' they replied proudly.

_Look at these two, they're gunna be mates forever._ She had to fight to keep her smile, _I knew from the start Mick was going to Vietnam, why am I feeling like this?... damn it._

'When do you go over... to Vietnam I mean?' she asked, her voice unusually soft.

_I don't want to talk about this._ Michael hugged Evie a little tighter. 'I'm not--'

'Mick'll be in no harm, he's... he's in the Engineers; all they do is build bridges, roads and shit like that.' Russell was only repeating what Michael had told him.

'Engineers?' Evie knew better, she remembered her pop's drunken stories about the Second World War. 'Those fucken Jap bastards were everywhere, we showed'em the colour of their guts.' She remembered the newspaper articles detailing the dangerous tasks that the Royal Australian Engineers performed, including checking the labyrinth of enemy tunnels with only a torch and pistol.

'What sort of shit have you been telling everyone?' Evie moved away from Michael's protective arms.

'Shhh. Take it easy,' Michael whispered.

Evie and Michael shared a tense stare, a look that said it all. She could tell he was protecting his friends and family from the risks that lay ahead.

'You don't _have_ to go you know, there're protests going on all the time.'

'I've gotta.' Michael's eyes revealed his heart. 'I'd be letting my mates down if I didn't.'

All Evie could think of was the risks Michael would take. She was worried. She snuggled back into the safety of his strong arms, she had felt protected in them before but now _she_ wanted to protect _him_. Her mind began to race. _Get a grip. You just met this guy. Snap out of it._ She was frustrated at how quickly she was losing focus and put her unfinished glass of beer aside.

'Want another one?' Russell asked holding out his bottle.

'Nah. I'm good,' Evie replied, a little tense.

'Go on. I've got plenty,' Russell insisted.

'I said no!'

'Go on, have another.' Russell began filling her glass.

Michael could feel the tension rising and knew he had something to do with it. 'Lay off Russ, she doesn't want one.'

'Come on Evie, you can trust us, we're not gunna take advantage of ya.'

_The grog's... I gotta keep focused,_ Evie thought, moving her glass away from Russell. _I can't fall for Mick... not now._

'Hold ya glass still.' Russell blurted, trying to fill it.

_Maybe there's another way, maybe if I can just --_

'Christ woman, hold ya bloody--'

'I told you, I don't want another fucken drink.' She grabbed the beer bottle and hurled into the nearby bushes.

'Jesus! Take it easy,' Russell said, putting his hands up in the air as if to surrender. 'Christ, you go off.' He stared into eyes that had gone cold. 'I don't need this shit.' He turned and reeled off towards the bushes. 'I'm tak-ing a l-eak,' he announced, stumbling into the shadows and losing his footing, cackling drunkenly at his own antics.

'You okay?' Michael asked, looking up at Evie; he knew her outburst was just as much about him as it was about Russell.

'Russell just got to me that's all.'

'I know you think I'm bullshittin' about the dangers over there but it's almost over. I'm just cleanin' up roads, doing some bridge repairs. I don't want to upset everyone with what might, or mightn't, happen.'

Evie didn't know whether to believe him or not. _Is he just trying to protect me as well, or does he truly believe he isn't in danger_? Evie needed to freshen up, to get her focus back; she looked around for the amenities block and started walking.

'Where' you going?'

'To the ladies.'

'Want me to smack Russell around for you?' Michael joked.

Evie stopped and thought for a second. 'Nah,' she smiled, 'just ask him about his girlfriend.'

'Girlfriend?' Michael smiled. _Is she joking?_

It wasn't that Russell hadn't had girlfriends in the past, but he always told Michael about them, as Michael did Russell. 'Girlfriend?' Michael repeated to himself. _That sure does explain a lot_.

Russell reeled then stumbled out of the darkness, rubbing his arms, to warm up after the sudden drop in temperature. 'Where'd Evie go?'

'Never mind Evie, she told me about your new girlfriend.'

As drunk as Russell was he quickly sobered up. 'Girlfriend?' He played dumb for a split second. _Shit! Evie told him... hang on, he's not upset._ 'You're okay with it?' Russell asked, surprised.

'Of course I am.' Michael smiled at the thought of Russell being so secretive, then it struck him _, Is he so secretive because he might be going out with one of my old girlfriends?_

'Well, you know, I thought you'd go off your nut, or hit me.'

'Hit you?' Michael said with a puzzled smile. _It must be the drink talking_.

'This is great!' Russell announced to the darkness. _I can't believe it, Beth's gunna be so happy._

Michael smiled. He watched Russell dance and jiggle around the fire. _I wonder what he was so worried about?_ _He must be more pissed than I thought._

'Wait till I tell Beth, how her big brother's behind us.' Russell punched the air as if he had just climbed a mountain.

Michael's smile vanished. 'Beth?'

_What the?_ In a millisecond all of the missing puzzle pieces fell into place. The long phone calls Beth was having with a so-called friend, Russell not taking advantage of Cheryl's advances.

'What the hell do you mean... "Beth"?' Michael said, scrambling to his feet, demanding answers.

Russell realised something was wrong.

'You and _Beth_ are going out together?' Michael didn't wait for an answer, he moved closer, firing questions at his friend.

'Does Mum and Dad know?' Michael was only now inches from Russell's face. 'Well?' he demanded.

'No.' Russell waited for Michael's next outburst, wondering at the same time how he'd managed to balls the whole thing up.

'What do you mean "No"?' The enormity of the situation was rapidly dawning on Michael, from a selfish perspective.

'You better not be rootin' my sister,' Michael said, becoming enraged.

'No,' Russell answered quickly, but his lack of eye contact betrayed him.

'You _arsehole!_ ' Michael pushed Russell hard in the chest, sending him two steps backwards.

'Hey! She came on to me.' Russell knew instantly that full disclosure wasn't going to help his defence; Russell prepared for combat.

The boys had grown up boxing under Nic's instruction and were well aware of each other's strengths and weaknesses. Over the years they had the occasional punch-up but as they grew older their strength and speed had increased leading to more severe injuries.

Michael was first to strike. A straight right followed quickly with a left uppercut. Russell dodged the right but caught the uppercut in the ear. Adrenaline had taken control and blocked out most of the pain. Russell retaliated with a quick left jab, catching Michael off guard. The impact sent Michael's head backwards, his lip splitting against his teeth.

If it had been anyone else Russell would have followed through with a solid straight right while his opponent was stunned. _I can't_ _do it_. Despite the attack he wasn't intent on annihilating his friend.

Michael recovered and came at Russell with a volley of body punches, some were blocked but a couple got through. Russell tightened his midsection but one punch came up deep under his ribs.

Russell winced at the pain and grabbed Michael in a headlock, in an attempt to halt the attack. Michael retaliated by reaching up and grabbing Russell in a headlock too. The two men danced in circles locked in a violent stalemate. Their breathing became laboured, made worse by the ever-tightening grip around each other's necks. Not knowing where they were stepping Russell trod on one of the empty beer bottles, sending them both crashing to the ground, missing the shattered glass by mere inches. Both men's lungs heaved as they landed.

*

Evie picked her way back from the toilet block through the poorly lit camping ground; she noticed arms and legs thrashing about soundlessly in the distance. _What are they up to?_ As she got closer she realised Michael and Russell were wrestling in the sandy soil next to the fire. _Bloody hell._ She pulled a face at the sight of what some people might find disturbing: Michael bleeding from the mouth, Russell's face rosy cheeked and with a trickle of blood coming from his ear, and both men still in headlocks, struggling to breathe, let alone speak.

'I can't believe... you're doin'... my sister.' Michael struggled to spit out between gasps, thinking his family's trust had somehow been betrayed.

'Don't... talk about... Beth like that.' Russell grunted applying more pressure.

The comment gave Michael the motivation to increase his grip around Russell's neck.

Evie shook her head. _Best mates, brothers, it's all the bloody same. If one of the idiots feels betrayed it's on for young and old._ Evie grinned. _This should do it._ She casually walked over and picked up a bucket of water they had collected for washing up. The water had chilled in the evening air and the bucket was full to the brim.

'Wait 'til... Dad finds out.' Michael warned failing to notice Evie standing directly over them.

She aimed carefully, paused and then poured the entire bucket over Michael and Russell's struggling bodies and contorted faces. The effect was immediate, both men released each other, winded by the icy shock; Russell even managed to swallow a small amount of water.

'Get off me!' Michael pushed his friend away and they slumped down next to each other on the wet sand. 'Did _you_ know?' He tried to redirect his aggression towards Evie.

'Don't start with me, mate.' Evie was having none of Michael's attitude and gave it back to him with interest. 'Get over it.' She stood defiantly with her hands on her hips. 'At least she's going out with a top bloke.'

Michael was angry and confused. It felt like betrayal. His best friend and sister going behind his back and doing things together he didn't dare imagine. _I can't believe she's defending him._ He turned to Russell who was now holding his side. 'What are you doing Russ, are you nuts?'

'I love her Mick,' Russell replied through clenched teeth, between gasps of breath.

'What's that supposed to mean? Okay, you love her. That doesn't change anything.' Michael was trying to make sense of it all.

'I love her. She loves me.' Russell put his hand on Michael's shoulder only to have it pushed away. 'We want to get married.'

'What?' Michael hadn't considered the possibility of Russell's intentions being honourable; he was judging Russell how he would have judged himself.

'Married?' Michael turned to look Russell in the eye. 'You're shittin' me.'

Russell was still catching his breath and only now started to feel the solid blows that had landed on his body. He leant back on his elbows and briefly stared up at the dark sky. He turned to face Michael and looked into his eyes with steady conviction. 'I love her Mick. Ever since I was a kid.' Russell inhaled a sharp painful breath. 'I'd do anything for her. Walk through fire, you name it.'

Michael heard the honesty in his friend's voice, he knew in his heart Russell was true to his word. 'Jesus mate,' A smile broke out across his face, 'you might have to when Mum and Dad find out.' He placed his hand on Russell's shoulder. 'If you ever hurt her Russ, you'll answer to me.'

Russell took the warning as a sign of acceptance. He slowly got to his feet and grabbed Michael by the arm, helping his injured friend to his feet and holding out his hand to shake. 'Still mates?'

'Still mates.' Michael extended his hand but at the last minute moved forward and lightly punched Russell in the stomach. Russell let out a lungful of air followed by a wheeze.

'Thanks for the lip, you prick.' Michael touched his mouth.

'Hey!' Russell rubbed his ribs, 'You know I could have finished you off.'

Mick snorted. 'No way. I had you.'

The two men affectionately pushed and shoved each other, the aggression that had had them strangling each other only moments before had now passed.

Evie shook her head. _You gotta be kiddin' me._ She __ had watched the violent, but now peaceful, resolution with disappointment. She had grown up rough and ready in country New South Wales but she didn't like people who solved their problems through violence. Michael had just scored one strike against him. She walked over to the car to ready herself for bed, muttering, 'Men. Children in bigger bodies.'

'Evie!' Michael called out. 'Where you going?'

She ignored Michael's call and continued to rummage through her red suitcase

'Evie, come on.' Michael held out his arms and smiled. 'Don't be like that.' He tilted his head and gave his best 'puppy-dog eyes' look.

Evie peeked at Michael from the corner of her eye. _Yeah right, I'm not falling for that. I'll come back when I'm good and ready._ She found her own blanket and whipped it out.

Michael and Russell were huddled next to the fire in an attempt to warm themselves.

'Check her out!' Michael said, elbowing Russell in the side.

Russell winced from the pain. 'Watch it, will ya?'

'Isn't she beautiful?' Michael exclaimed, fresh from hearing Russell talk so openly about his feelings, even if it was about his sister, Michael suddenly felt comfortable talking about his own. 'I think Evie and me have got a real chance.'

Russell warmed his hands on the fire. 'Oh Yeah?' Russell wasn't convinced.

'Seriously, when I get back I'm gunna give it a real go. You know, like a commitment?'

Russell stared at his friend. 'I didn't think I hit you that hard.'

'Fuck off!' Michael smiled and turned to Russell.

Evie returned to the campfire throwing a log into the embers, the fire crackling to life. Satisfied she had punished Michael long enough with her absence. She sat down between them, a little closer to Russell. Michael leant over to put his arm around her.

'What are ya doin'--' She interrupted herself and grabbed his wrist, lifted it up and over her head and dropped it back onto his lap. 'Get out,' she hissed.

'Oh, come on.' Michael defended, then noticed Russell smiling.

'Wipe that crap off your face before you get anywhere near me.'

_What?_ He raised his hand to his nose and mouth, feeling the blood encrusted around his lip. 'Good on ya Russ.'

'Huh?' Russell looked up at Michael's disapproving face. 'Sorry I... hang-on,' Russell realised he was about to apologise for being in love, 'I'm not... and anyway...' _Bugger it._ Russell dropped his head between his knees. _I'm too tired, too sore and I'm too pissed to care_.

Michael stood up and looked around for the shower block, he was still hopeful that he could win his way back into Evie's heart. _I've gotta look my best._ 'Back in ten.'

Evie watched Michael jog over to the shower block. Even though she was still angry, she liked the effort Michael was going to. She leant down to get a better view of Russell's face.

'You okay?'

Russell could only manage a nod.

'Don't you feel better now that Mick knows the truth?'

Russell nodded his head again still not moving it from between his knees.

'You see, I know this stuff.' Evie had a captured audience of one. Even if Russell didn't want to hear her advice, he wasn't going anywhere. 'Once you fess up you feel good, don't ya?'

Russell didn't nod this time. Evie noticed he had become an even paler version of his usual self. 'You gunna chuck?' She pulled a face. 'Don't spew here... Quick! Move it.'

The combination of steaks, sausages, alcohol and a few solid punches to the stomach culminated in a gastro-intestinal eruption worthy of Mount Vesuvius. Russell only managed to stagger a short distance before vomiting all over a vacant camp site; the prospective tenants would now find an unpleasant gift upon arrival.

Evie looked over her shoulder at the shower block then at Russell in the bushes. She stood up and walked backwards towards the Charger. __ She made another quick scan around the campsite and opened the door _._ She ran her hand over the instrumentation, _Where's this --_

'Evie!' Russell said staggering back to the camp site.

_Shit._ 'I'm in the car, I'm just checking how I'm spending the night,' Evie said scratching her temple.

'Hey guys.' Michael smiled returning freshly showered and wearing a clean t-shirt.

_Shit._ Evie tried to ignore Michael in his tight t-shirt. _I wonder what he looks like naked --bloody hell, concentrate._

Michael noticed Russell looking unsteady on his feet. 'What's wrong with you?'

'I've been crook.'

Michael noticed Evie on the other side of the car laying out a blanket over the seat. 'Hey Evie.'

She ignored Michael's attentions.

'Come on.' Michael pleaded for forgiveness as he _glided_ towards her.

'I don't like it when guys get violent.'

'That's not violent.' Michael realised the contradiction in his statement. 'That's just two mates sorting out a problem. We'd never _really_ hurt each other.'

'Urghh!' Russell cried out and ran towards the bushes. 'I think you busted a rib.' Russell started to vomit. Several gastronomical sounds punctured the darkness.

Michael shrugged his shoulders and smiled at Evie.

Evie turned and looked Michael up and down, spending a little more time gazing at his chest and shoulders. 'There's a way you could make it up to me.'

'Anything. Just name it.'

'Let me have a go at drivin' your car.'

Michael looked blankly into her eyes, for a second he thought she was joking. 'You serious?' he laughed. 'This isn't a chick's car.'

Evie frowned. 'I could drive you under the table mate.'

'Oh Yeah?' Michael moved a little closer, their bodies almost touching. 'What if you can't; what do I get?' He smiled as he delivered his devious wager.

'I'll--' Evie considered for a moment, _Even if I lose I'm gunna win_. 'A kiss.'

'A kiss?' Michael's eyes widened.

'A real kiss.'

Michael liked the sound of Evie's offer. He leant in, sensing the moment was right.

Evie felt her heart race to new levels. _What the hell... no I mean..._

The flickering campfire reflected in their eyes. Their hearts raced in passionate unison. Despite the cool night they suddenly felt very warm.

Evie's heart felt like it had stopped. _My god his lips are so..._

Michael kissed her delicately at first, eyes closed.

_It wasn't suppose to be like this..._ She felt as light as air. _I promised I'd never let this happen again_.

Michael was different, he wasn't like the troubled men she had been with, he was strong and protective but also gentle and patient.

_Oh my god, she's so soft._ Michael __ was overwhelmed with passion. _I just want to take her right now, right here._ It took every ounce of discipline not to take the moment any further. _I want it to be special._

Evie felt Michael end the kiss, when all she wanted was more. Neither victim of passion opened their eyes as endorphins flooded their systems.

'Wow!' Michael was first to speak. 'Was that a real kiss or a fake one?'

Evie smiled, still feeling the warm sensation coursing through her body. 'Just imagine a _real_ kiss if I lose the bet.'

Michael leant in for a second kiss.

_I gotta think._ She wedged her hand against his chest.

'Nah-ah.' Her mouth was saying no but her eyes were saying yes. 'I'm going to sleep.'

_Sleep._ He smiled at her, hoping, wanting her to invite him to her bed.

'I'm going to the car now.' His hopes were dashed as she turned and walked seductively towards the car. _I bet he's watching me._ She turned for confirmation. _Yes!_ The glance over her shoulder caught his admiring smile, which said, _I hate to watch you go, but I love to watch you leave_.

'Hey Evie,' Michael needed clarification. 'If that was a real kiss,' he was thinking out aloud now, 'shouldn't I get something even better if you're not as good a driver as me?' He smiled at his powers of selfish logic.

Without turning she called back, 'Probably.'

_Huh?_ 'So is that a yes or a no?'

And _that_ was exactly how she liked it.

'Goodnight Mick.' Evie smiled at him once more before disappearing into the Charger.

Michael took a deep breath, disappointed but resigned to the fact that he wasn't spending a night with the woman he couldn't get out of his mind. His unfortunate consolation prize was sharing a small two-man tent with a vomit-breathed Russell.

Russell had heard parts of the sexy banter between his friends. He couldn't help but smile as his dejected friend came over to help finish putting up the tent. While Michael was securing the corner of the tent, Russell gently placed his hand on Michael's shoulder.

_What the?_ Michael glanced up confused.

'Don't worry Mick. I'll keep ya warm,' Russell sniggered.

'Fuck off!' Michael slapped Russell's hand away with such force that Russell felt it reverberate in his tender midsection.

'Mick's in love with E-vie,' Russell sang, 'Mick's in love with--'

'Keep it down dickhead,' Michael hissed, turning to see if Evie was somehow listening. He felt Russell brush past him going into the tent. _How can I --_

'Michael darling, I'm cold,' Russell laughed from inside his sleeping bag, 'come and--'

'Wanna go another round?'

'Take it easy.' Russell giggled turning on to his side. He knew when his friend had had enough.

'Tell her how you feel,' Russell said, now taking the role of relationship advisor. 'Tell her what's in your heart,' he said flipping on to his back.

'What, now?'

'No, you know, while we're driving back.'

Michael lay down with his hands behind his head unable to, and not wanting to, forget the taste of Evie's kiss. 'Think she'd wait till I got back? You know, from Vietnam.'

'Evie's alright. If she said she'd wait I'd believe her.'

_Shit... I've never thought like this about a girl before._ Michael's grin turned to a smile, the smile radiated through his body.

Michael shook his head. He had felt lust before and he thought he had felt love before, but never with the intensity that he felt washing over him now.

*

The distant clouds transformed into a glorious crimson display. Orange beams of sunlight rushed forward skimming off the gentle swells of the pacific and into the Burleigh Heads caravan park.

'Bloody sun,' Evie murmured, dragging the blanket over her shoulder and face. _Friggen sunrises._ She sat up and flicked the sun visor down hopping for more protection. 'Shit!' She slumped back down on the fully reclined seat. The uncomfortable position brought forward a volley of mumbled obscenities.

Michael slept peacefully. His conscious and unconscious worlds paralleled in excitement.

Russell's world was different. He had fallen asleep dreaming about his future marriage to Beth. _We're so right for each other. I love her... she has this..._ Russell's dream was being ambushed. A ticklish intruder was interfering with his wholesome imagination.

'What?' He murmured feeling a heavy object rubbing across his face. 'I can't breath.' Russell had to focus hard staring at Michael's arm draped across his chest and face. 'Get off!' He picked up Michael's wrist and flung the arm back hitting Michael in the face with his own hand.

'No mum I can't,' Michael muttered, before turning over and falling back to sleep.

Russell crawled forward and struggled with the zip at the base of the tent, _Come on, come on, I gotta take a piss... finally._ Russell staggered outside and with a yawn, stretched skywards, 'Shit!' He grabbed his side, 'My ribs.' He lifted up his shirt to reveal a number of dark bruises from his fight with Michael. 'Bloody Mick,' he muttered.

While Russell inspected his wounds a small smile crept across his face, _I suppose they're a small price to pay for the truth to come out._ The secret he and Beth had been hiding for almost a year was finally out in the open. Russell still had to tell Beth's parents, but with Michael knowing Russell felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted.

'Hey Russ!' Evie called, watching Russell stumble into the bushes to the sounds of sticks breaking.

'I'll be back in a minute.'

_Taking a leak I bet._ Evie bent down next to the fire and blew on the embers. Little squares of charcoal glowed red. _There ya go._ She snapped some twigs and within seconds the fire crackled into life.

'Morning Evie,' Russell yawned with a shiver and trampled out of the bushes.

'How cold is it!' she said, rubbing her arms.

Russell looked over at her; she was only wearing jeans and a singlet.

'I can tell,' he said, smiling as he turned back to look at the fire.

Evie looked down at her chest and instantly knew what he meant. 'Cheeky bugger.' She pushed his shoulder and crossed her arms, covering her two 'temperature gauges'.

Russell smiled at his suggestive comment and Evie's embarrassed response. He added some wood to the fledgling fire and thought about how he was going to phrase his next question, a question he wouldn't normally ask a best mate's future girlfriend. 'Evie...?'

Evie was busy brushing her hair, ready for when Michael woke up. 'What is it, pervert?' she quipped, knowing how her comment would make Russell blush.

'Evie I want to ask you a _serious_ question.'

'So _serious!_ ' Evie mocked Russell's attempt at questioning her with a deep voice.

'I _am_ serious,' Russell turned and looked Evie in the eye, 'How much do you like Mick?'

Evie stopped smiling and put her arm around Russell's shoulder, making him feel instantly uncomfortable. 'Is Michael's little boyfriend jealous?'

'Evie!' Russell shrugged off her arm and felt a pain shoot through his side.

'Settle down ya big girl.' Evie went back to brushing her hair. 'Course I like him. I like him a lot.' She smiled at the memory of their first kiss.

'I just don't want Mick worrying about girl stuff. You know?' Russell cracked half a dozen eggs on the hotplate and surrounded them with bacon.

Evie shook her head at Russell's overprotective comments and muttered, 'Girl stuff?'

'Ahhrrrh!' Michael yawned and stretched inside the tent. _That smells fantastic... I wonder if Evie's awake?_

Evie heard him stirring and poked her head in the small opening undetected. _I'll just sneak inside... then when he's not expecting it, I'll --_Evie launched herself towards Michael unsuspecting body.

'JESUS!' he yelled. 'My NUTS!' Michael curled up in pain from a direct hit from knee to groin.

'What's wrong?'

'You kneed me... in the...' He managed through gritted teeth. 'you know... in the...?'

Evie's smile quickly turned to laughter. 'Sorry.'

'What is it with girls finding that funny?' Michael groaned.

'I'm really sorry.' She fought the desire to laugh and tried to comfort him with a kiss instead; under any other circumstances he would have jumped at the chance. The combination of nausea and Evie's body weight wasn't the desired aphrodisiac she was hoping for. Michael grunted and pushed her away.

She rose to her knees and stared at his grumpy face. _Look at him complain. One minute his all over me, the next he doesn't want a bar of me._ Evie smiled, _This oughta be fun._

'Here I am in your tent and all ya want to do is complain.'

_What?_ He took a couple of deep breaths to will the pain away. He leant forward and supported himself on his elbows, still wrapped in his sleeping bag and blanket. The orange tent glowed in the morning sunlight, bringing out the copper highlights in Evie's hair and throwing a subtle radiance across her cheeks. _She gorgeous,_ Michael thought, __ momentarily forgetting his pains; he gazed at her impish smile, speechless in the presence of her beauty.

'What's wrong Mick?' _Poor guy can't even speak. I must of really done some damage._ She looked him up and down. _Being a man must hurt in these situations_. 'Did I hurt your thingy?'

He wasn't sure how to respond.

'Too bad then,' she said, smiling as she slowly backed out of the tent.

'What do you mean, "too bad"?' Michael was now thinking aloud. 'Dammit.' _I've stuffed up again._ He didn't realise it was Evie being Evie, teasing and tempting to increase the tension and passion to a point of explosive pleasure, or pain. She didn't do it to torment, it was simply in her nature.

Michael got on his hands and knees to crawl out after her, but fought with the zip on the sleeping bag, which he had somehow jammed halfway open.

Evie emerged from the tent, winking at Russell as she passed. Russell could hear Michael's groans as he escaped the clutches of his cramped accommodation. He slowly stood up. _Aahh! My nuts._ Michael grabbed his crotch and limped past Russell.

'What's wrong with you?' Judging by Evie's wink Russell suspected she and Michael had fooled around. 'You get lucky, did ya?'

Michael shook his head and hobbled towards the toilet block without uttering a word.

Russell wasn't sure what had just happened and hastily returned to his cooking duties, busying himself with making French toast from the leftover eggs. The small hotplate was full of tempting offerings.

'Jesus Russ, where'd ya learn to cook like this?' Evie complimented making sounds with every bite.

'Just did.' Russell answered, guarding the real reason. 'Hey Mick!' he called, changing the subject and noticing Michael limping from the toilet block. 'Want some breakfast?'

Michael stared back as though it was the worst question anyone had ever asked.

'Fair enough,' Russell said, 'more for us, hey Evie?'

*

Russell and Evie made quick work of breakfast and began packing the car for the long trip home. It was a tight fit to get everything in the small boot, which also had the extra factory fitted fuel tank taking up most of the space. Russell had meticulously organised every item to fit into its allotted position. Any mistake caused him to unpack and repack the offending items.

Michael had recovered from his painful wake-up call and had worked up the courage to tell Russell of his deal with Evie. _Here goes, I know he loves the car but he'll understand... I hope._ Whenever Michael drove the car he could sense Russell's watchful eye, monitoring the various instruments and gauges. Russell's constant overseeing was the cause of countless arguments between them. Russell would badger him with: 'Your foot's resting on the clutch' and 'You're revving it too high'. Michael casually walked over to Russell as though he was checking on Russell's preparation for the trip home.

'Hey Russ.'

'G'day Mick... ' Russell immediately suspected something was wrong from the way Michael held his shoulders, the hands in his pockets, the downward stare. _What's he done?_ Russell thought as he continued packing items into the boot.

'How's it going Russ, need a hand?'

_Need a hand?... Shit, he never offers to help unless he wants something._ Russell turned and looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. 'What have you done Mick?'

'I sort of promised something.' Michael looked down. 'I know I should have asked you first.'

Russell turned his attention back to packing items into the boot knowing he really didn't want to hear the rest of Michael's confession.

'I promised Evie she could have a drive... a drive of the Charger.' Michael waited anxiously for a response.

_I knew he'd do something like this._ Russell continued to pack objects into the boot with more force than was required.

'She's a good driver... I can tell.'

Russell glared at Michael. _I can tell! What an idiot!_ Russell mistakenly placed a small travel bag where he would normally place the tent bag, as soon as he realised the mistake he picked up the travel bag and threw it on the ground. 'JESUS, Mick!' Russell yelled.

Michael knew what was coming and had already prepared his defence.

Russell lowered his voice. 'You know we never got it insured.'

Both young men had been surprised by how much the insurance premium was going to cost. Just because the car had two doors, mag wheels, a racing engine and a reputation for ending up wrapped around power poles, they felt the insurance company was taking advantage of them.

'The slightest bit of damage and we're screwed.' Russell was serious; he had lied to Michael's father about getting insurance and had felt the guilt ever since. 'If this goes wrong you're--'

'It won't. Evie's been around cars her whole life and besides, I'll be right beside her.'

Russell knew how Michael's mind worked and wasn't going to risk their investment in the hands of Michael's latest love interest.

'Yeah, well,' Russell leant towards Michael, 'I'll be there as well.'

Michael tried not to show his disappointment at having a back-seat driver along on his romantic test drive. Despite the third person Michael still managed a smile at the thought of Evie struggling behind the wheel of the powerful car, requiring him to instruct her on the finer techniques of driving a 'man's car'.

*

With Russell at the wheel and a very talkative Evie in the back seat, the three friends headed off in search of a suitable test-drive venue. Evie made up for everyone's silence. She continually leant forward supporting herself by holding onto the tops of both front seats. Her constant pulling on the black vinyl annoyed Russell to the point of infuriation, with every squeak he flinched.

'We have to find somewhere, where you're not gunna hit anything,' Russell instructed dryly.

'Ha, ha.' Evie sensed Russell's nervousness and was playing on it. 'You worried I'm gunna hit the gutter, or back into a fence, or slide--'

'Enough!' Russell could visualise every event Evie had casually described. 'Let's get this over with.'

After asking at a local service station for a suitable venue that promised the least possible risk, they were directed to a disused cricket pitch on the outskirts of town. The original green grassy surface was now an expanse of flat hard clay.

Russell pulled up to the edge of the old grounds and carefully drove onto the cricket pitch. _I don't know about this._ He brought the car to gentle stop and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

'Come on Russ,' Michael said, helping Evie out of the Charger.

_Shit._ Russell shot Michael a disapproving glance which Michael pretended not to notice.

The back seat was a tight squeeze for Russell. He was surprised how cramped it was; even when he sat up his head touched the rear window.

Evie sat on the driver's side, dwarfed by the large sports steering wheel, her legs too short for the seat setting. Russell had intentionally left the seat back as a silent protest.

She searched for the small adjuster to slide the seat forward, excited at the prospect of driving the latest and fastest muscle car. She reached for the seatbelt located high up behind her, struggling with the seat adjuster. 'How do you... move this thingy forward?' she snapped.

Russell wondered, _How's she gunna drive if she can't even figure out how to move the seat forward?_

'Here, I'll help.' Just as Michael had planned he was able to rescue his damsel in distress. He reached forward in front of Evie and lifted the small handle. 'Slide forward.'

She shot forward a full eight inches, forcing Michael's arm into the inside of her knee and up her inner thigh.

Evie smirked through her fringe, _You're a sexy one Mick, trying to feel me up like that_. 'Very smooth Michael,' she said with a smile and turned her attention back to the car.

Michael made his way round to the passenger's side, ready for the next opportunity to assist.

Russell sat quietly in the back seat observing Michael and Evie flirting. _For Christ's sake, pay attention to what youse are doing._

Michael instructed Evie on all the idiosyncrasies of the handling and performance, to which he, himself, had only just become accustomed. Finally Evie was settled in position and was ready to turn the key.

'Is it in neutral?' Russell called out.

Unbeknown to Russell and Michael, Evie had been driving since she was eight years old; anyone who grew up on a property learnt at an early age that if you were capable of helping, you did. Tractors, utilities, anything with wheels Evie could handle.

'How does this clutch thingy work again?' Evie teased.

Before Russell could respond she brought the engine to life. The dual exhaust crackled, amplifying the raw power of the car, a car that would one day hold the title, for over thirty years, as the 'fastest-accelerating production car in Australia'.

Evie put the car into reverse and began to move backwards, she wasn't used to the heavy-duty clutch and unceremoniously stalled the engine. All the excitement leading up to her first drive disappeared in an instant shudder.

Michael and Russell remained quiet, with the exception of a 'told you so' sigh escaping from Russell. Undeterred she turned the key a second time and wasn't going to be caught again; the engine roared into life once more.

'I think she's jealous,' Evie strained to say over the idling engine.

'She?' Michael queried.

'Any car this sexy has gotta be a girl?'

Evie could tell instantly by the car's responsiveness that it was far more capable than the boys realised. She had grown up rough and ready and the boys were about to find out just how much 'ready' she possessed. She reversed the car, picking up just enough speed to turn the steering wheel and a millisecond later applied the handbrake, sending the nose of the car a full 180 degrees. No sooner had the car rotated than she let the handbrake off, changed gear and was driving across the old cricket pitch.

_What? Where?_ Russell didn't know front from back and kept looking over his shoulder, not sure whether they were moving backwards or going forwards.

Michael couldn't believe what had just happened.

'Whoa!' Where'd you learn to do that?' he blurted out over the grumbling engine.

'Oh that old trick, all farm girls can do that,' Evie replied with a sheepish grin as she sped across the dry cricket pitch.

The boys couldn't fault her driving skills: gear changes smooth, steering confident.

'This thing can handle,' she said, hurtling around the oval, her speed just fast enough to determine the vehicle's positives and negatives.

Russell sat nervously in the backseat observing Evie taming his vehicle with the courage of a lion tamer, when all along he wanted to yell at her to 'Stop the car!' He always instinctively expected the worst of any situation, whether it was love, work or the situation he now found himself in. It was his natural coping mechanism. The way Evie was handling his prized possession pressed all his pessimistic buttons. _No good can come from this_.

'These brakes are a bit hard.' Evie was cataloguing the car's minuses and pluses. 'Still a top unit though.' She grinned like a schoolgirl going to her first dance.

Michael smiled unashamedly. _She's so intoxicating, beautiful doesn't even come close. Look how alive she is... I think I'm --_

'Mind if I see how she handles under counter-steer?' Evie wanted to see where the point of control would be lost, only then could she know how far to push the vehicle.

Both Michael and Russell were good drivers but only Russell knew what she intended to do. Michael, not wanting to damage his ego and admit his naivety, boldly announced, 'Sure. No problem.' Michael sat back in his seat waiting for the as yet unknown practical demonstration to begin.

Evie looked up momentarily in the rear-vision mirror to see a stony faced Russell staring straight back. _Mr cool ha? Hope ya brought some fresh undies._ She giggled to herself and accelerated hard.

She raced around the perimeter of the dry cricket pitch rapidly picking up speed and thus increasing the sharpness of the turning angle.

Michael's face began to show concern at the dilemma he now faced. _Do I ask what the hell's going on, and look stupid? Or do I let this crazy, sexy chick kill us all?_

Evie pushed the Charger faster and faster around the large flat field, she could feel the rear spoiler pushing the back of the car downwards, adding more traction to the tyres.

Suddenly, and as Evie had expected, the rear wheels started to slide sideways. She began to counter-steer the front wheels, in the direction they were travelling, increasing her acceleration again. The car was in a large, controlled power turn. The rear wheels spun wildly. The engine revved effortlessly, emitting a high-pitch induction roar that revealed its thoroughbred bloodline well and truly.

Russell struggled to maintain his composure with his upper body pushed hard up against the small side window. Michael's expression was a complete contrast however, he looked as if he was ten years old again and on his first roller-coaster ride.

Evie was in her element. Her auburn hair blew freely in the wind while she rode on the edge of control. She liked living dangerously: relationships, driving, whatever she was doing at the time. She didn't know why but it was the only time she ever felt truly alive, and at this very moment she was living at 5,000 rpm.

Evie had proven herself beyond competent, if not downright dangerous; she brought the car back under control and parked it in its original spot, as though it had never moved. Michael was first out, quickly followed by Russell. Evie sat in the driver's seat, reluctant to turn the engine off. _They're both outta the car... I could --_

'You're so good!' Michael said, beaming at Evie. He walked around the car looking at it, and the person who commanded it, with new-found respect. 'That was fantastic,' he said, walking around to the driver's side.

Evie looked up Michael's innocent eyes. Her hand still resting on the gear knob. _He's got no idea about me, but he gets me._ Evie stepped from the car.

Michael picked her up like a featherweight, spinning her around in the air. _You're everything I want girl._

'Put me down, you're makin' me crook,' Evie managed to squeeze out.

Michael slowly returned her to solid ground and immediately turned to Russell. 'How good was that?' Michael simulated Evie's driving with his hands, using his open hand to recapture the rear of the car sliding out as it went around the, now slightly worn, cricket pitch. He clapped his hands together the same way his mother did whenever she got excited.

Russell on the other hand was torn between suspicion and nauseated curiosity. _What's the chances of a chick like Evie, knowing how to drive like that? Sure she grew up in the country, but do they all drive like bloody lunatics, including the little old grannies?_

'Ooghh.' Russell gagged feeling his breakfast reappearing.

'Lookin' a bit pasty there mate,' Michael commented, at his friend's sudden change in complexion.

'I'm... fine... thanks,' Russell managed to say through compressing swallows.

Evie was still on a high from driving the most responsive car she had ever driven; the adrenaline had sharpened her senses. 'I'm starved, let's have an early lunch before we head off.'

Russell vomited a small amount of gastric juice into his mouth. _Oh shit!_ His eyes opened wide as he re-swallowed part of his breakfast. _That was close._

# Chapter 9

Evie and Michael sat at the small truck stop cafe laughing and touching hands while Russell checked on the car.

_I can't believe how understanding Mick is,_ Evie thought. _Most guys get intimidated by my driving_.

Russell was one of those men. It wasn't that he resented Evie's abilities, it was because he envied them. Michael, however, was full of praise and questions.

'Where'd you learn to drive like that?' Michael asked, gazing into Evie's eyes, wanting to know all her secrets.

Evie shrugged her shoulders. 'A bunch of us kids would do some bush bashing in whatever we could get going.' She was normally guarded about her past but wanted to tell Michael everything. _He makes me feel so comfortable in my own skin._ It wasn't what she expected from such a good-looking guy. She was breaking all her own rules.

She smiled to herself, remembering when she was thirteen years old, how she and a group of local teenagers would 'borrow' some of the townspeople's cars for some nocturnal road racing. The owners of the vehicles would wake to find their cars covered in dust and their fuel tanks almost empty.

'I checked the car,' Russell said, wiping his hands on a serviette and flopping down on the seat opposite them.

'Any damage?' Evie teased.

'Well... I...'

'Exactly.' She smiled. 'Ya stressin' over nothin' as always.'

Russell shrugged his shoulders and reluctantly agreed.

The trio finished their lunch and said their goodbyes to Surfers Paradise and all the adventure they had experienced. As he drove out of the tourist town Michael smiled at the large sign that indicated with obvious detail that they were leaving. 'Thank you for staying. See you next time,' it read.

Michael and Russell took turns driving, ignoring Evie's constant offers to share the driving with them. Russell still felt fearful about what had happened the last time she drove and was reluctant to let her behind the wheel. For him, it was bad enough that they had decided to spend the night at a pub no one had heard of, on a road even fewer people had driven on. Evie had been insistent that it was a 'top spot' to spend the night and offered the best steak in the country. With the promise of good food and cheap beer the boys agreed, on one condition, that they make an early start on their final journey home.

Evie offered to drive the final two hours to the pub and, with the compromise that Michael had to sit in the back seat, Russell agreed. Russell kept a close eye on Evie's driving and was prepared to intervene at the slightest indiscretion. After an hour of peaceful driving he began to relax. He tolerated Evie and Michael's constant flirting via the rear-vision mirror, a wink here, a kiss there, it motivated him to look at the distant setting sun and wonder how long until he tasted this so-called 'best steak in the country'.

Evie had driven on this local road plenty of times before and knew that the small town ahead would be a good source of light entertainment. _This'll be funny._ She approached the centre of the sleepy town and changed down a gear. A loud exhaust note resonated off the surrounding buildings. The deafening noise even caught Evie by surprise, but the sound made Michael and Russell jump out of their skins.

'Christ Evie!' Russell said sitting up to attention. 'You promised not to do any fancy driving.'

'Technically it wasn't driving.' Evie attempted to look innocent but she too was surprised at the loudness of her prank. The silver Charger and its occupants punched through the town to a chorus of barking dogs, violently woken from their slumber.

The dogs continued their barking while the intruder escaped into the darkness. Their howls gradually changed as another sound joined the chorus, a high-pitched siren, slowly building in volume to match the sound of a high-revving V8 engine.

*

Michael and Evie laughed at the thought of the town's occupants jumping to their feet, the deafening roar of the engine startling the folk who had settled in for the night.

'Just imagine some old codger taking a dump and shittin' himself twice,' Michael suggested, laughing at the mental image.

'Or some bloke painting his model train and smearing paint all over the side,' Evie added. He laughed at her joke even though he thought his comment was funnier.

'Or what about some poor old lady havin' a heart attack. That'd be fucken hilarious, wouldn't it?' Russell said, dampening the mood.

Evie looked ahead trying not to laugh at Russell's over-the-top statement. The harder she clamped her lips together the funnier his comment became. Michael began to snigger, thinking he was the only one who found Russell's outburst funny. Evie was the first to break her silence. She burst out laughing, 'Russ you're a funny bugger.'

'Mate, you're making my guts hurt.' Michael added, wiping his eyes.

'What?' Russell looked at Michael and Evie sharing a laughing fit. 'What's so funny?' A smile crept across his face without him knowing the reason why.

Evie continued to chuckle until she noticed a light flickering in the rear-vision mirror.

'You, Russ.' Michael repeated Russell's attempt at seriousness. 'That'd be fucken hilarious.' Michael again laughed at Russell's delivery.

'Shit!' Evie interrupted.

Russell looked over at Evie with a smile still on his face only to see a flickering light reflecting on hers. Michael looked over his shoulder at the fast approaching police car that was still a good mile behind.

'You better pull over.' Evie didn't acknowledge Michael's request. 'Better to cop the fine. I'll pay it.'

Russell waited, staring at Evie's transfixed expression, waiting for her to acknowledge his friend's offer, but it wasn't the response he expected.

'Come on Evie, just pull over, we'll get a ticket and keep going,' Russell added.

'I would,' Evie said with a sheepish smile, 'if I had a licence.'

Russell sat in silence staring at Evie who wasn't being distracted by his questions. He looked back at Michael then again at Evie. 'What?'

'Don't worry,' Evie said with a businesslike stare, 'the way this car's set up it's not gunna be a problem.'

'What's not gunna be a problem?'

'Outrunnin' this cop.'

Russell didn't have time to think. _Is she jo --_Evie flattened the accelerator. All three were slammed back in their seats. Within seconds the car was approaching one hundred miles per hour. The dark bitumen blurred as they hurtled through the night. The white lines on the road seemed to join in one continuous measure of speed.

_What the hell's she doin'?_ Russell wondered, his fate now dependent on Evie. _I could grab the wheel but I'd probably kill us all._

_Shit, it's a 'Special'._ Evie knew what was fast approaching from behind. Her rapid acceleration had only prolonged the inevitable. Her pursuer was a sheep in wolves' clothing. What appeared to be a standard family Ford Falcon was in actual fact a custom-built highway-pursuit special. This white crusader was almost identical to what tore around the racetracks of Australia. It had to be; what other way could you catch a criminal while carrying a couple of burly cops?

Evie continuously monitored the rear-vision mirror while watching the dark road ahead. She knew the country roads well and licked her lips with anticipation. She had a plan.

The pursuit special approached at over 120 miles per hour. Equipped with its race-bred, 5.8-litre V8, it hurtled through the cool night air like a predatory hawk. The blend of siren and high revving engine bellowed through the hillside. Frightened rabbits crisscrossed the paddocks scared half-to-death.

Evie's concentration was intense. She gripped the steering wheel and repositioned herself in the seat. Slowly, she let pressure off the accelerator. Slowing the car just enough that no one noticed the reduction in speed, including her pursuer.

Michael looked out the rear window at the fast approaching lights and sirens. The high speeding pursuit special appeared to be only seconds from impact. Michael had never been in a situation like this before. _Look at her. She's so calm... she's... I think she's done this before._

Michael didn't have long to consider his predicament; again Evie had surprised them all. 'Hang on.'

_Hang on!_ Russell thought. _Hang onto what?_

Evie threw the gearlever into third and accelerated, turning sharply to the left. Russell's mouth dropped open at the prospect of ending up smashed into a fence post or tree. To his astonishment, in the swaying headlights, a side road appeared out of nowhere.

Evie's timing was so precise, so daring, that the police car accelerating towards her had no option but continue in a straight line, almost losing control at over one hundred miles per hour.

Drawing on all his years of experience, the officer studiously applied and released the brake, to maintain control, eventually bringing his car to a screeching halt. He drew in a long, deep breath and released his death-grip on the wheel, quickly checking the rear-vision mirror for his quarry. He whipped around in disbelief. It had gone! The flash of silver had disappeared into the night.

*

'JESUS CHRIST!' Russell yelled at the night, his complexion paler than usual, his nerves shattered. 'Stop the car. Stop the FUCKEN CAR!' Russell bellowed.

In the back seat, Michael sat stunned by the reckless driving display, but also by his best friend's yelling. 'Stop the car Evie, Russ's right; pull over.'

Evie kept a close vigil in the rear-vision mirror ignoring her friends' commands.

'Evie!' Michael urged again.

'Keep ya socks on, I'll pull over as soon as I'm sure I've lost the cop or we'll all end up in the lockup.'

She pulled up to a dark four-way intersection pausing only long enough to view all directions before turning her lights off. She slowly drove down one of the unsealed roads in an attempt not to disturb the road surface.

'Just pull over, will ya?' Russell's voice had returned to normal but he was desperate to get out of the car and when Evie still refused to stop he reached over and grabbed the wheel.

'Fine!' Evie applied the brakes content that the pursuit was over. She didn't have much choice anyway with Russell's forceful grip on the wheel.

She stopped on the side of the road and gracefully exited the car. Her emotions were running high under her cool exterior. She couldn't contain her excitement any longer and jumped up in the air. 'Oh Yeah! How close was that? I haven't done that for ages.'

'Close to being caught or dying?' Russell snapped, pacing around the car in an attempt to settle his nerves.

Evie ignored Russell's comment, realising she had to start doing some explaining. She walked to the side of the road and stretched her hands high into the moonlit sky cracking her knuckles. She gently rolled her head around in an attempt to release some tension.

Michael clambered out of the back seat to find Evie's outstretched figure bathed in moonlight. The mixture of adrenaline and his feelings for Evie almost overpowered Michael with desire. The sight of her arched body outstretched in tight jeans and singlet made him want Evie like he had never wanted any woman before.

Evie slowly opened her eyes to find Michael 'admiring the view'. 'Like what you see?' she said, flicking her hair away from her eyes.

'Love what I see,' Michael replied, passion glowing in his.

Michael couldn't blink. He didn't want to miss one second of Evie slicing her way towards his heart. _She's got me and she knows it._ His heart raced at the sight of this enchanting woman who had stumbled into his world. Neither Evie nor Michael paid any attention to Russell complaining in the background. They were only aware of each other's bodies, which were almost touching.

'Where's the keys? Who's got the bloody keys?' Russell was looking inside the car where the keys should have been dangling from the ignition. 'Evie!'

Evie turned to see Russell marching over to her with his hand held out. Evie bent over and stared at Russell's waist as he marched towards her. 'Ya got any?'

Russell came to a stop only a few feet from her, puzzled by her question. 'Got any what?'

'Balls. I can't seem to see any.' Evie pretended to scan Russell's crotch.

He reacted instinctively and turned sideways as though Evie could see straight through his jeans.

Michael began to laugh at the joke and Russell's confused expression.

'Nah. Can't see any,' Evie taunted.

'What are you laughing at? She nearly killed us back there.'

'Relax Russ,' Evie said, dismissing Russell's anxiety; she was attempting to deflect attention from herself by attacking him, and it had worked.

'Come on guys,' Evie said, dangling the keys from her fingers, 'let's get to the pub.'

Russell sensed an opportunity and snatched the keys from her hand. 'Not the way you drive; I'll drive, thanks very much!'

Evie quickly raised her fist, making Russell flinch. Instead of striking him she pulled a sad face and wiped away pretend tears.

'Well, boo hoo to you too,' Russell said, realising that was a pathetic attempt at retaliation.

Evie climbed into the rear seat, quickly followed by Michael, who was eager to spend time with her in the snug, if not cramped area of the back seat.

Russell made sure they didn't get too carried away by asking detailed directions to the pub every few minutes. He was counting the hours until they got home to Sydney.

'That's a big pub for the middle of nowhere?' Russell noticed the pub's lights in the distance and was surprised by its size.

'Cause of the trade routes,' Evie answered, feeling distracted by Michael's hand slipping off her shoulder and heading towards her breast.

'There's a spot right in front--'

'Not here.' Evie interrupted Russell when he pulled up in front of the hotel. 'Go round the back... just in case.'

_Just in case? Jesus!_ Russell knew she meant that the police might do 'a drive-by' and spot their car. Nothing surprised him anymore about Evie.

Evie and the boys made their way up the front stairs. Evie's body language was confident, her chin held high. The boys' was the opposite.

'Where's the dunny?' she asked tapping the bar.

'Around to the left sweetheart.' The publican smiled, his eyes tracking down to her breasts.

'I'll be right back guys, get ya'selves some beers.'

The barman raised an eyebrow at Michael and Russell. 'That's a nice bit of crumpet you're nockin' around with.'

_What a prick._ Michael felt his temper rising. _I'll fix this --_

'Two schooners thanks mate.' Russell sensed Michael's anger. He waited until the publican walked away to pour their beers then whispered, 'Take it easy Mick.'

'Did ya see what he was doing?'

'Yeah I did, but we're strangers here.' Russell looked around the crowded pub hoping no one would bother them. The crowd was bigger than he liked to be around.

'Here ya go fellas.' The publican delivered two cold beers. 'Anything else?'

'Is it too late to order some steaks?' Russell asked then took a sip of his beer.

'Not at all son, and might I add they're the best t-bones this side of Casino.'

'Fantastic... we'll have three then.'

*

White gravel crunched under the weight of a large white sedan that parked directly in front of the pub's stairs. It sat stationary with the large V8 engine growling at idle. The driver wasn't concerned in the slightest that everyone would have to walk around his vehicle, because he knew no one would complain.

The engine eventually came to a well-earned rest and the driver's door opened. A large polished size-twelve boot crunched down on the loose gravel. The owner of the black boots spun round slowly and walked, not to the front steps but to the pub's rear car park. Without changing pace he walked directly up to the side of Michael and Russell's car and paused briefly before continuing up the stairs and through the rear entrance of the hotel.

*

'Evie scared the shit out of me back there,' Russell said, twisting on his bar stool.

'I wonder what she's doing?' Michael said and scanned the crowded room.

'Relax will ya.' Russell smiled taking a gulp of beer. 'I'll tell you one thing that's for sure... she won't be driving the Charger again?'

The two men clinked their beers together and sipped their cold ales, they stared ahead at their reflection in the large mirror that ran the length of the bar. From their position they could view all the other patrons in the bar area without being noticed, or so they thought.

Michael was busy checking his own reflection and hoped that Evie would soon return. _I gotta get her alone. This is our last night together and I know she feels the same._

Michael lifted his drink up high to get the very last of the cool beer and waited for the final drop to trickle out of the glass. Licking his lips he placed it back down and looked up at his own reflection, but something was blocking the view of the bar area behind him.

A large figure in a clean pressed blue shirt stood close behind them. The man's enormous forearms led to clenched sledgehammer sized fists. He was so large that his head was obscured, the mirror not high enough to capture his full height.

_Ah shit!_ Michael instantly recognised the uniform and looked down at the bar in submission. He knew the police officer was there for them.

The officer realised that he had 'his persons of interest's' attention and spoke with a deep hard-earned authority. 'Which one of you pricks owns the silver Valiant?'

Russell turned and looked directly into a chest of blue. He quickly looked up in horror and gagged on his beer. The man in his fifties looked like a statue made from solid granite. Silence fell on the crowded pub, the juke box ironically played Elvis Presley's 'County Jail'.

Two large hands gripped the boys by the scruffs of their necks. 'Come on you two. Out front.' Michael and Russell were lifted off their seats and marched towards the entrance. The crowded bar began to jeer at the young men and the angry sergeant.

'Job 'em Bill.'

'Get stuck into 'em.'

The sergeant seemed to tighten his grip with every taunt from the mob. He pushed Michael and Russell down the flight of five steps, Russell just managed to keep his balance but Michael fell heavily just missing the sergeant's police car.

Michael turned and looked up at the sergeant, standing at the top of the stairs. _He's the biggest bastard I've ever seen._

The sergeant walked down the stairs removing his holster and handcuffs. 'Take these Ted.' He threw them to the hotel cook; who looked as though he had performed this role many times before.

'I nearly KILLED myself CHASING YOU PRICKS!' the sergeant bellowed, glaring from one to the other in deliberation. _Which one of you arseholes wants it first?_

Russell and Michael glanced at each other knowing instinctively what was about to happen. Michael always defended his best friend when he was threatened. Michael raised his fists, which only infuriated the sergeant.

*

_Where is everyone?_ Evie thought stepping out of the bathroom. She picked her way over to the bar, between the empty bar stools.

'Back off!' She heard from outside. _Was that Russ?_

'Oh shit!' Evie caught a glimpse of all the action outside through the large front windows, _It's the guys!_ She raced down the stairs and straight between Michael and the sergeant.

'Stop it!' She pushed her hands up between their faces.

The sergeant looked down at this small figure attempting to hold back the man mountain. 'Who are you, missy?'

'I'm with them.'

'Move.' The sergeant forced her out of the conflict zone. 'I'll deal with you later.'

Quick as flash Evie snuck back in between them to protect Michael.

'Don't test me girl,' the sergeant growled, forcing her from the melee again. The hotel cook attempted to restrain her while the burly police officer readied himself to hand out an even more frustrated punishment.

She spun out of the cook's loose grip, her aim was precise, her delivery was swift. 'Thwack!' Evie's size seven boot impacted solidly in his groin sending him earthbound.

'Fu-uck!' the cook cried out clutching his crotch.

'The crowd of onlookers burst out laughing at the squirming man.

'Don't touch Mick.' Evie whirled round and tried to jump onto the sergeant's broad back but landed short of her target, resembling a baby koala clinging to its mother.

With a swipe of his arm the sergeant sent her crashing onto the dusty gravel.

'Hey!' Michael was furious with the sergeant's rough handling of Evie.

'If she obstructs me from doin' my job once more she'll find herself in the lockup too.'

_I've gotta turn this around,_ Evie thought. _I wonder if..._ This time she rushed to stand between Michael and Russell. 'It's alright for him to go and fight for his country, but you're gunna beat him up anyway.'

Michael and Russell looked at Evie while keeping one eye on the crowd.

'What?' the sergeant said.

'Mick's going to Vietnam and _this_ is how you treat him.' Evie knew how much country people supported their soldiers, young and old. _Come on cop. I bet you'll turn._

'Is this true?' the sergeant asked with his large fists still clenched.

'Yeah. So what?' Michael wasn't sure where the conversation was going but responded proudly regardless.

The sergeant relaxed his hands and took a deep breath. He stared up at the clear night sky. Without blinking he turned and looked at the three friends standing like Captain Cook and his men surrounded by the natives.

'You two over by my car, hands on the bonnet.' The sergeant realised a lesser, but still painful, punishment would suffice.

_Oh shit..._ Evie knew what was coming. 'It'll be over in a minute.'

'In a minute?' Russell whispered anxiously to Michael, 'What's she on about?'

'Just go, it'll be okay,' Michael said, trying to stay calm.

' _Come_ on. Hands on the bonnet. I haven't got all night,' the sergeant said with an angry impatience.

'What's going on?' Russell asked. 'What's he do--?'

_Whack!_ A size-twelve shoe made painful contact with Russell's rear end, raising him an inch off the ground.

Michael turned to look at the cause of Russell's clenched teeth. Suddenly, a second size-twelve wrecking ball made direct contact with Michael's rear end. Michael and Russell shared a grimace.

'Let that be a lesson to ya. If ya hear a siren, _pull over_ ,' the sergeant barked before turning on his heel and striding back up the stairs into the hotel, followed by the rest of the excited crowd.

'You showed those city boys,' a man encouraged the sergeant. 'That'll make 'em think for a week,' another joined in.

'I'll shout ya both a beer.' Evie smiled apologetically, watching Russell and Michael trying to walk off the pain.

Michael's eyes watered from the unexpected punishment. 'Is that it? Can we go?'

'That's it,' she said, shrugging her shoulders.

'Did you know... he was going to do that?' Russell asked through gritted teeth.

She could only nod.

Russell was tired, sore and angry at receiving punishment for someone else's crime. 'Let's get out of here.' He turned to walk towards the car.

'We can't go yet.'

Both men stared at Evie. 'And why not?' they asked, almost in unison.

Evie paused briefly. 'We've gotta go in and have a beer with them or it would be rude.'

'RUDE?' It was Michael's turn to be dumbfounded.

'It's a country thing; I'll buy the first round, okay?'

Michael and Russell reluctantly limped towards the pub. Evie paused with her hands in her pockets. 'My money's in the car, give us the keys Russ.'

Russell just wanted to sit down, eat his steak and forget about the last twelve hours. 'Here, take this.' He opened his wallet to give her some cash but instead she grabbed the whole wallet and ran up the steps. 'Hang on!' Russell rushed forward. 'Shit!' He grabbed his rear. A stabbing pain zapped from his arse to his groin. 'Bugger it!' He waved Evie away and hobbled up the stairs behind her.

'I'll pay you back, promise,' Evie called over her shoulder.

Michael stopped and grabbed Russell's arm. 'You know, she saved our arses back there.'

'Yeah I kno--Hang on, if she'd pulled over straight away she wouldn't have had to save our arses in the first place.' Russell winced. 'And anyway... my arse doesn't feel too saved anyway.'

'It's not that bad--' Michael froze when he took his first step. A sharp pain reonated from his rectum. 'Jesus!' he cried and grabbed his bum.

'Thank your girlfriend for that,' Russell replied sarcastically.

Even though the pain was intense, in a place no one should feel it, Michael couldn't help but smile at the thought of calling Evie his girlfriend.

Russell and Michael tentatively poked their heads into the noisy pub.

'Here the _bastards_ are!' a man cheered with a smile.

'Good on ya boys!' another man called.

More hearty welcomes and pats on the backs followed while the boys made their way through the packed pub towards Evie.

'Jeez Mick,' Russell whispered, 'these blokes change their minds like the wind.'

'There you are.' Michael smiled finding Evie just sitting down at a small table with four schooners of beer.

Russell gingerly sat down. 'Whose the fourth drink--'

'Thanks for the beer fellas.' the sergeant said and pulled out a chair.

Evie winked at the boys, who realised Evie's smart ploy of buying the sergeant a beer. The policeman sat down at the table, taking a mouthful of beer and signalled to the publican's wife. 'Four more love.' He turned back and winked at the trio. 'It'll be impossible to get some fresh ones the way this place fills up.'

'Sorry about ya steaks boys,' the woman in her fifties said, 'the cook stuffed up when he was out front watching the show.' She blew a loose piece of hair from her face. 'It'll be another twenty minutes.'

Michael and Russell nodded not really in the mood for food.

'Come on. Drink up,' the sergeant said over the noise in the pub.

Russell shook his head at Michael in disbelief and smiled. The two friends lifted their glasses and tried to match the sergeant's pace. No sooner had they sculled their ice-cold drinks than two more magically appeared. Russell couldn't help but stare at the big man in full uniform drinking schooners of beer.

The sergeant could sense Russell's curiosity and didn't like his implied judgement. The country cop finished his second glass of beer in as many minutes and slammed the glass down hard on the timber table. 'Ahhh, that's better.'

Russell finished his second beer. _I can't keep this up, I'll be pissed in minutes._

The sergeant felt a little more relaxed after a few beers. The high-speed pursuit now took on a different perspective. He leant over and slapped Russell on the back sending him forward. 'Four more love,' he called to the bar again. 'What's your names?'

Russell had begun to relax, his anxiety had slowly disappeared. Despite the sergeant's formidable presence Russell strangely respected the tough country cop. 'My name's Russ. This is Mick. And this is--'

'Cheryl,' Evie interrupted.

Russell's eyes widened at her lie. The sergeant leant forward and shook both young men's hands. 'I'm Bill, Bill Mason, but everyone calls me Sarge.'

Their hands felt like children's wrapped in his massive grip.

Sarge turned to Evie. 'You from around here Cheryl, you look familiar?'

'Nah. I'm up from Sydney with these two trouble makers.' Evie took a gulp of her beer and looked away.

The sergeant turned his attention back to the boys, particularly Michael. 'When do you go over son?'

'Just under a week,' Michael replied. Saying it out loud brought home the finality.

Evie didn't feel comfortable around the sarge. He may have been having a social beer but he was always collecting information. She stood up and grabbed Michael's hand. 'Come on, the pool table's free.'

Evie dragged Michael over to the pool table just as four fresh schooner of beer plonked on the table.

'Look at that,' Sarge said, staring down at the two beers that Evie hadn't managed to drink. 'We better get rid of these as well.'

Not wanting to disappoint his armed drinking buddy Russell downed his third schooner of beer. Halfway through he gagged and coughed his beer back into its glass.

'Jesus Russ, take it easy. Don't go wasting it.'

Russell belched and clunked his glass on the table.

'It was your mate drivin', wasn't it? Mick. It was him the bugger?'

Russell had to consciously construct his sentence now that the beer was taking effect. 'Yeah. He sure can... drive.' Russell sipped his beer looking over at Evie and Michael playing pool. If he didn't turn away immediately he was sure the sergeant would spot the lie.

Evie bent over the table lining up her shot, she could tell Michael was watching her. _I know you're looking at my boobs._ She struck the ball and smiled devilishly up at Michael. Evie brushed past his body lining up her next shot. _God, he feels good._

Michael watched her seductively chalk the cue. _She's so sexy, I need to be with her._ He swallowed nervously. The room suddenly felt warm. The pain from sarge's punishment seemed to have vanished.

Evie brushed past Michael again, but this time she lingered feeling his breath on her neck. What had started as a way of getting away from the sarge, had turned into something else, something she couldn't help from happening.

*

_Jesus... this room's lookin' funny,_ Russell thought, steadying himself against a table. He had given up on matching the sergeant's pace. _Christ, how many has he had?_

'You're a good lad,' the sergeant blurted out between gulps.

'Thanks... Sarge.' It didn't feel right calling the policeman by his nickname but the alcohol had stripped Russell of his inhibitions. Both men began to fall under the spell of the amber fluid as they finished their umpteenth beer.

'That mate of yours,' the sergeant said, clicking his fingers for Michael's name. 'Mick! He's a good bloke too.'

'He is. The best. He's my best mate.' Russell and Sarge raised their glasses in a muddled toast to Michael and to mateship in general.

Russell burst out laughing as he looked over at the pool table.

'What's so funny?' Sarge asked.

'Uh... him and... her,' Russell had momentarily forgotten his best friend's name despite just having toasted him seconds before. 'They're gunna do it, look at 'em.'

The sergeant turned and watched with a smile as Evie and Michael kissed passionately against the pool table. 'Yep. He's gunna sink the sausage, that's for sure.'

They laughed at their observations. In less than ten minutes, and with the help of alcohol the two strangers had bonded. A sergeant from the bush, and a bloke from the city liked each other.

*

_My God! Her lips are so soft_. Michael was lost in a wave of love and lust, oblivious to the world around him.

_He's... he's... he's beautiful._ Evie's lips parted. She looked into the eyes of a man she had always wanted but never knew existed until this very moment. 'Let's get out of here.' Her words were soft but direct.

He smiled and took her hand; the two of them made their escape, out through the side door, and around to the car park.

'Where we going?' Michael asked, opening Evie's door.

'I know a place. Just get in and drive.'

Michael drove with one eye on the road and one on the seductive Evie, only once thinking that this was the same sort of situation that caused the last accident.

Evie placed her hand on Michael's thigh and slowly traced her fingertips across the rough denim thinking of what was to come. 'Turn left down here,' she instructed, her heart beginning to race with anticipation.

Michael drove a short distance down a steep unsealed road, the headlights illuminating old gum trees that were thickly grouped together.

'How do you know about this place?' Michael was now taking more care as he drove through the meandering forest.

'I use to stop and go for a swim here.'

He pulled up alongside a large bushy tree, the headlights glinting over a slow-moving river.

'What's next?' Michael teased as he turned the engine off.

Evie leant forward, her lips puckered. Michael also leant forward but at the last minute she pulled away and opened the door before slipping outside.

'Evie!' Michael called out in frustration. 'Where ya going?'

It seemed that he was never able to get close enough to this mysterious young woman. Michael wrestled with the seatbelt, trying to get out of the car to find out where she had gone. He soon realised as he walked to the front of the car. _God!_ Now it was his heart's turn to race. Facing him was an image that he would carry to the end of his days. There by the water's edge was Evie. Her naked beauty caught the pale-blue glow of the moonlight, looking like a perfect sculptured piece of art. Michael was speechless at the sight of a woman he didn't just lust for, but for the woman he could, without a doubt, declare his love for.

'What are ya waitin' for?' Evie said and turned towards the water. She smiled knowing Michael hadn't blinked once since getting out of the car.

Michael didn't need a formal invitation and ripped his shirt off. His bruised bottom seemed like a distant memory.

'Hurry up; I'm getting lonely out here,' Evie called, as she slowly swam backstroke, teasing Michael with every piece of moonlit flesh. Michael struggled with his shoelaces eventually pulling his boots off and sprinting towards the water.

_Look at his body._ Evie smiled waiting for his touch. She enjoyed the sight of Michael's athletic body, splashing into the water, his muscles rippled with every movement.

Evie and Michael swam silently around each other, moving closer and closer until eventually their bodies touched. She giggled nervously with desire as their silky bodies embraced. Michael smiled at her joy and felt her smooth legs wrap around his waist. The lovers were oblivious to the cool water that surrounded them under the evening moonlight. Their hearts beating fast, bodies intertwined in the throws of passion, time insignificant, their futures unimportant, only the present was theirs to own.

*

Sarge's large bulk dwarfed Russell's presence at the table, if anyone had seen the two from the side the sergeant would have appeared to be drinking alone.

'You know,' the sergeant said, looking Russell in the eyes, 'you remind me of a mate of mine.' He paused then stared into his beer, contemplating a past event before downing another mouthful.

_I... can't keep... this up._ Russell managed, falling under the power of the alcohol. _How does this guy keep going... shit._ Russell raised his glass in a vain attempt to match the sergeant.

'He was a quiet bloke like you, a good mate, never let me down whatever the situation,' Sarge said, staring blankly at nothing in particular in the foreground.

'Where is he?' Russell asked innocently, not grasping the implication of Sarge's use of past tense.

'About six foot under, somewhere in Africa.' Sarge drained his beer to hide his emotions and signalled for two more glasses before his empty one touched the table.

Russell realised instantly that the sergeant's friend had died and sat there unsure of how to continue the conversation, which up until that point had been continuous.

'See this.' The sergeant pulled open his collar, revealing a small circular scar the size of a ten-cent piece between his chest and shoulder.

Russell studied the scar that appeared miniscule on his large barrel chest.

'What's it from?'

'A bullet. From a bullet hole, courtesy of a German sniper, the arsehole.'

'Doesn't look too bad,' Russell commented, immediately thinking, _What a stupid thing to say_.

The sergeant turned ninety degrees on his chair but this time pulled down the back of his collar. 'Take a look.'

Russell stood up to get a better view down the sergeant's shirt, instantly wishing he hadn't. To his horror Russell saw a mass of scar tissue and deformed flesh twenty times the size of the front scar.

'What caused _that?_ ' Russell asked, not sure if he really wanted to know.

'The bloody bullet comin' out.' The sergeant turned back to face the table and took a large gulp from the fresh beer that Russell didn't even see arrive.

_Why's he telling me all this? Is it because I look like his old dead mate or because Mick's going to Vietnam?_

'Me mate, Eric,' the sergeant said, struggling with his composure, 'he was standing right behind me when I got shot.' The sergeant took another sip and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 'The sniper was tryin' to kill us both, blew poor Eric's head to bits.'

Russell was quiet as the large man told his story. Sarge sat motionless in an attempt to remove the unimaginable from his mind. It was a companionable silence, Russell was also deep in thought, his own father had never talked of his experiences, not that Russell had ever asked him for fear of a beating.

He thought back to when he was only a boy, he would lie terrified in his bed listening to his father's screams in the dead of night, too frightened to investigate and not stupid enough to ask why. Russell watched the powerful man sitting opposite him displaying so much fragility, and then it struck him: _all_ men must hide their fears in one way or another. They continued to drink their beer in quiet contemplation before a small, but welcome, disagreement between patrons required the sergeant's intervention.

*

'How's that?' Michael asked, sliding back under the blanket in front of the campfire. 'It's not too hot is it?'

Evie shook her head and watched the flickering fire.

Michael gently pulled her body against his. 'You feel great.' Michael spoke his thoughts. 'Your skin's so smooth.' He moved his arms around her chest wanting to keep her warm. 'Isn't this a perfect night?' Michael gazed skywards. The stars dotted the heavens reflecting on to the glassy river.

Evie pushed back into Michael's chest. 'It's just like at home in the Hunter Valley.'

'The Hunter? I thought you came from Cronulla?'

_Shit --_'I do... of course I do. I... I grew up there, that's all.'

Michael gently turned Evie's face to his. 'I want to spend the rest of my life like this... with you.'

Evie smiled and pushed her head back onto his chest, all her senses seemed alive, the lapping of the river, the powerful fragrance of a sweet flower filling the air. 'Can you smell that?' Evie asked without lifting her head, neatly changing the subject.

Michael recognised the fragrance immediately. 'That's a frangipani tree, my parents have one. Pretty funny to find one out here though.'

She had always wondered what the flower looked like that gave off such an intoxicating scent.

Michael carefully sat up.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing. Stay here.'

Evie stared at Michael's body, the way the flames shadowed his chiselled chest, the tapper of his hardened back and shoulders. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the darkness. _No wonder I can't concentrate around him._

She pulled the blanket up over her body and around her face. _What's he up to?_

It had only been a few seconds before he returned to the warmth of the blanket.

'Here you go,' he said, holding a dozen frangipani flowers cupped in his hands. Evie leant forward and smelled the perfectly shaped white and yellow flowers. Michael gently tumbled them into her hands.

'What are...' Suddenly, two tears trickled from her eyes. Her thoughts froze in a moment of sadness and joy. It was the very first time anyone had ever given her flowers.

'Hey,' Michael smiled, 'They're nothing compared to you.' He took a single flower and placed it behind her ear.

She touched the flower and smiled. _What are you doing Mick? Don't do this if --_She felt her heart race. Her mind empty of thought. Raw emotion washed over her again.

Evie and Michael's lips met again as she moved onto his lap. 'Don't play games with me Mick.'

'I never would.' Michael stared into eyes that needed him.

The blanket slipped off and down over their warm skin, two bodies oblivious to the cold surrendered to their passion. Firelight flickered and danced across their skin, their two naked bodies became one under the watchful eyes of the heavens.

*

Russell had watched with amazement at how quickly Sarge had settled the dispute; he didn't know how he could even stand, let alone take on two rowdy men. The sergeant had instinctively targeted the larger of the two and, with an open hand, hit him across the back of the head. The shock of a sudden slap had brought the aggressor to his senses, swiftly. Within minutes both men were shaking hands and had returned to the bar. Sarge had decided the person at fault should buy the next round, which was ironic considering that was what their disagreement was about in the first place.

'Bloody brothers,' he explained when he returned to the table. 'Always fightin' with each other. You got a brother Russ?'

'Nah,' Russell replied, 'but Mick's... Mick's like my brother.'

The sergeant nodded as he took a sip from his glass.

'Well mate,' Sarge stared down at Russell, who expected to hear words of wisdom from a man who commanded such respect, 'Don't fuck it up!' He laughed loudly.

Russell was confused. _What did he mean, 'don't fuck it up'? Brotherhood? Life? What?_ But the sergeant had already pushed his chair back and was making his way over to another group of men. Russell looked around the room, even though it was full he felt completely alone.

Sarge turned and noticed Russ's sad and lonely stance. 'Ya coming or what?' he called across the room.

Russell stood up cautiously, careful not to lurch or trip, and eagerly joined the sergeant at the other table where he was introduced to the group of rowdy men.

'Fellas, this is Russ.' Sarge dropped his large hand on Russell's shoulder. 'He's a city bloke but I reckon he'd fit in round here no worries.'

Russell shook hands with five men but couldn't remember any of their names. He lost count of how much he had drunk, he laughed at stories which appeared to go from funny to hilarious the drunker he became. _If my brain... survives tonight, I'm not... gunna... drink for a month._

*

Evie and Michael had found their way into the car's comfortable front seats, now warm, clothed and more emotionally connected than ever before, their conversation was only interrupted by warm kisses and long gazes, deep into each others eyes.

'Tell me honestly,' Evie clasped Michael's hand, 'are you scared to go over?'

Michael wanted to answer her truthfully, he felt he could trust her with his life but he had to lie to protect her.

'Nah. I told you, I'm fixing bridges, roads, that sort of stuff.'

Evie wanted to believe him. Throughout her life things seemed to go from bad to worse whenever she was at her happiest. Her mother leaving when she was only six, her last boyfriend mysteriously disappearing in the dead of night and now, Evie had met a man, a man who was sincere and who connected with her on all levels. Michael had stumbled beautifully into her world at the worst possible time of her life.

She buried her head against his chest, she didn't want him to see her upset, but he knew her better than she thought.

'Hey, don't get all mushy on me.' Michael pulled his head back to look her in the eye. 'This night's too special.'

Evie looked into her lover's smiling face; she knew that something this special was worth fighting for, but it was going to have to come at a price.

Michael leant forward to gently kiss her lips; as he closed his eyes he heard a click followed by a 'Woops!' He opened his eyes to find her bucket seat fully reclined with her seductive body arched backwards. Evie smiled at the sight of his frozen puckered lips.

'What are you doin' up there gorgeous,' Evie asked as she summoned her lover with her eyes.

Michael smiled at her desire and stamina. _She's just like me._

'Come here Mick.' Evie unbuttoned her top with one hand and touched Michael's cheek with the other.

'I'm falling for you girl.'

'Shh.' Evie pulled Michael to her and ran her hands down his back.

Michael and Evie made love more times than they could remember, never more than an arm's length apart. Whether it was the finite realisation that they would soon be parted or the sexual tension of the previous week, the reasons didn't matter. Their lives were going in two different directions, but they had never felt closer to anyone in their lives, than one another.

They lay together on their sides, snuggled on the back seat quietly cuddling, their conversation flowing, openly and honestly. As Michael spoke Evie could feel his voice vibrating through his chest, it calmed her and gave her an overwhelming feeling of protection.

'I'm going to have a big family,' Michael announced, speaking his thoughts. Evie started to pay attention. 'Three sons and three daughters. You like kids don't ya?'

Evie felt uncomfortable with the question.

'I mean if you got pregnant... I'd do the right thing.' Michael was using the possibility to express his feelings and commitment to their fledgling relationship, but he wasn't doing a very good job.

Evie sat up, uneasy with the interrogation. 'Don't worry about it.'

'You're on the pill! That's good.' But Michael felt conflicted with his own attitude to birth control.

'I said don't worry about it, okay.'

Evie moved a little further away, as far as was possible in the cramped back seat.

Michael's mind raced, trying to interpret her answer.

'What do you mean? Abortion?' Michael was young, naive, he didn't understand Evie's life, the impossible choices she had to make. He had only ever known a loving family. 'I can't believe anyone could do... do that sort of thing.'

Evie could feel Michael's prejudice without looking at him. Her face went cold. 'Take me back,' _I knew this was wrong. Why did I... arrgh!_ She slipped on her singlet and jeans. The evening's romance had come to a grinding halt.

'What?' Michael asked surprised. _What did I say? What..._ he had gone from lover to villain in the blink of her eye.

'Take me back or I'll drive.'

Evie pushed past Michael to crawl back into the passenger's seat, Michael wondered how the evening could sour so quickly, when only moments before they were wrapped in each other's loving arms. 'What's wrong? Can we talk about it?'

'TAKE ME BACK!'

'Take it easy! Jesus!' Michael pushed his own seat forward and opened the door before he could squeeze out.

What had seemed a short drive to the river was painfully long and silent back to the hotel. _She won't even look at me._

Michael pulled into the car park. 'Look, whatever I did--'

Evie didn't wait for him to stop.

'Evie!' Michael called, skidding to a stop as she sprang from the car.

_Pop was right, he's always bloody right._ She stomped across the gravel towards the hotel.

'We can talk about this, whatever I said I'm sorry.' Michael watched helplessly as she marched up the stairs and into the silent pub.

'Shit!' Michael sighed, tapping his fingers on the roof.

'Where have you been?' Russell's voice spoke from the darkness.

Michael turned to see Russell walking from a large timber building that neither of them had noticed when they had arrived.

Michael held his hands up. 'I fucked up.'

'You opened your mouth, didn't you?'

'She hates me for some reason.'

Russell was feeling a little more sober after abandoning any attempt to keep pace with the sergeant's drinking. He knew he was still in for a bad headache but didn't want to jeopardise their early start for the long journey home. He walked carefully towards Michael, trying to disguise his drunken state. 'Come on mate; let's get some sheep, sleep, I mean.' Russell smiled at his mistake. 'You can make it up to her in the morning.'

'I should say something to her. Say I'm sorry or something.'

'What are you sorry about?'

Michael opened his hands and raised them in frustration. 'I don't know.'

'Come on mate, we'll sort it out later.' Russell moved closer and placed his arm around Michael's shoulder, Michael recoiled at the smell of Russell's stale breath. 'You're pissed!'

'Oh yeah. Completely intoxa... intoxi...' Russell swallowed. 'I'm pissed.' He pulled Michael towards the timber building, which once housed shearers during the shearing season. The large shed hadn't been used for years but was now set up for male patrons too inebriated to drive.

'Where're we going?' Michael asked.

'To bed.'

'Why in this shed?'

''Cause. The men's beds are in there.'

Michael wasn't going to get much more sense out of his drunk friend and reluctantly followed him into the dark structure.

'I love ya Mick.'

Michael stared at Russell as he stumbled inside. 'You _are_ pissed.'

# Chapter 10

The morning light snuck through the warped timber panelling that lined the old shed; it seemed to target Russell's face and he moaned in protest.

'I'm dying,' he groaned, turning away from the glare, his pounding headache dominating his thoughts.

Michael lay asleep on his sagging bed, a satisfied smile still plastered firmly across his face. Before falling asleep he had convinced himself that Evie would easily forgive him for whatever he had said to upset her.

Michael's eyes flickered open. Not sure at first where he was, the whole trip seemed to end with him waking up in a different room, caravan or tent each morning. Looking around at the large timber-floored room he counted at least twenty sleeping men stretched out in their beds. He soon remembered the night before. The passionate seduction by the river, the special moment by the fire, he smiled at not being able to count the many times they had made love.

Michael replayed their conversations in his head, trying to somehow find the origin of his mistake. Unable to find an answer he turned and whispered, 'Hey Russ.'

Russell could hear him but was in no mood for a discussion.

'Russ, Russ you awake?'

'Wha-a-t?' Russell muttered.

'Evie and me, you know.' As excited as Michael was about becoming romantically involved with Evie he didn't go into details. Through all the years Michael had been dating girls he had never felt a connection like this. The line between infatuation, lust and love had just become very fine. 'I think I love her.'

'Jesus! Go back to sleep you idiot.' Russell was in no condition to listen to Michael's declaration of love.

Michael was like a cat on a hot tin roof, he tossed and turned, squeaking in his rusty bed to the point of distraction until it was 6.30. He couldn't wait any longer. 'That's it! I've got to talk to her.'

Russell ignored him and continued to lie in silent suffering, he dared not engage his brain.

Michael found a small mirror above a washbasin in the shed and attempted to 'pretty' himself up for Evie. _You can do this, just nod every time she insults you._ He smiled confidently at his reflection. _You're letting your feelings stuff-up your thinking, take a breath Mickey boy._ Michael followed his own advice and took a deep breath before bounding out the front door.

An old man hosed down the front stairs of the hotel, his weathered face strained from the task. His morning job as the 'pub useful' wasn't a pleasant one, he swore continuously, scraping at the dry vomit stuck to the timber treads.

Michael walked up the steps past him. 'The pub's not open son,' the older man informed him, his teeth were yellow and his skin hung in folds from his face.

Michael peered through the window before answering. 'I'm looking for--' He realised the man wouldn't know who 'Evie' was. '--my girlfriend. She's about this tall.' He indicated with his hand.

The older man looked around and scratched his bristly chin, his memory not what it once was. 'Good sort? A brunette?' His memory wasn't bad enough to forget a pretty face.

'That's her.' Michael was eager for an update.

'Yep. I saw her.'

Michael had expected a little more information. 'And?' he asked, becoming exasperated.

The older man didn't like Michael's attitude and muttered a reply.

'I'm sorry mate, I didn't catch that.' Michael tried to concentrate on his response.

'She left before dawn I reckon. Four o'clock maybe; when I got here. Could have been earlier.'

'What?' Michael didn't think he was hearing the old man correctly and patiently probed him for more details. 'Left? With who?'

'All I know she was havin' car problems. She had the bonnet up and all, but she got it goin'.'

'Whose bonnet?'

'Her car, one of those beaut new Valiants, all silver and shiny.'

Michael looked up. He felt his blood run cold. His world began to move in slow motion as he turned to look behind him, at the spot where he had parked the Charger. He blinked a couple of times trying to process the unimaginable. Evie was gone and so was their car.

His heart began to race, he ran his hands over his face, wishing, hoping he would wake from this nightmare. Momentarily he thought Evie might be playing a cruel trick as pay-back. _She could've got some locals to push the car around back. She's probably fast asleep upstairs._

'Evie!' Michael yelled sprinting around the car park slipping a couple of times, eventually returning to the old man who was still cleaning the front steps.

'Did she say anything?' Michael's voice was full of desperation.

'Who?'

Michael slapped his thigh. 'You remember, the good sort in the silver car? Evie!'

The older man was flustered by all the interruptions. 'Uh, n-nah... Jus' said she was havin' car problems, and some truck drivers would give her a push down the road... to get it going, I think...' The old man was unsettled and rather vague, not confident of the details.

Michael walked out into the middle of the empty highway looking in both directions. _Maybe she's just getting back at me and soon she'll come driving casually down the road._

Michael's thoughts returned to the previous evening. _What did I say to piss her off so much? Why would she do this?_ The harder he tried to remember the more desperate he became. _Jesus girl, don't do this to me. Not when I'm feeling like this... how you're feeling._

*

_Christ..._ It wasn't Russell's finest hour, his head pounded and any sound seemed to be amplified beyond reason. His attempt to keep pace with the sergeant's drinking had not ended well for this impressionable twenty year old. Russell sat on the edge of his bunk and watched with a sullen face as the sergeant shaved in front of a small mirror. Sarge cut an imposing figure in his black police trousers and white singlet. A neatly ironed shirt courtesy of the publican's wife hung on a rusty hook next to the mirror.

'Morning sunshine,' Sarge boomed once he noticed Russell was upright.

'Good...' Russell held his head, 'morning Sarge.'

Sarge paused his shaving. 'That's Sergeant to you, I'm on duty now.'

Russell nodded gingerly, unsure of the rules that went with country policing.

'Get this into ya.' Sarge pointed with his razor towards a large glass of tomato juice next to the washbasin. 'I had 'em bring you in one as well, it'll fix you quick smart. Just skol it.'

Russell had no reason to suspect anything sinister, he trusted Sarge implicitly. He tipped the glass up emptying the entire contents--tomato juice, Tabasco sauce and whiskey--straight down his gullet. Initially the combination didn't register; Russell gazed unsuspectingly at the sergeant until the dynamite cocktail suddenly took effect.

'SHIT!' Russell jumped up and bolted outside. He submerged his whole head under the tap, taking great gulps from it, in a vain attempt to put out the fire in his mouth. Russell's diet had always been mundane with the exception of the meals that Mrs Halias had prepared. He had never drunk whiskey or tasted Tabasco sauce.

Sarge walked over, turned the tap off and pulled Russell backwards like a rag doll. 'How do you feel son?'

Russell blinked and wasn't sure if he was still on planet earth. _Shit! I feel a little better._

'That'll put hairs on your chest,' Sarge said, slapping Russell on the back and returning to the shed.

Russell's mop of strawberry-blond hair hung over his face; he pushed it back over his head and stumbled back inside. 'Where's my bloody shirt?' he said, bending down to look under his bunk. 'Come here ya friggin thing.' He accidently dropped it twice more. _Jesus, my head feels like it's in a vice_. He shook the shirt before putting it on, inside out. Russell squinted at his watch. _It's 7.30, Where's Mick?_ He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face dry and shuffled outside into the bright morning sunshine.

Russell squinted in the bright light, looking around at the surrounding landscape. It was beautiful: large rolling green hills surrounded the small valley and pub. If it wasn't for his pounding headache he would have enjoyed the breathtaking scenery. Russell let out a deep breath, which tasted of whiskey and Tabasco. He licked his lips trying to get rid of the flavours.

_Where the hell's Mick... there he is._

Michael sat on the pub's front steps with his head in his hands.

_If Michael's half as drunk as me, he will have all of my sympathy._ 'Hey Mick?' Russell winced at his own volume as he crunched across the gravel towards his friend. 'Is Evie up? We've gotta get goin'.'

Michael didn't move.

'Mick! Ya hear me?' Russell bent down to tap Michael on the shoulder, thinking he had fallen asleep in the warm morning sun. 'Hey Mick--'

'She's gone. She's taken off!'

Russell took a step back. 'What do you mean, gone? How?' He noticed a couple of dried tearstains on Michael's cheeks, not that he would ever admit to crying. Russell had seen Michael get upset over a girl before but never to this extent.

'Hey man, take it easy, she was only going to be with us another day anyway.' Russell attempted to console Michael by patting him on the back. 'You guys will get back together later, just let her calm down.'

'You don't get it,' Michael said, pointing to the almost empty car park. 'She took the bloody Charger!'

'What?' Russell's look of concern for Michael vanished and was replaced by shock. He scanned the car park for their beloved Charger.

'Shit!' Russell's headache now took a backseat to his new list of problems, 'SHIT!' he repeated, his world slowly beginning to crumble. 'How long's she been gone? How'd she steal it?' Russell wasn't letting Michael answer.

'The old guy thinks about four this morning.'

'Old guy? What old guy?'

Michael pointed to the old man, now cleaning the foyer of the hotel.

'Oi mate?' Russell quizzed the old man abruptly. 'You know something about my car gettin' nicked--?'

'I told your mate everything, go 'n' ask him.'

Russell pulled a face, marched outside and, without slowing down, grabbed Michael under the arm and continued walking back towards the shearer's shed. 'Come on.' Russell dragged Michael's limp arm behind him. 'We gotta tell Sarge.'

'Why? She's probably just playing a trick on us or something.'

'How'd she get it started anyway?' Russell snapped, pulling Michael's arm.

'I don't... what does it matter anyway--?'

'If you've got anything to do with this I'm gunna...' Russell's mind was too hung-over to come up with a suitable punishment.

'We had a fight, that's all. She got pissed-off with me, that's it!' Michael was careful to leave out the parts about passion and lovemaking.

'There we go,' Sarge said to his reflection, 'You polish up pretty good for an--'

'She's taken the car,' Russell blurted out marching into the shed.

'Evie just took off.' Michael was more concerned about Evie than the car.

'I think she stole it. I reckon--'

'For FUCK SAKE!' Sarge raised his hands to stop the onslaught of questions. 'What's so important that ya carryin' on like a couple of cut snakes.'

Russell went to speak.

'Come on,' Sarge instructed with a wave, 'one at a time. And who the hell is Evie?'

'When Mick came out this morning the car was gone and,' Russell paused at the confession he was about to make, 'Cheryl, who is Evie, had gone with it.'

The sergeant didn't know the real relationship between the three and didn't really care. He looked annoyed that he was being called to duty this early before breakfast. 'What happened last night?' he asked, raising an eyebrow at Michael. 'Have a lover's quarrel, did we?' Michael avoided eye contact. 'Well? The last time I saw you two you were wrapped around each other and attached at the face.'

'We had a disagreement, that's all.'

The sergeant sat down to tie his bootlaces. 'What did you two disagree about?'

Michael slowly shrugged his shoulders. 'I wish I knew.'

Sarge smiled. 'Welcome to the club, I'm in my fifties and still haven't figured out how women think.' He finished tying his laces and leant back to admire the shine of his boots. 'Sounds like a lover's quarrel to me, she sounds like she's letting off some steam, that's all. Got your keys on you?'

'Keys?' Russell asked. 'She had the bonnet up. She pinched it. We've got a whole load of anti theft--'

'Yeah, yeah... keys?' Sarge said, holding out his hand.

Michael and Russell searched their pockets. 'Got mine,' Russell said as he produced his bunch of keys, still on the Valiant key chain that Don had thrown in with the sale.

Michael searched his tight jeans for the small set of keys that only held his car and front-door keys. Russell looked across at the sergeant and rolled his eyes, confirming that Michael was responsible for letting the keys out of his sight.

'Here it is,' Michael said, producing the small bunch of keys.

Russell hastily averted his eyes and rubbed the tip of his nose.

'Got any other sets?' Sarge combed his hair in the mirror.

Russell searched through his hung-over memory. 'There's one in my wallet; that's it though.'

The sergeant put the finishing touches to his neatly oiled hair, a style that he had worn since the late 1940s. 'Let's have a look,' he said, turning to Russell with his hand out.

Russell looked inside his wallet where he kept the spare key. 'It's gone.' He looked up with an open mouth then continued to search the rest of his wallet.

'Anything else missing?'

Russell counted what should have been $200, a month's wages. 'Half my money's gone.'

The sergeant shook his head. 'Last night she said you two were shouting everyone a round of beers.' Russell's mouth remained open. Sarge continued, 'She was drivin' the other night when I was after you lot, wasn't she?' Russell didn't have to reply, his expression confirmed all of Sarge's suspicions.

'She wouldn't steal the car, no way.' Michael defended. He couldn't accept what the facts were pointing to: the missing money, the key she found while searching Russell's wallet, her exceptional driving skills and, most of all, giving a false name to the sergeant.

'I knew it.' Sarge smiled on discovering what he thought was the truth.

'Two possibilities boys.' The sergeant stood up straight, readying himself to deliver his verdict, his large barrel chest puffing up in the process. 'Either she's pissed-off with _you_ ,' he said pointing his finger at Michael, 'or she's a professional car thief.' Sarge paused and rubbed his cleanly shaven chin. 'Or, she's pissed-off with Mick and... she's a car thief as well!'

Russell and Michael struggled to accept the sergeant's explanation. _But I made the car theft proof,_ Russell thought. _Even_ _with a key you need to know where all the switches and fuel cut-off taps are hidden._

_I can't believe she'd betray me like this._ Michael was more upset about her running off in the middle of the night than the car being stolen.

'Listen fellas. Car thieves take incredible risks with other people's property. Half of them end up wrapped around poles or worse.' Sarge paused, contemplating the changing times. 'I've never heard of a sheila as a car thief though.'

Russell sat down on the edge of the bed not knowing if the nausea he was feeling was from the hangover or the spike in his blood pressure.

'Well at least you're insured, aren't you?'

Again Michael and Russell looked at each other. _Fuck!_ they thought in unison. Their decision not to pay the exorbitant insurance premium was a huge mistake. _What's Beth gunna think?_ Russell anguished, _What's Mr Halias gunna think?_ Russell felt faint.

Their dreams of selling the car and starting a business had now vanished as quickly as the car. They couldn't blame the other as they had both agreed that all their precautions would be enough to prevent the unthinkable. Michael and Russell hadn't counted on the manipulation and methodical planning of a car thief who not only stole their car but also one of their hearts.

_I'm gunna... gunna..._ Russell raced outside and vomited all over the entrance to the shed.

Michael stared at Russell. _Shit mate I'm sorry. I know this is my fault... shit!_

*

The sergeant drove along the old highway leaving a trail of dust floating out across the green paddocks. 'We're almost there; five minutes.'

His two passengers sat quietly in the back seat of the police car as it made its way to the isolated train station. _Look at the poor bastards._ Sarge could tell by the young men's faces that this had been the worst thing they had experienced so far in their short lives. 'Look fellas.' He looked at them in the rear-vision mirror. 'I know you don't want to hear this, but things could be a lot worse. No one's hurt, you've lost a car and a girl; that's it.' Sarge directed his next comment at Michael. 'Listen son, if I had a dollar for every time a woman has run off on me, I'd be rich.' He meant well but no words would lessen the impact on Russell and particularly Michael.

Michael's heart wasn't just broken, it had been crushed and ground into tiny pieces, and to make things worse, he had destroyed any chance of starting a business with his best friend. _Russ has chucked in his job, and I do this to him._ He felt a strange tightness in his chest. He quietly shook his head at the enormity of his troubles: less than twenty-four hours ago he thought he had found love in the arms of Evie, only to find it was nothing more than a living nightmare.

'We're here.' The sergeant pulled up next to the railway station's white picket fence and parked close to the main gate with its neat timber archway. He led his sombre little party up onto the platform. Michael and Russell had no luggage, only the clothes on their backs, wallets that were almost empty and keys to a car they no longer possessed.

After buying their tickets from a bored-looking booking clerk the boys walked up to say their goodbyes to the sergeant. Sarge held out his large hand and shook theirs with a solid and respectful grip. 'I'll lodge the stolen vehicle report and if anything comes of it someone will be in touch.'

Michael and Russell nodded, not expecting to hear from anyone.

'And you, Mick,' Sarge said, shaking Michael's hand last, 'if the shit hits the fan over there, keep ya head down and keep on the move. Got it?' He winked at both men and returned to his vehicle.

Russell sighed and watched the big man get in his car. The police car left a trail of dust as it disappeared over successive hills, signalling the end of their holiday adventure.

Michael and Russell had an hour to kill before their train arrived and waited silently, apart, in the afternoon sun, each wrestling with his own thoughts.

Russell kept jumping up and moving around the platform, kicking the loose gravel. _I knew something like this would happen. I just bloody well knew it._

Michael opted to remain crouched against the station building. _I can't believe she'd do this to me, I just can't._

Almost half an hour passed without a single word being exchanged. Occasionally, Russell would glance over at Michael. _Mate, I'm gunna tell ya how it is, what it is... how pissed-off I am_ ... But he realised that they had both been conned by a master manipulator, Evie probably had been lying in wait like a lioness for weeks for some easy prey. Slowly it came back to him, all the times she had casually watched him turn switches on and off and how he had foolishly shown her how to open the bonnet's security lock. In the end he had unknowingly handed her the key, but for some strange reason she hadn't taken all his cash. Every time he was about to speak he stopped and bit his tongue, swallowing the blame and angry words, words that would achieve nothing. Eventually he stood up and walked to the edge of the deserted platform.

Michael watched Russell's hand clench and relax. _Jeez he must hate my guts._

'SHIT!' Russell screamed at a paddock of cows next to the railway line; startled, the livestock looked up briefly before returning to their grazing.

'You're pissed-off at me, I know,' Michael said to Russell's back. 'Just say what's on your mind Russ.'

Russell didn't turn around, deciding it would be easier to speak his mind without looking at his friend.

'I want to tell you it's all your fault, you're always thinking of yourself. Wondering, _What's in it for me?_ Never thinking about helping anyone else.' Russell's words cut deeply into Michael's wounded heart. 'If you hadn't wanted to get into her pants none of this would of happened.'

How furious would Russ be if he knew I had?

Russell inhaled deeply and turned to Michael. 'That's what I want to say.'

Without uttering a single word, Michael bowed his head and went back to staring at the white gravelled platform, the same gravel that seemed to be everywhere. _He's right... about it all. It's all my fault._

Russell clenched his teeth, _Get up. Say something. Give me an excuse to knock ya block off._

Michael remained silent, thinking of only one thing, Evie.

_It's all your fault._ Russell wanted to blame it all on Michael but knew they had both been tricked, lied to, and by a good-looking girl for a reason only she knew. 'BITCH!' Russell yelled out at the cows, who ignored him this time. He inhaled deeply and looked back at his friend sitting motionless in the shade. Russell shook his head at his shattered mate, he scuffled over to his one true friend.

Russell stood next to Michael's crouched body and offered him his hand, to shake. 'Still mates?'

Michael looked up. 'I think I love her, Russ.'

Russell held his tongue at Michael's confession.

'I thought she loved me too.' Michael shook Russell's hand. 'Still Mates,' he said.

# Chapter 11

Evie, Evelyn or even Cheryl, Evie had chosen many names, but unlike her names, most of her life's choices had been made for her.

She stared out the motel-room window at her new silver prize. The stolen Charger should have brought her relief, it was suppose to be the answer, the problem was that the question had changed.

She turned back towards the mirror and studied her reflection. She touched her lips, immediately remembering Michael's soft kisses, instantly her heartbeat quickened. Evie thought she had known love, but never with so much intensity, with this much hurt. It was her fault and no one else's and she knew it. The emptiness that dug into her heart was an ugly necessity of her life.

What was it that drove her to stay so focused, so cold to a love she had not truly realised was hers until she had destroyed it?

Two tears ran down Evie's cheeks as she cast her thoughts back to what had brought her to this very moment.

*

Since being abandoned by her mother at the age of six, Evie had lived with her elderly grandparents on a large struggling wheat farm in the heart of the Hunter Valley in New South Wales. Her grandfather made sure that any spare time Evie had, she worked and learnt the farming way of life. Evie routinely showed off in an attempt to gain her 'Pop's' approval. She watched and learned how to drive the tractor. Her deadly accuracy with the .22 rifle cleared the farm of foxes. Despite her silent yearning for affection, Pop rarely acknowledged her, he had only ever wanted sons.

The old farmer had ignored his only daughter and she had run off with the first man who showed her affection, later selfishly abandoning her own daughter. Pop secretly thought Evie would probably do the same one day.

By the age of twelve Evie was known as The Ferret. If her Pop had misplaced a tool or couldn't remember where his keys were Evie had the ability to recall its exact location, even months after him losing the object. She could ride horses and drive tractors, and also the old Chevy back from the local pub, after Pop had consumed one too many ales.

Her fourteenth year signalled a change in Evie, her emerging physical development saw Pop's fledgling affections lessen. Starved for approval Evie began socialising with a small group of friends, both male and female, ten miles out of town. The group would race old forgotten wrecks that they would resurrect using spare parts. It wasn't long before Evie earned her stripes amongst the tough little group; soon she was routinely winning the bush-track races with her intuitive driving matched equally by her courage.

The years slowly passed, too slow for Evie. She craved excitement and in her small town there was only one way to get it. She and her small group had grown, with the addition of a few troubled youth who wanted to go in search of a larger rush. Evie's gang would sneak into town on a Saturday night and 'borrow' cars. Evie, and only the gamest among them, would steal the fastest cars they could hot-wire and see who could get to the nearest town the quickest. The group's antics had become notorious to the point where the region's sole police car would lie in wait.

'The bastard got away again,' the constable barked over the police radio. The only car escaping was rumoured to be driven by a girl.

The police had their suspicions and approached Evie's grandfather on a number of occasions. The newly appointed constable clearly explained, 'She'll be put in a girls' home if she doesn't come to her senses.'

Pop disliked the police more than anyone else, 'Bloody coppers.'

Strangely this attitude motivated Evie for reasons she didn't quite understand.

The owners of the stolen cars were relieved to have their cars returned, noticing that the 'midnight bandits', as the locals had labelled them, had tuned their cars before racing and they now ran better than before.

A week after Evie's seventeenth birthday her life was about to change again, she had developed into a powerful personality, with a body to match. She consciously wore baggy shirts around her Pop in an attempt to mask her femininity. His rare kind words had now dwindled to disapproving mumbles.

She also found that the young men around her seemed more compliant since she had developed breasts, boringly so. She could already out-drive and out-swear them, and now she could easily command their attention whenever she wanted; Evie had become a dangerous temptress.

A young man, whom no one seemed to notice until now, had arrived to watch the locals race around the well-carved-out racetrack in the hills of Evie's home town. His movie-star looks caught the eye of the girls, in particular Evie. His name was Lance, and everyone knew he was trouble. Evie found his combination of looks and attitude irresistible and it wasn't long before the two were more seriously involved. Evie found young love; Lance found an opportunity. He was older than he pretended; 'Twenty-five _at least!_ ' some jealous girls suspected.

Evie didn't know when it all changed, before she realised what had happened she found herself mixed up in a well-organised car-thieving and rebirthing racket. Lance had suggested, 'It'll be exciting and that if she did it, it would make him happy.' So Evie had run away from home and fallen in love with Lance, with the prospect of a future. She was wrong. Evie's exploits had been so impressive, so daring that it wasn't long before the car-thieving underworld began to notice her as an emerging car thief. The sexy, fiery young woman was a natural behind the wheel.

The duo-in-crime established a name for itself in a very dangerous climate. All was going according to Lance's grand plan until the first day of winter. He had planned a heist involving three new Holden Monaros from a country dealership. The plan was for Evie to charm the lone salesman on a Saturday morning to enable her to get a layout of the sales yard and office. Evie had been hard to wake; she had been unwell for the entire week. The untimely illness annoyed Lance, showing a side of him she hadn't seen.

'Get up. Don't stuff this up for me,' Lance ordered, smoking in the small motel room.

Evie arrived at the dealership as planned. She floated into the showroom like a summer breeze. _Ignore it, it'll go away,_ she willed the constant cramping in her stomach. Lance's gift of a new yellow mini-dress caught everyone's attention. _That's it, don't be afraid,_ she thought, noticing a portly young salesman hiding behind his desk.

_This should do it._ With every step, her high heels clicked on the polished concrete floor. Each sexy step brought her closer to the car she wanted to steal. Evie played the 'helpless female', she made sure to bend over for the salesmen's benefit, running her hands over the polished bonnet.

'Can I--' the young man started in a high pitched voice then cleared his throat, 'Can I help you Miss?'

'Yes please,' Evie giggled. 'I don't know much about cars. But I think this one's really sexy.'

The salesman blushed. It was hard enough having an attractive woman in front of him, it was even harder dealing with her soft flirtatious words.

'Well yes it is... it is a sexy car.' He pulled at his collar. __ 'Nothing wrong with sex--I mean sex in a car--I mean having a sexy car _.'_

'You're a naughty boy, aren't you?' Evie forced a giggle. She had to dig deep to ignore intensifying pain in her gut.

'My name's Nigel Stokes--'

'My goodness, your the owner of Stokes Holden.' She pretended to be impressed.

'It's my father's dealership but I'm his best salesman.'

'I bet you are.' Evie looked the man up and down.

'Oh!' Nigel cleared his throat again, the blushing salesman wasn't sure what to say. 'Why don't you take a seat on my--I mean at my desk. I'll show you all the options available to you.'

'I like options,' Evie said, mischievously.

She listened to Nigel's detailed explanation on everything from racing stripes to engine choices. Whenever he glanced at her thigh or loosely button top she scanned his desk, she made mental notes of the keys on the wall behind him, she listened to the other salesman that 'just happened' to need Nigel's opinion. The men giving their boss a wink of approval before leaving.

Evie glanced up when a woman placed a tea tray in front of Nigel.

'Thank you Betty,' he said and offered Evie a cup of tea and biscuits.

'No thanks.' Evie felt her cramps return.

'So back to the car,' Nigel said and dunked a biscuit in his cup. 'Have you decided on a colour?'

Evie heard the words but wasn't listening. All she could concentrate on was the soggy snack mashing in Nigel's mouth. _Shit... ohh --_without warning Evie began to vomit. She turned just in time to decorate the dealership's polished floor. She barely looked up when a second convulsion erupted down the side of the desk.

Nigel didn't know what to do; he held out a solitary tissue at arm's length which Evie ignored as she ran from the office to continue vomiting outside the large showroom's entrance. Her reconnaissance mission was well and truly over.

*

Evie walked towards the small motel room that she and Lance shared. As she approached the door two men barged out of the room. One man was short and had scarring down his arms. The other man was older, he was over six foot five and foreign looking, his forearms powerful and tanned. Evie felt her skin crawl as he scanned her walking towards them. He smiled at Evie as though he knew her, looking her up and down in the process before flashing a sinister smile.

'Who were they?' Evie asked as she peered into the room.

'Don't worry about them.' Lance dismissed her question and lit a cigarette. 'You're back early.'

Evie hesitated in answering. 'I got sick.'

Lance glared accusingly at his girlfriend. 'Don't tell me you didn't get the info.'

'No I got it, it's all up here,' Evie said, pointing to her head.

'What's wrong with you? You keep fuckin' up lately.'

Evie had her suspicions and thought this was as good a time as any. 'I'm late.'

'What do you mean "you're late", you came back early stupid?'

Evie dismissed Lance's tone, thinking, _It's not his fault he's angry at me. It's the big boss's fault. I know he loves me._ 'I'm pregnant,' she blurted out, smiling at the thought of his reaction. She could possibly have a future with him and her child, a normal life, a home.

Lance stood up and walked closer. His face blank with thought.

_I think he's happy. He'll see what a good mu --_

'You STUPID BITCH!' Lance screamed, slapping her across the face. 'As if my life isn't hard enough!'

Evie held her face in shock as she cringed on the edge of the bed. 'I thought you'd be happy,' she said through tears.

'Happy!' Lance said sarcastically. 'You idiot, we've got a good thing going here and now _this_.' He pointed at Evie's stomach.

Lance's idea of 'a good thing happening' was his girlfriend taking all the risks while he made all the money.

'What am I supposed to do with you now?' He looked at Evie as if she was garbage. She felt as valuable as dirt. This vibrant and confident young woman had been reduced to a needy, weepy girl who was being treated in a way that she did not deserve.

*

Lance had decided that he and his new crew would carry out the theft of three new Holdens and use Evie as lookout. 'After we pinch'em drive back to the motel and wait... got it?' Evie nodded, but she didn't like the plan. The two men Lance had been speaking to, gave Evie all the wrong signals and, as a precaution, she decided to follow them.

Evie arrived first, exactly at midnight, she scanned the deserted car yard and flashed her headlights down the road. Out of the shadows, a car full of five men coasted past and disappeared up a laneway. _Something's not right,_ she thought.

She shook her head and watched as Lance fumbled around inside the darkened showroom. _Just settle down, the keys are right behind you._ Evie checked her watch. _Come on, come_ on--'Finally!' She smiled watching three Holden Monaros quietly driving off the showroom floor and out through a side roller door.

Evie performed one final scan of the area and made sure the other drivers saw her leave. _What are you guys up to?_ She followed at a safe distance with her headlights off. After ten minutes of driving she stopped at the entrance of a large industrial park. Realising she would be discovered if she followed, Evie reversed, and parked under the shadow of a large billboard.

'Come on Lance, make the deal and get outta there,' Evie pleaded to the darkness. She could see a faint light shining from a small single-storey building. After only five minutes the light went out and the car circled the building and drove towards Evie's car. _Shit!_ She hid down behind the dashboard and as the car passed she rose up just enough to see four people inside; Lance wasn't one of them.

Evie waited what seemed like hours, her eyes began to droop. After two more hours she sat patiently not wanting to upset Lance by ruining the plan. After three hours of cramped silence she succumbed to temptation and drifted off to sleep peacefully.

*

'What!' Evie sat bolt upright when a truck rumbled past; it was 6.30am.

Startled and disorientated she sped back to the motel room, _Lance'll flip. I hope he doesn't hit me again._ She opened the door to a room that no one had slept in. She started to panic.

Minutes felt like hours, she paced back and forth peering out the window at every noise, hoping that her not-so-loving boyfriend would re-appear. By the afternoon she had visited the industrial area twice in a vain attempt to find him. At one point she stopped outside the police station to consider asking for help.

Evie returned to the motel room. She looked at Lance's small suitcase convinced he wouldn't leave without it. It was at this critical point she realised something had gone wrong. _I knew it; what have you done? Did you ask for more money? Did you threaten to expose the big boss?_ Evie looked around the cheaply decorated room, the things she hadn't noticed before made her feel uneasy: the torn blue curtains, the tap that kept leaking, the coppery smell of the faulty hot water tank. The room felt suffocatingly small.

After two sleepless nights she had to make a choice. _I know something's happened to you._ She wishfully imagined that he had made a run for it and had been unable to return, possibly concerned that he could be putting Evie in danger. The other possibility was too distressing to imagine.

She thought about returning to her family farm just long enough for Lance to make contact and then somehow, just possibly, they could start a new life together. Evie had a plan. She slowly felt her confidence returning and was adamant that things would be okay.

*

Evie had waited for two weeks at the motel until the small amount of money Lance had left behind was gone. With no word from Lance, Evie knew she had only one choice, to return home. Her only problem was her grandfather. The only man she truly ever wanted love from had been deadly serious when he had told her, 'Never come back pregnant, or you'll be dead to me.'

This was Australia in the 1970s where life on the land was harsh, especially for women and particularly for unmarried, pregnant girls. Evie knew this better than anyone. The shame to a family who already held her in such low esteem was more than she could bear. With the last of her money she numbly paid for the termination of her unborn child. The baby who would have filled her world with love, that would have loved her back as she deserved, would never be.

Evie cried, she cried until she couldn't anymore, her pain digging deeply into her core. Her salty tears stained her cheeks with loss forever, with no remedy for the despair that it brought. Evie was changed forever.

*

Pop was late arriving at the train station. He pulled up in his old Chev ute alongside Evie who had waited for over an hour. She didn't complain, the thought never entered her mind. Despite her cheery 'Hi Pop', __ he only managed a grunt. The drive back was silent, but as uncomfortable as it was Evie found it familiar. _That's Pop,_ she had thought.

'Things've changed since you pissed off.'

'What's different?'

'Bank wants the farm.' His answer held a hint of anger.

'They can't do that!' Evie had lost everything in the last six months. Now, the only home and family she had a future with were at risk of going too.

Evie's grandparents were in their twilight years and had made the mistake of borrowing heavily against the farm. Three successive dry years along with Pop's deteriorating health had left them with a financial debt that they couldn't repay. Evie's lack of assistance over the last couple of years had also impacted on the farm's day-to-day running. When Evie walked out in the dead of night, Pop could no longer run the farm efficiently. Secretly, Evie had broken his heart in the process.

'Come on ya bloody thing!' Evie had chastised the old tractor that hadn't work for a month. 'Come... on...' She heaved down on the large shifter freeing the fanbelt.

The dire situation catapulted Evie into a sixteen-hour-a-day, seven-day-a-week grind. From morning until late she worked the farm.

'Hey Evie,' a young man called from his car at the front gate. 'Ya coming to tonight's race?'

'Forget it,' Evie called back without looking up from the tractor. She was covered in grease and every knuckle was rubbed raw. Just on dusk the old machine rumbled into life. 'Good girl.' Evie leant back and stretched her tired back. _I'll put you to work first thing tomorrow._

Pop watched her work harder than any son a man could have. He wouldn't let her know it, but facing the reality of his farm failing, he had never been prouder of his granddaughter.

Evie would stagger in at the onset of darkness for a meal before returning to the shed to perform maintenance and prepare for the next day. She had had mixed results from drilling new bores for water but felt she was making progress. The long hard days had also enabled two other worries to escape her thoughts, Lance's disappearance and the mental anguish of losing the chance of having her own family.

It had been four weeks of gruelling work. The normality of a Friday brought most people joy, but as Evie walked into the kitchen to escape the midday heat she witnessed a sobering rural scene. She thought she knew people but that all changed in an instant.

She had slipped off her boots to prevent dirtying the freshly mopped floor that had once been her grandmother's pride and joy. As she padded across the veranda Evie noticed her pop hunched over the table with her grandmother holding him tenderly. In his hand was a crumpled letter of demand from the bank.

For fifty years Evie's grandmother had stood stoically by his side through triumph and failure, toiling this land with him. Silent support was all she could offer him now, and had been ever since her voice was stolen from her when she was a young mother by a horse kicking her in the throat, leaving her mute. She had been unable to tell her family how much she loved them, unable to comfort her grandchild and now her husband too. Tears coursed quietly down her creased cheeks.

Evie froze with her hand on the doorframe when she heard the man she regarded as 'living stone' gently crying in her grandmother's arms. 'I worked my whole bloody life and this is how it fucken ends.'

For the first time Evie saw him as human, susceptible to life's failures and heartbreaks, now it was _her_ heart's turn to break.

As silently as she had entered, Evie backtracked and left them in private. She was more resolved than ever to turn the tide of failure.

*

Evie decided to travel to town a day earlier for supplies, and to sell something that her grandfather had long since considered as a hunk of garbage. 'That old MG ain't worth nothin',' he would say. But Evie disagreed. For as long as she could remember the old sports car sat quietly in the shed draped in canvas. It wasn't until she became involved in car stealing that she realised it was worth something. She had managed to repair the old sports car in the evenings, pulling the fuel system apart and following that up with a tune-up by intuition. Suddenly the antique car her pop had accepted as payment for an unpaid debt twenty years ago looked and ran like new.

Evie arrived in town wearing a red chequered shirt, blue jeans and boots, which contrasted oddly with the two-tone, British racing green and cream, 1936 MG PB Roadster. She hadn't driven into the township by accident, her goal was to reveal the car to one man in particular, Mr Bennett.

Mr Bennett had offered to purchase the car from Evie's grandfather twice before, but her grandfather had refused on the grounds that Bennett, who owned one of New South Wales' largest stock management firms, had, as her grandfather had stated, 'beady eyes' and couldn't be trusted. Evie knew of the man. _I don't care if he's got one eye in the middle of his head, as long as he buys the old thing it'll give us more time._

Evie walked into the palatial offices of Bennett's Stock Agency and for a moment felt as though she had entered another world. _Get a load of this place._ The secretary's office walls were lined with cedar panelling that had been intricately carved and carpet that looked like artwork adorned the floors. She hesitated entering beyond the large glass front doors and made sure her boots were free of dirt before approaching the secretary's desk. The older lady politely looked over her glasses at the young woman walking towards her, intimidation written all over her face. 'Yes my dear, may I help you?'

_Shit, she's as white as ghost,_ Evie thought and took a nervous swallow.

The secretary's porcelain complexion contrasted with the woman's warm smile, which made Evie feel a little more comfortable. 'Ah, yeah I want... I would like to see if...' Evie's attempt at matching the secretary's articulation only made her more nervous. 'Can I make an appointment with Mr Bennett?'

The secretary looked down at a book that displayed Mr Bennett's daily appointments, all the entries recorded in near-perfect calligraphy. 'Mr Bennett's free right now if you are available dear?'

Evie hadn't counted on getting in today to talk with the man who could possibly buy her grandparents another six months on the farm. She knew what was at stake if the grumpy, beady-eyed old man, who couldn't be trusted, didn't want the car. 'Okay. G-good,' Evie stuttered.

The secretary rose gracefully and walked with all the style of a countess down the large hallway. Evie waited, picking at her nails, looking around the large foyer.

Within a minute the secretary walked from the hallway and gestured for Evie to approach. 'Mr Bennett will see you now,' she said with a smile.

Evie's heart raced, she was sure the secretary could see her trembling. _Shit, shit, shit._ She was so nervous that it hadn't occurred to her that the secretary hadn't asked for her name.

Evie walked into a large room adorned with paintings and tapestries hanging from the walls. The cedar-panelled walls were decorated by canvases and artworks that lifted the room in colour. A small man of only five foot two walked from behind the biggest desk Evie had ever seen. The desk appeared even larger when compared to the size of its owner. 'You must be Evelyn,' he said and smiled.

Evie was unsure how he knew her name but the warm welcome immediately made her relax.

'Hello Mr Bennett I would...' Evie had practised her sales pitch on the drive over but she had let nerves get the better of her. 'I've got... well, you see, my grandfather... Shit!' Evie paused and closed her eyes to regain her composure. 'Mr Bennett my pop's selling his old MG and I reckon you'd wanna have a look at it first.'

Mr Bennett smiled at her directness. He had seen Evie grow up from a distance and today when he spotted her driving the old sports car into town he knew in an instant why she was there. Unbeknown to Evie, he also knew about her grandfather's failing health, he had seen him in the bank threatening the manager. 'You bastards think you own everything... well ya don't own me ya fucken pen pusher.' Mr Bennet also realised the importance of this sale to the family. 'Well, I would certainly be interested in having a look at the old girl.'

Evie's first impression of Mr Bennett was that her grandfather had got it all wrong. He was polite and warm, and had treated Evie with respect. _Bloody Pop. He can hate someone for no reason at all._

Mr Bennett's heart began to race at the prospect of seeing a car he had always wanted. At first he had been too young and poor to own one, then, with a young family and responsibilities he couldn't justify the purchase, even if he could have found one of these classic motor cars. When he had heard about one of these rare specimens being used as payment for a debt he approached the new owner but the stubborn old codger had refused to sell him the car.

Mr Bennett had never known why Evie's grandfather wouldn't budge on the matter. The truth was, Pop had enjoyed the feeling of owning something that a man of influence and wealth wanted but couldn't have.

_Here goes._ Evie took a deep breath as she led Mr Bennett outside to where she had parked the car. She had purposely parked the MGB on an angle to present the vehicle in its best light. _Come on Bennet, you know you want it._ She watched as Mr Bennett's face lit up at the sight of the classic British sports car.

'Isn't she a beauty?' Mr Bennett blurted out, standing far enough away to take her in, in all her glory.

Evie had only ever seen the car under a canvas, stuck in a corner of the large shed. Its design and vintage engine had never appealed to her tastes.

*

Evie's smile had been a long time coming. The bus trip back to the farm gates was a time for reflection and planning. _Holy crap, just imagine if Mr Bennett had known about Pop's money problems, he probably would have offered a lot less_. She smiled when she remembered him making the offer. _I'm gunna shit myself_ : _he's offering me a top price. I could go out tomorrow and buy a new car with this sort money._ 'Mr Bennet I didn't think... this is more...'

'It's alright Evelyn,' Mr Bennet had smiled, 'I'm happy to pay it; it's the one I've always wanted.'

Evie made it home just on five o'clock and knew her grandparents would be preparing for dinner. By five thirty everyone was sitting at the dinner table, Pop had failed to notice her returning without the car. 'Bloody waste of time you mucking around with it,' he barked.

His rules were simple: the dinner table was for eating at, and not for talking. __ But Evie had other ideas. 'Pop!'

He looked up and frowned, not pleased by the interruption, not answering his granddaughter.

'Here.' She handed him a small white envelope.

His rough hands gently gripped the delicate envelope as he studied the blank paper. 'What's this?'

'A man said I had to give this to you.' Evie struggled not to smile. She studied her pop's lined face as he removed a long piece of paper with a series of numbers elegantly written across it.

'Bloody hell!'

Evie turned to her grandmother who appeared shocked to see her husband's long-forgotten smile.

'$2,300... for _that_ old thing.'

A smile crept across Evie's face at her ability to finally bring some happiness into her pop's life. It wasn't going to save the farm outright but would give them another six months to find a solution.

'I knew that Bennett bloke was an idiot,' he commented, ignorantly.

Evie and her grandparents went straight to town the following Monday to deposit the cheque and treat themselves to a day away from the farm. Evie and her grandmother strolled among the shops. Her grandmother took the opportunity to peruse the cooking magazines in the newsagency while Evie leafed through various others: _Popular Mechanics_ , _Women's Weekly,_ and then, by accident, she picked up a bridal magazine. Evie looked at the happy bride on the cover dressed in a beautiful Italian silk wedding dress. She looked down at her dusty jeans and ran her hand over her stomach. Her heart went cold at the thought of her life's lost opportunity for a family. Evie breathed in and looked around the shop to see if people were reading her thoughts. She felt empty.

Evie quickly picked up her pop's newspaper and paid the shopkeeper before rushing outside. She began reading the newspaper to clear her thoughts and change her focus. She didn't like the front-page story. The second page was a little more interesting with one particular news item catching her eye.

Police offer large reward for information leading to the arrest of car-theft syndicate.

Evie looked up. Her mind clicked into gear as she realised destiny had just tapped her on the shoulder. That evening she told her grandfather everything she knew about the car-theft organisation, only leaving out the part about the seriousness of her and Lance's relationship.

Her grandfather nodded at her plan and for the first time in his life placed his work-hardened hand on top of Evie's. It was a simple moment of tenderness which Evie had never experienced before and would never forget. His gentle touch motivated her even more to see the whole plan through.

*

The New South Wales Government had posted a huge reward of $20,000 leading to the arrest and conviction of the mystery car-theft kingpin. The reward was equivalent to five years' wages and would easily pay off all the farm debts with money left over.

Senior police had become frustrated with their attempts to arrest the leader of the crime gang who always seemed to be one step ahead of the law, leading many people to conclude that corrupt police were involved.

The Police Commissioner was aware of the possible corruption and had decided to post a larger than normal reward to coax one of the crime syndicate's own members to turn traitor. In Evie's case she would hopefully collect the reward and find out where Lance had gone.

Evie suspected she knew who the 'big boss' was. A man who had commanded much fear. She had heard Lance mention a name just once on the phone, but it wasn't until he had looked her up and down at the entrance of her motel room that she had put the name to the face.

Anyone who knew him called him Ratcaj. He was in his late forties, born in Croatia and a survivor from a World-War-II Resistance force. At six foot four and with a powerful build he was as violent as he was intimidating. He looked after his crew of thieves as if they were his children, but if one disobeyed him or, even worse, betrayed him, his reaction was merciless.

Evie believed she could somehow infiltrate the group using her past history of daring car thefts to allow her access back into the organisation. Evie's plan started out well. She contacted the police in person dressed in a pretty floral dress. She explained, with tears in her eyes, 'It's not his fault... I'm just so... worried about the crowd he's with.' __ Evie wiped her tears with her fingertips.

One of the senior police officers even offered Evie his monogrammed handkerchief, and later commented how much the young woman reminded him of his daughter.

'All I want is my fiancÉ and I to start a brand new life together.' Evie's performance was befitting of the theatre. Another officer became emotional about the, 'Poor young lass's predicament.'

Evie was studying the four detectives in the small interview room while she dried her crocodile tears. One detective in particular stood out, Senior Detective Pearce. Detective Pearce appeared sympathetic but he too was studying Evie. The detective was a new breed of cop, university educated and from a wealthy family. One of the reasons the Police Commissioner had selected him to lead the investigation was because he believed he couldn't be bought.

Pearce's instructions were simple. Evie had to coordinate a time and place when the gang and their leader would be in possession of a stolen car. Detective Pearce was very specific when he last spoke to Evie. 'Now don't go putting yourself in harm's way Evelyn.'

'Certainly not Detective Pearce. I wouldn't dare.'

# Chapter 12

Early September 1971

Six weeks had passed since Detective Pearce had given Evie instructions. As she sat brushing her hair by the phone she glanced through the faded motel curtains at the silver Charger that would soon enable her to fulfil her two-pronged plan. 'Give me the room right down the end.' She had requested, to conceal the car from passing traffic. She had also replaced the numberplates with a spare set from her grandfather's old ute.

Time had been Evie's enemy; the last few weeks had been stressful waiting for an opportunity to present itself. The last week had become an emotional roller-coaster ride with Michael's affections making her reconsider her very motives. She had spent the last two days obsessing about being torn between her loyalty to her family and Michael, a man who could give her everything she didn't know she needed.

She had discovered Michael and Russell's travel bags still wedged in the small boot of the Charger. Evie had picked up one of Michael's t-shirts and held it to her face, inhaling his scent; she shook her head, frustrated by her complicated life. As she pushed the shirt away she noticed something else, Michael's camera bag and all his photos.

Evie smiled as she studied the collection of photos. There was Michael's life captured in _Polaroid magic_. Her thoughts strayed. _I'll send a letter and break it to him slowly. I'll explain everything. He'll forgive me. I know he will._

Michael was always at the forefront of her thoughts. _I've gotta get Ratcaj... but... Michael? Shit!_ Every time she thought of a solution, the fact remained that she had stolen his car and broken his heart.

Evie had taken the risk when she first met Michael and Russell by leaving a message with one of Ratcaj's men. 'If you're interested, call me back at the Currumbin post office at exactly 10am tomorrow.' She had snuck away while Russell fitted the roof racks to confirm she had a target. It had worked, the very next day Ratcaj contacted and quizzed her until he was satisfied who she was: the woman responsible for over sixty thefts in five short months.

Evie explained about the car she could steal, Ratcaj responded in a heavy Croatian accent, 'No worries, Princess.' His voice sent shivers down Evie's spine. Her shivers were repeated when he contacted her the next day at Cheryl's flat.

Ratcaj didn't have to look far for a wrecked R/T Charger, owing to their tendency to attract power poles. Ratcaj and his men would normally locate a damaged car from a wrecking yard then go in search of the same model to steal, and voilà, an instant swap of identification plates and stickers.

Evie had found one of the rarest Australian muscle cars ever made, she was sure Ratcaj would jump at the chance of making a quick dollar and she was right. After two days of waiting in her motel room the phone rang. Her heart almost stopped. She stared at it as if she was imagining the noise then took a breath. 'Hello?' She listened intently to the rough voice on the other end. 'Yeah I got it... Hang on, say it slower... 5 pm at the phone box in front of the post office in Goulbur--Hello... hello?'

Evie smiled as she hung up the phone. She had succeeded in making contact with one of Ratcaj's men and instinctively knew they had taken the bait. She inhaled deeply and tilted her head transforming into the alter ego that only the police had witnessed. She gracefully picked up the phone and dialled the number.

'Hello, Detective Pearce? This is Evelyn Rose,' Evie said, using her real name, otherwise she couldn't collect the reward money; it was a risky move but when you faced losing everything, it was a clear decision.

'Yes, hello Evelyn, do you have any progress for me?' Detective Pearce's voice held a hint of annoyance that it had taken Evie so long to contact him; his superiors had been applying the pressure and had begun questioning his appointment to the investigation.

'This is really hard for me Detective Pearce, I'm truthfully scared of the situation I'm in.' Evie had rehearsed her speech over the last two days and perfected her tone and delivery.

'Nothing to fear Evelyn, just let me know as soon as you hear something.'

'Well...' Evie paused just long enough to capture the detective's attention, 'I overheard my fiancÉ mention something's happening late in the afternoon, tomorrow, somewhere around Goulburn.'

Detective Pearce fumbled with his phone receiver; he had wanted to hear progress from Evie but he was still surprised that it would be tomorrow, and in a rural area like Goulburn. Although the location did make perfect sense, the cars could be refitted and badged then shipped out along the highway to anywhere on the east coast. He had a lot to organise: additional police and two highway pursuit vehicles driven by experienced drivers on loan from the Yagoona Police Driver Training Centre.

'Evelyn, listen very carefully. I'll have what I need in place, just call me when you have the exact time and location.' Evie listened for any extra information the detective might inadvertently divulge, but his tone was very businesslike.

'Do you understand?'

'Yes Detective Pearce.'

'Good girl.'

Evie hung up the phone and slowly transformed back into her old self. 'Christ. I'm in it now,' she said aloud.

Evie would get one attempt at convincing Ratcaj the deal was real. If he smelt the slightest hint that he was being set up the big Croatian would disappear, and all of Evie's dreams with him. She began running the scenario through her mind: _Be at the post office at 5 pm. I'll get there at 4.30 so Ratcaj and his arsehole mates can sus me out. Soon as I know for sure where he'll be with the car, I'll let the cops know._ Evie nodded to herself: she was prepared for the take-down.

The evening brought Evie a new kind of trouble. During the waking hours she could block out thoughts of Michael and her family, but when she drifted off to sleep, it was a different story, a bad story, as only nightmares can be.

Evie found herself back on the farm sneaking through her family home. She could hear sobbing coming from the kitchen. _Is that Pop?_ She ran to comfort her grandfather, the man that had always been so distant need her, but it wasn't Pop lifting his head from the table, it was Michael.

'How could you do this to me?' Michael cried. 'I love you, I love you like I've never loved anyone.'

'Michael I'm--'

Evie spun around as laughter erupted from the next room. _What the hell?_ She turned back to an empty kitchen. 'Michael?' But Michael had disappeared. She walked into the small lounge room. 'Lance? Ratcaj?' Lance and Ratcaj sat on the lounge pointing and laughing at Evie. 'What a stupid bitch!' Lance laughed. 'What a stupid Princess!' Ratcaj joined in. Evie closed her eyes and shook her head, _This isn't happening, this isn't real_.

'What the!' Evie said, sitting bolt upright in bed. 'Jesus!' she panted, it was 6.30 am.

The morning moved slowly for Evie. Too nervous to eat breakfast she went about readying the car for its moment in her destiny. She had topped up the double fuel tanks and carefully adjusted the sensitive but powerful triple Weber carburettors for the forecasted dry heat. Evie had learned her craft well as driver and chief mechanic. She went over every square inch of the car for the possibility of the circumstances changing at any given moment.

Satisfied with her preparations, Evie changed into her favourite multi-coloured striped singlet and tight blue jeans. She was ready for business.

*

Evie checked her watch: it was 4.32 pm. 'Where are ya, ya turd?' she growled accusingly as she sat in her car staring at the large Victorian-era post office. She scanned the street. A couple of passing schoolboys looked the muscle car up and down. She had purposely parked the car under the shade of a large tree to avoid standing out. The two teenage boys sneaked over, discussing the meaning of the various badges and decals that adorned the car.

'That "Hemi six pack" sticker means it's got the big triple carbies--'

'Yeah, and check out the 'R/T' on the guard,' the other boy interrupted, pointing at the front guard with a chewed fingernail and bending forward for a closer look.

'Oi! You two. Piss off,' Evie snapped. The last thing she wanted was any attention on her that might scare off Ratcaj.

The two boys looked up startled; they had been transfixed by the rare car and hadn't noticed anyone sitting inside. They scurried away, still smarting from her remark.

Evie checked her watch continuously. _Okay, 4.50 pm_. _This is it._ She casually made her way to the red telephone box that stood only yards from the entrance of the post office. Evie appeared almost graceful as she strode towards the large building. Her heart pounded at the prospect of meeting the unpredictable Ratcaj. _Come on arsehole... show ya self._

Ratcaj only ever used the same crew. He was known to look after the families of drivers who had been imprisoned or killed in high-speed getaways. These acts of warped kindness had brought him trust and loyalty from his men. Evie hoped that Ratcaj himself would contact her, but with the much-published reward money on offer, he had become suspicious of everyone. One long-time car thief who worked for Ratcaj had recently disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Rumours abounded in the underworld that Ratcaj had taken care of the matter, personally.

Evie fidgeted next to the phone box aware that somewhere, someone was watching; 5.37 pm.

'Shit!' she whispered. _Why's Ratcaj delaying?_ _Is he wondering why, all of a sudden after four months, I've suddenly turned up with a perfect car to chop and sell?_

Ratcaj was as smart as he was dangerous. He had survived numerous Nazi attacks during his service in the Resistance, in the Second World War, and he never trusted anyone, ever.

'Hey you. Chick. Over here,' a gravelly voice called out from a parked, white ute.

Evie approached as though she didn't have a care in the world. 'Yeah what?' she replied, not knowing if the man was who she suspected.

His muscular forearms were decorated in prison tattoos, and his unshaven face made him look older than Evie suspected. The man smiled revealing gaps from recently lost teeth. He looked Evie up and down. 'Follow me.' His hoarse voice was identical to the one on the phone the previous day.

'To where?' Evie needed confirmation that he was one of Ratcaj's men.

'To Ratcaj... Where else?'

Evie nodded and slowly turned. She smiled at the opportunity of putting a noose around Ratcaj's freedom. She fought the temptation to run to the car.

Ratcaj's man waited until she had pulled out and was following him at a distance that didn't create suspicion. Evie followed trying to keep the engine quiet. She drove under a railway bridge, the Charger's exhaust echoed off the high brick walls. _Shit! I forgot about that._ The two cars meandered through suburbia. Evie caught a glance of children playing at a park. _We've already been this way... this bloke's clever._

After ten minutes the white ute turned into a wide street lined with identical buildings made out of corrugated iron. The rounded iron roofs shunted the late-afternoon sun back into Evie's face.

Evie memorised the area as she drove. _There's another phone box. As soon as the deal's done, I'll call Pearce and get the hell outta here._

Buildings lined the streets, a cafe on the left and an electrical substation on the right. Both cars had passed one particular shed three times; it was slightly different with a wide concrete driveway running through to its rear, into the next street. The white ute slowed down as it approached the tall two-storey structure. Without any people in view the large roller door opened just enough for the two vehicles to enter and then entombed them as they passed.

Evie's heart raced at the scary likelihood of being trapped like a rat in a bunch of hardened ex-criminals. Her eyes scanned the large open area, the ceiling was almost theatrical in design; it resembled a large industrial opera house. At first glance the room appeared like any normal automotive wrecking yard, car parts strewn on the unusually clean concrete floor.

The white ute drove through a purposely constructed gap of car parts, Evie followed slowly, surprised at the size of the corrugated iron building. She still hadn't seen any sign of human activity and began to panic; her anxiety was at full RPM as she felt real fear.

The ute pulled up next to an immaculate late-model Holden Monaro that had its badly damaged cousin alongside it. Someone had just finished swapping across the identification on the stolen car, ready for delivery.

_Keep it together girl, this is it._ Evie came to a stop but was reluctant to turn the engine off, her eyes had slowly adjusted to the ambient light and she could now see at least five men working on as many vehicles. She counted eight wrecked cars of varying rarity, two GT Falcons and three identical blue Holden Monaros all with black GT stripes running from their smashed boots to their even more severely damaged bonnets.

She watched as the men greeted the driver of the old ute. Three of the men stopped what they were doing to admire their latest project. Chargers brought good money and rare ones like Michael and Russell's brought even better dollars.

Evie sat motionless in her car. The idling engine reverberated in the large factory; the acoustics of the curved roof amplified the crackling exhaust. She watched the men's faces; they examined the car, nodding to each other in approval at their latest acquisition.

One of the men walked over to a crumpled mess of silver metal and glass, the windscreen had the unmistakable hole of where a human head had smashed through while the rest of the person's body had probably sustained multiple injuries, most likely killing the driver instantly. Evie's eyes widened, _That's a Charger!_ She realised identifying the unmistakable grille of the car she nervously occupied; it was the new identity for Michael and Russell's car.

She turned the engine off and opened her door. _Let's do this. This is it._ She took a deep breath ready for the performance of her life.

'Check her out,' a man said, nodding towards Evie.

She ignored the comment and walked confidently to the rear of the car, knowing full well that they were unashamedly studying her curves. She opened the boot and reached deep into its compartment to switch off Russell's custom fuel tap, her pose revealing her athletic build and shapely legs.

Her male audience had swelled to seven, all unaware that Evie was skilfully manipulating them. The men commented as they watched, not caring whether their observations were heard or not.

'Look at her tits.'

'She looks like she'd bang like a dunny door,' another said, laughing and glancing round for validation of his wit.

The men continued with their sexist remarks, hoping for a reaction, a flinch, anything. The joker of the group smiled. But Evie was stronger than he realised.

_I might be weaker, but at the end of the day you arseholes will still be arseholes._ She whirled her hair around and strode towards the group ready for business. She put her hands on her hips and demanded, 'Where's Ratcaj? I haven't got all day.'

None of the men responded. The room fell silent, Evie could even hear a tap dripping from the toilet ten metres away, so heightened were her senses.

The men had heard the stories of her daring and dangerous driving and one by one they went back to what they were employed to do, and besides, they knew Ratcaj had been watching the whole time.

Ratcaj had waited and watched through one of four small hidden openings that had been strategically positioned around the large shed. The secret openings were carefully cut into the corrugated iron walls for observation and escape. Ratcaj wasn't going to show himself until he was satisfied that Evie was alone.

A loud clap echoed through the structure as Ratcaj strode towards Evie. 'Evie-e-e.' His heavily accented voice boomed through the building.

Her hands remained on her hips but she struggled to stay composed. _His bigger than I remember... Shit! Just relax._ Ratcaj lurched into the room wearing black trousers and an unbuttoned, red Hawaiian shirt. His white singlet exposed his muscular neck and chest. Evie stared into the green eyes that defined evil. She could feel her breathing increasing with every step Ratcaj took.

'Hey you, dick-head!' Ratcaj grabbed one of his workers by the arm and span him around, 'I tell you before to git rid of that Holden.' Ratcaj shoved the man as though he was a child. The man clunked against the car that he should have already dumped. 'Fuck-ing hopeless,' Ratcaj muttered and walked towards Evie.

Ratcaj was always in a hurry and was eager to process Evie's car. 'Where you been? I not hear from you for four months?' Ratcaj held three greasy fingers and a thumb up, one finger missing, his tone hinting at suspicion.

'I got knocked up. Lance. You remember?' Evie studied Ratcaj's face for any signs of guilt, but only a cunning smile appeared.

'You pregnant?' Ratcaj took a step closer to inspect Evie as though she was a prized cow.

'Nah, got rid of it.' Evie smiled as if she had dumped a stray cat by the side of the road, but on the inside it tore her apart. Remembering her unbearable decision, the dirty room it took place in, saying the words out loud almost brought her undone.

Ratcaj smiled also studying Evie's reaction, investigating her emotions, but she gave him nothing. She visualised scratching his eyes out and his agonised cries for help, enabling her to return a smile.

Satisfied with his interrogation Ratcaj turned his attention to his new prize. 'Very nice, very nice,' Ratcaj said, thinking of the quick money to be made. The smashed Charger was already having its factory compliance plate and ID stickers removed in readiness for their transfer to Evie's car.

'Ray. Stop fucking around. Get this car over in the back. Come on, move it!' Ratcaj barked orders at his fearful flock. Evie suspected that was how the tattooed man had won his toothless smile, a gift, courtesy of Ratcaj's large fists.

Evie walked up to Ratcaj, his massive figure dwarfing her. 'Aren't we forgetting something?' She rubbed her fingers together in the universal sign for money.

'What's stopping me from just taking it?' Ratcaj said, without taking his eyes off the car.

'Oh let's see...' Evie smiled, 'at least three anti-theft devices that'll take you at least a couple of days to find and the fact I'm back and ready to steal anything you want.'

Ratcaj smiled at her cunning. 'You one cold bitch Evie-e-e.'

Evie knew he probably had a buyer waiting and with the current police investigation desperately wanted to move the car on as quickly as possible.

'Here's your money.' He pushed $200 of folded twenty-dollar notes into Evie's waiting hand with a meaty fist. 'You want to make another twenty?' Ratcaj said and pinched her on the breast.

She slapped his wrist with enough force to surprise the large man.

'No thanks.' Evie smiled, her eyes meant business. 'I don't root for money, just for fun.'

Ratcaj smiled at this revelation and rubbed his stinging wrist, the pain only excited him even more.

'If that's it, I'm outta here.' Evie was more than ready to escape the company of Ratcaj and his men, one of whom had witnessed Ratcaj's proposition. As far as she was concerned the deal was complete. She would make her get-away and call Detective Pearce from one of the many phone boxes she had seen along the way.

'What's your hurry?' Ratcaj sensed her fear. Like any bully, he fed off it.

Evie realised that Ratcaj held all the cards and swiftly processed her alternatives. She looked around the room of desperate men, the lookout was no longer at his post, the others were no longer fixated on the car, every man had turned their attention to her. The possibility of her being sexually assaulted rocketed to the forefront of her mind. Despite all of her natural instincts to run for her life Evie did the opposite, and smiled. 'Looks like you guys wanna have a party.'

Ratcaj's smile sent a new wave of shivers down Evie's spine as her survival instincts took hold. She may not have been as strong or fast as her present company but her natural problem solving skills was a Trojan horse in Ratcaj's world.

'First we do the car,' Ratcaj bellowed, then with a softer voice he continued, 'then we do her.'

Evie heard the men laugh about something but she couldn't hear what, then she made her own announcement. 'Where's the shit-house?'

Ratcaj turned around.

'I've got the trots somethin' bad.' Evie continued her graphically detailed explanation at the expense of Ratcaj's and his men's imaginations.

Ratcaj pointed over his shoulder to a small room housing an office and toilet before returning his attention back to the car that would soon make him a tidy profit. Evie nodded as she walked to the small room backed against the building's longest wall. She had anticipated that the toilet would have a small window, big enough to escape through to alert Detective Pearce.

Evie scanned the small darkened office; it had two compartments with an array of books supporting the bogus wrecking yard's existence. Without hesitation she continued into the toilet. _That's bloody disgusting._ She had to fight the overwhelming stench of urine and the putrid seat-less toilet bowl. Evie switched the light on and looked up. Her hopes of escape evaporated. The window had half-inch thick steel bars welded across its opening.

_Shit!_ She looked for an alternative. Her eyes widened at the realisation of her only option: _The office?_

Evie dropped down on all fours and crawled into Ratcaj's office, her only light coming from the globe in the small toilet. She searched frantically for what she hoped, even prayed for, would be there. Even by her own risky standards this was pushing her luck. Evie located a phone lead and followed it to a green telephone. _Shit this is gunna be close._ She carefully picked up the phone and backed her way into the toilet. Evie did her best to conceal the cord, pushing it as close to the wall as possible and closed the door behind her.

*

Detective Pearce arrived at Goulburn Police Station without warning. He informed the country sergeant that he was there on special assignment, investigating the transportation of black-market cigarettes that utilised the trucking industry. It wasn't that the detective thought the local establishment was corrupt, he just wasn't taking any chances.

Pearce assigned three highway pursuit cars for the special task and positioned the two most experienced drivers at either end of town, just in case Ratcaj attempted to escape. He had even concealed his activities from his superiors and had only informed his hand-picked men of their target.

_Fucken suit thinks he owns the place._ The sergeant resented the detective commandeering his office and wasn't making his new guest feel very welcome.

Pearce was an educated man and didn't have the street smarts and aggression that most police developed during their careers. He ignored the sergeant's blatant disrespect and continued his preparations for the intended bust.

Pearce had given specific instructions to the constable manning the police switchboard. 'Don't hesitate constable; forward any calls from Evelyn Rose to Goulburn Police Station immediately _._ '

The switchboard constable welcomed the opportunity to be included in the investigation since being forcefully appointed to the position for not being 'one of the boys'.

*

Evie had memorised Pearce's phone number and dialled it carefully in the dark. _Come on, come on._ She urged, waiting for the circular dialler to return to the start between each digit.

Evie whispered into the mouth piece, 'Hello, Detective Pearce? ... Can I speak to him please?' Evie rolled her eyes, _Jesus, stop talking and put me through._ 'Hurry I don't have much time--'

'Hello. Pearce speaking.'

*

'Ray, you id-iot,' Ratcaj chastised his worker for failing to start the Charger. _I don't need these problems, this is what I git for using a wom-an._ Ratcaj was frustrated, the car was getting on his nerves, and Evie was taking too long in the toilet. 'Bloody thing won't start,' Ratcaj said and pushed another worker out of the way.

'Fuck this.' Ratcaj yelled stretching his back and rolling his shoulders, 'Go git Evie.'

The heavily tattooed man rushed from behind the car and followed Ratcaj's instructions without a word.

Evie whispered into the phone, 'The swap's taking place right now! I'm really scared. I'm...' she cringed at her incriminating beginning, 'they're at Boswell Industrial Park, Lancaster Road, factory seven, please hurry; I'm worried about my fiancÉ... _Ten_ minutes!' Her voice quavered at the prospect of having to delay Ratcaj for so long, her plan had been to stay put while the bust went down. Ratcaj would think the small feisty Evie had heard the police and taken cover. The police would find Russell and Michael's car and eventually return it. She knew that all of her plans required her to escape detection by Pearce, otherwise her entire scam would come undone. A loud thump on the door echoed in the filthy toilet. She jumped and covered the mouth piece.

'The boss wants ya.'

Evie let out a groan and threw the handpiece into the toilet bowl making a splash. The tattooed man's face snarled at the sound effects of someone with acute gastroenteritis. He wrinkled his nose and backed away from the door.

'Give me a minute, will ya?' Evie strained noisily.

The man shook his head. _That's fucken disgusting,_ he thought, returning to the car. 'She's busy shitin' herself boss,' he said, waving his hand in front of his nose.

Evie looked at her watch. She had stalled for a few extra, precious minutes and took a deep breath, a decision she instantly regretted in the stench-ridden cubicle.

_Jesus._ She pulled a face and reached into the toilet bowl picking up the handpiece with two fingers. _How am I gunna see if it's safe to leave._ She squinted around the darkened room noticing a small mirror above her head. _Perfect!_ She reached up and slid the mirror off the wall and angled it to spy on Ratcaj and his men.

'Go git her, I had enough.' Evie heard Ratcaj demand. _Shit. I've gotta move. Get up now._ She stood up under the cover of darkness and pushed the phone with her foot back under the desk.

'Right!' Evie announced, leaving the office. 'Look at you lot fart-arsing around.' The men turned, surprised. 'Want a little girl to show you how it's done?' She smiled walking up to the driver's door. _I reckon I've got five minutes before Pearce gets here; I've gotta stall._

'The first switch is in the boot.' Evie leant in through the driver's door and pulled the small automatic release next to the handbrake. The boot popped open, the innovative technology impressing the men. The small boot space was taken up with an extra fuel tank and Michael and Russell's belongings. 'Can you see it?' Evie asked her audience, stalling for time.

All seven men studied the area. After ten seconds of looking Evie pointed to a rubber mat. 'Lift that up will ya.' One of the men fumbled with the mat. She leant in and pointed to a small fuel tap that was switched off. 'Go on mate, turn it on.' She leant back and smiled at the men. 'Ya won't get far with this off,' Evie quipped.

Ratcaj took mental notes of all the non-factory installations as Evie led the men to the front of the vehicle, intentionally brushing past one of the men with a smile, the brief physical contact further distracting him from his job as lookout.

Evie crouched down in front of the car, facing its grill.

'Someone pop the bonnet will ya.' Her posture revealed her cute bottom over the top of her tight jeans. All eyes in the classroom were drawn to the show of flesh.

Ratcaj took charge and pulled the bonnet release but nothing happened. 'It's busted.' He was becoming frustrated with all the distractions.

'No it isn't. Come out front.' Evie pointed to a small black spring pin under the bonnet that no one would detect unless shown.

Ratcaj narrowed his eyes at the simplicity and ingenuity of the design. He pulled the pin and the bonnet released, showing the Charger's high performance engine and the row of polished carburettors. All of the men leaned in for a closer inspection but Ratcaj dropped the bonnet with a metallic clang; he was in the business of money not vehicle appreciation. 'Start the car,' he ordered.

The tattooed man slid into the drivers seat and gripped the keys.

'Not yet,' Evie interrupted. 'Feel under the radio for a kill switch; it's up high, in the back.'

The man fumbled for a good twenty seconds before Ratcaj squeezed into the passenger's seat hitting his head on the low doorframe on the way in. 'Fuck!' Ratcaj's head throbbed from the impact. 'Move idiot.' He slapped the man's hand away.

Evie glanced at her watch. _Ten minutes has passed? This is it. It's gotta be now._ 'Here, let me do it.' She motioned for the tattooed man to get out, his second reprimand in as many seconds. Evie reached up under the radio. 'It's in here somewhere,' she said, adding eight more seconds to her plan. 'There!' She clicked the small toggle switch on. Ratcaj and Evie sat in the car like two people on a date.

'Is that it? Any more secrets?' Ratcaj's voice dripped with menace and frustration.

'Nah, that's it.'

'Who'd you steal this off?'

'Just a couple of dropkicks.' Evie's mind replayed a random moment of her time with Michael and Russell.

'They sure didn't want it stolen, how you learn where all these switches are?'

Evie shrugged her shoulders. 'I've got my ways.'

Ratcaj laughed, his moods changing like the wind.

'You a smart girl, you come work for me all the time.' He placed his hand heavily on Evie's small shoulder, jarring her spine with his brute strength.

She turned the ignition key, the engine roared into life, still warm from being driven into the large shed only twenty minutes earlier. Evie revved the engine, making a thunderous roar that filled her acoustic prison. Ratcaj's men smiled at the powerful display. Ratcaj's struggled out through the cramped doorway, flinching as his back twinged from an old war injury. He signalled to kill the engine with a throat-slitting hand action. Evie smiled at the imagery.

While Evie had been educating everyone on the workings of the car, Ratcaj had failed to notice that his lookout man had joined in for the demonstration.

'Get back to work!' Ratcaj yelled, looking at his watch.

The men returned to what they were doing; one man picked up a hammer, an other man searched for his screwdriver.

'This is the Police. The building is surrounded.' A scratchy megaphone voice sounded from outside.

Ratcaj and his men froze like chickens under the surveillance of a hovering hawk, their expressions identical as they stared at each other in utter disbelief. Ratcaj appeared confused at finding himself in this predicament. Events were moving too quickly for him to handle.

Evie restarted the car as the police repeated their announcement. 'GET IN!' Evie shouted to Ratcaj over the revving engine. 'QUICK!'

Ratcaj realised his options were limited. His men had already scurried out through the secret openings like rats from a sinking ship. He had no choice. He quickly squeezed back into the passenger's seat. Ratcaj knew, from Evie's reputation, that if anyone was going to outrun the police it was going to be this fiery young woman sitting beside him.

Evie skilfully manipulated the clutch and brake pedal, accelerating powerfully. She used all her skill to start a high-pitched squeal of burning rubber to keep car stationary. The roar of the engine, at close to 6,000 rpm, combined with the shrill screech of spinning tyres, drowned out all other noises.

On the outside, police officers looked at one another in confusion, as though a jumbo jet was taking off. White smoke filled the large room, blocking any view of the madness going on inside.

Without warning, Evie released the brakes. 'Shit!' Ratcaj yelled. Evie and Ratcaj sunk deep into their seats; the car hurtled towards the back of the factory. She wrestled with the large steering wheel as the vehicle fishtailed across the floor, barely missing other cars and parts.

Ratcaj braced himself against the dash pad; his expressions using facial muscles he never knew existed. 'Easy! EASY!' he yelled as they bore down on a smaller roller door.

Evie ignored him. It wasn't by accident or luck that she had stumbled across this rear entrance now. When she arrived it was one of the first things she had noticed.

'There'll be--' Ratcaj gasped, '--cops outside.'

'I KNOW!' She didn't need to be reminded. She screeched to a halt only six feet from the door. 'Get out, open the door. Come on. Quick!'

Ratcaj was still recovering from his roller-coaster ride from hell so he didn't question her orders. He rushed to the roller door, tripping over his long legs. He gripped the chain and began pulling, his muscular arms strained against heavy door grinding it skywards. His face contorted with the force of every pull, every sinew and fibre in his forearms bulging.

It was a risk, not knowing what she would find on the other side, but Evie guessed, _There should only be one car and maybe a few cops._ It was even better: just two probationary constables, with their hands still on their holstered pistols, who stared into the darkened, smoke-filled factory.

Ratcaj continued to raise the roller door intently watching the space between the ground and door. Evie wished she had a camera to record his face as she hurtled through the gap.

_What?_ Ratcaj thought.

Evie smiled revengefully at the man who had caused so much pain, the man who destroyed her chance of having a family, the man who would now give her grandparents back their farm.

It still hadn't sunk in that he had been doublecrossed. Ratcaj held his hand out in astonishment. 'Wait! You forget to stop.'

Evie simultaneously hit the high beam and loud factory-fitted bugle horns. The two constables dived for their lives. In a blink she shot between them and escaped. But it didn't matter, because there in the corner of the doorway, still holding the rusty chain, was their primary person of interest: Ratcaj, with a factory full of stolen and partially rebirthed cars.

Ratcaj's fate had been sealed and he knew it. He snarled between breaths. 'You... you...' Ratcaj struggled to regain his breath, 'You BITCH!'

*

Evie had been tested beyond all her limits, it was now the Charger's turn. She commanded power and the car conceded to her like a lion to its tamer.

At first Evie thought she was home free, some of Ratcaj's men had drawn all of the attention being the first ones to escape. The tattooed man and the inefficient lookout had made a getaway in the ute, which proved disastrous. While driving around a corner at high speed one of the pursuit vehicle's purposely clipped the rear of the car sending it into a flip. The doors had burst open from the centrifugal force, sending one of the occupants headfirst into the road while the other one was squashed under the rolling car. The fatal collision also caused one of the pursuit vehicles to crash.

Evie was street smart. She had played her hand perfectly but had underestimated one man, Detective Pearce. Pearce was a rising star in the eyes of his superiors and a _pain in the arse_ to all those beside and below him. He had many talents but his best was as a strategist. He had recruited two pursuit vehicles and their experienced drivers from the Police Training Unit in Yagoona. Pearce had anticipated the possibility of Ratcaj escaping, as he had done twice before. If it was going to be by road, Pearce wanted the best drivers on his side.

*

Evie wasted no time in putting as much distance between herself and the police. _Just try and keep up coppers_. The flashing lights had almost disappeared into the distance. Evie even granted herself a small smile. After five minutes of racing through the leafy back streets of rural Goulburn she noticed that one of the pursuit vehicles had managed to match her on skill and speed. She suddenly realised, _Shit! If they can handle that heavy thing around these streets, I'm gunna have trouble outrunning them on the straight._

Evie had a bad feeling about the highway pursuit car chasing her. She tried to gain enough speed to distance herself from her pursuer to enable her to take cover in a side road or driveways, but they had maintained a constant line of sight, spoiling her plan.

Her instincts had been correct. The two officers pursuing her were experienced instructors both in their late forties. Each man had seen his fair share of pursuits and had trained extensively on all sorts of roads, in all kinds of conditions. The driver, nicknamed 'China' because of his pale skin displayed a level of concentration befitting of a wax statue. His burly offsider, also an experienced driver, manned the police radio and navigated the unfamiliar country roads. Evie's intimate knowledge of the area was her only advantage in her dwindling arsenal of tricks.

She hadn't yet changed out of third gear as the open road approached. She squinted as the sun shone across her eyes. _Here we go_ , she thought and slammed into top gear. The car responded with frightening acceleration. Her pursuers momentarily faded into the distance but Evie knew it wouldn't be long before they would be _hot_ on her tail. Within minutes they were back, trailing behind her at incredible speed.

Her stare was fixed on the narrow road ahead. She had pushed cars beyond their limits before but never a car this fast, or for this long. The two vehicles dodged and weaved along the deserted country roads occasionally passing unsuspecting vehicles in their wake. The afternoon sun played havoc with both drivers' vision. Not a good position to be in: at high speeds on an unfamiliar road in fading light.

Evie imagined herself in a similar situation she had seen on a wildlife program. She was the more nimble gazelle being hunted by the ravenous lion. Whenever Evie's lighter more agile car pulled away from a corner she could accelerate away with ease but when the road straightened the bigger, more powerful police car came in closer, for the kill.

The cat and mouse chase continued for half-an-hour with neither driver making any mistakes. The police weren't aware until confirmation came via a scratchy radio message that they were following a double-tank version of a road racing car. The police had hoped that if they maintained the pursuit long enough that there was a possibility that the crazy young bloke behind the wheel could simply run out of fuel or worse, make a tactical error and crash. Police training had shown that if they maintained a constant and intimidating pursuit that the inexperienced driver would have a lapse in concentration. But what was becoming clearer with every nerve-racking minute was: who was the less experienced driver?

The afternoon sun was about to set over the sweeping pastures of the treeless landscape. With the light fading, both police officers had decided to increase the level of intimidation on the next straight stretch of road. They didn't like their chances in a pursuit along pitch-black country roads.

Evie had found her rhythm. She now had the feel of her car, even if it wasn't _hers_. She felt as one with her reflexes. She had tuned her depth perception for cornering. _As soon as it's dark I'll lose --_

'JESUS!' she cried as a loud thump, followed by a solid vibration, jolted the Charger and her body. She looked up surprised to see the police car so close to her car that she couldn't tell where hers ended and theirs began. Another bump then three more in rapid succession nudged Evie's car to over one hundred miles per hour.

_Shit. Crazy cops._ Evie turned her focus back to the road. The predatory nudging at high speed sent shivers down her spine and was a rude reminder of her predicament. She welcomed a series of familiar corners that enabled her to momentarily break away from her pursuer. Her surprised expression turned to a smile. _They wouldn't be trying this shit if they weren't desperate._ Evie shook her thoughts clear. _I gotta hang on 'til dark._

One thing she knew was the area, she had only travelled through this part of the countryside twice before but this uneducated girl from the Hunter Valley had a photographic memory. Whether it was one of her grandfather's lost tools or a road she had driven only once, it was programmed in her mind forever. Evie remembered a town, five minutes' away that had a wide old-fashioned main street; its purpose: to enable anyone in a horse and cart to perform a wide U-turn. It was late Friday afternoon and Evie knew all the locals would be in town and hopefully in the safety of the only pub.

*

Afternoon drinkers were spread out on the wide verandas of the hotel, celebrating the end of the working week, oblivious to the free show hurtling towards them.

The two cars descended on the small town at a frantic pace. The road leading in to the town was narrower and left little room for manoeuvring.

'There's a bloody town ahead!' the co-driver screamed, noticing it first.

Evie's car was travelling slightly to the left giving the two police officers valuable insight for their next move.

'He's gunna take a right,' the co-driver said, offering an opinion.

'Got it,' China snapped, expressionless.

'We've gotta get this clown off the streets,' the burley cop said and threw the map over his shoulder. 'We've gotta end this madness once and for all.'

'I'll catch his rear quarter and flip the bastard when he turns.' China blinked in a flutter of hidden nerves. 'If he goes straight, we'll be straight back on him.'

Evie licked her lips and gripped the wheel hard. _Jesus my wrists hurt,_ she thought, after struggling with the heavy steering for an hour. _This is it, it's gunna be close._ She hurtled towards the corner of the main street blasting the horn, catching the townspeople's attention.

'He's braking!' The co-driver pointed at the brake lights glowing red.

'It's gunna be a hard one.' The two police officers braced themselves ready to collide. China's desperation revealed in his decision to crash both cars. A crimson glow filled his face as he aimed his car to the right side of the road. His stare narrowed on his prey. _I've got you now you bastard!_ The roaring engine had given him everything he demanded and more. It was time for his two tonne metal Falcon to slain its enemy with one final act of brute force.

His co-driver placed one hand on the dash pad and the other on the roof as they timed it perfectly for a rear-end impact. _This is gunna hurt!_

Evie turned the steering wheel and applied then released the handbrake. The Charger's rear suddenly slid sideways. She rammed the steering wheel left and slammed the accelerator down hard. _Come on girl! You can do it._ In a split second the Charger had started an incredible power turn, tyres spun sending plumes of white smoke everywhere, a howling screech filled the town. The desperate manoeuvre creating incredible G-forces.

'Shit. He's going _left_ ,' the co-driver yelled.

Evie slammed into a lower gear and held on for her life.

The two police officers let out a combined, 'SHIT!' as they rocketed straight through the intersection.

Evie hadn't dared look at the speedo as she commenced the high-speed turn. She trusted her instincts but knew in her heart she was coming in too _hot_. _Shit... I'm not gunna make it._

The main road was shaped for water run-off and as Evie turned the corner she braced herself. The car's back wheels continued to squeal. The rear spoiler was doing its job, keeping downward pressure on the back tyres. But it wasn't enough. The rising contour of the road provided just enough lift for the rear wheels to momentarily break contact with the newly bitumened surface. Evie tried to prepare herself for what she feared, but everything moved in slow motion. The millisecond of lost traction resulted in the rear tyres moving eight feet before coming back into dramatic contact with the road. She gripped the steering wheel in readiness for what was to come.

'Shit!' she cried as her body bounced violently in the confined space, making her screech like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Evie's screams were silenced in one final assault on her body. Her head hit the driver's window with enough force to crack the glass into a thousand tiny fragments.

Evie regained her iron will. She gritted her teeth, furious at the road for betraying her. 'Come on you BITCH!' she screamed at both herself and the car. She counter-steered for her life, against gravity and the spinning tyres. The car screeched from side to side through the town like a crazed animal.

The locals let out a cheer, not of support, but at the magnificent display of roaring engines and smoking tyres that had unexpectedly appeared.

_Breath damn it breath..._ She wrestled her car back under control. Still with her foot flat on the floor she sped out of town leaving white smoke drifting gently across the road. She glanced in her rear-vision mirror to see if the police had somehow managed to pull off the same skilled manoeuvre, but there was no sign of them.

*

The two police officers had only just managed to bring their heavy vehicle to an emergency stop; the experienced driver had applied and released the brake pedal to maintain steering control through the intersection.

China stared at his partner. His normally ice-cold expression had turned to boiling revenge. 'That's it... this cunt's dead!' He threw the gearlever into reverse and flattened the accelerator.

The two officers were now letting their emotions influence their decisions. Oblivious to the cheering drinkers who watched with enthusiasm as the police car, with sirens blaring, roared backwards into the intersection before braking heavily. The driver again pushed his foot flat to the floor before selecting a gear. The bulky square-nosed beast hurtled down the main street leaving a trail of burning rubber. All 351 cubic inches of its engine being put to the test.

The chase had just become personal. The experienced driver had invested too much in the pursuit. Even though both officers believed that a driver this good was worth getting off the streets they secretly respected their adversary's abilities. But enough was enough, they were about to throw out the rule book and end this madness once and for all.

*

Evie looked ahead down the long straight road. _I've got five, maybe seven minutes before these guys are on my arse._ The precious time allowed her to think, take a moment to reflect, a luxury she hadn't had in over an hour. Her face throbbed with pain from the impact with the window. It was only now that she felt the warm trickle of blood dripping onto her shoulder. She glanced up in her rear-vision mirror, turning her head to the side. A deep gash ran from her temple to just above her eyebrow, the blood leaving a trail down her cheek.

Evie evaluated the wound clinically. _Shit, it's nothin'._ But the heavy blow had already begun affecting her vision. Evie was more upset at the cracked driver's window, which blocked her view of the side mirror. She was tempted to break the glass but it would compromise the aerodynamics and she needed all the speed she could harness.

Evie searched her pockets for anything that could be used to stop the bleeding. She pulled out a folded photo from her jeans; it was her favourite one of her and Michael. Michael's expression was one of surprise with Evie pressing her lips hard into his cheek just as Russell pressed the shutter. Without warning her eyes welled with emotion. She turned her attention back to the road still surprised at her attachment to a man who would probably never have anything to do with her ever again. She pressed the photo into the dash so that Michael stared back, then she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She looked down the long straight road, hoping for something, anything, a turn-off, an opportunity to escape. Evie glanced up into her rear-vision mirror only to see, in the distance, a raging police car descending upon her. It was relentless; she could feel the hopelessness creeping into her bones.

She gripped the steering wheel again, scanning the open fields; she strained her eyes at a reflection far in the distance. The setting sun was directly behind her and reflected off something metallic. She stared across the flat open spaces to what she now recognised as a slow-moving freight train, running almost at right angles to her speeding car. From this distance the train appeared to be stationary, but Evie noticed something else: the flashing lights of the road and rail level crossing. Her mind raced to use this new information to her advantage, to create an opportunity, to somehow, just somehow tilt the scales of freedom in her favour. Her eyes hardened with a realisation. It had become clear to her in an instant. Her escape would not be decided by skill or risk but by cruel fate, by a long freight train in the middle of nowhere.

The police also realised that chance had dealt them a favourable hand. The two officers had already noticed that their prey had begun to slow, probably in the realisation that its cage was slowly closing. From over 120 miles per hour down to just over 60 miles per hour the police were only three hundred feet from the Charger and had to apply their brakes as they closed in on their opponent. The two officers nodded at each other; they had the driver trapped. Now travelling at a more controlled speed they resumed the tactic of nudging their prey with thudding impacts from their heavier vehicle.

For the first time Evie could clearly see her pursuers. She had imagined them as young broad-shouldered police with chiselled features, but in fact they were more mature and drove like no one she had ever seen. Each nudge splintered her fragmented window a little bit more, making small ceramic tearing sounds, the impacts not only reverberated through her car but also attacked her senses, a truly intimidating experience, like no other.

Evie's stare was emotionless, her gaze distant but focused on her purpose. The nudges failed to break her concentration. She repositioned herself in her seat. The moment of choice had arrived.

The freight train appeared to be moving faster than before, an optical illusion now that both cars were only a few miles from the train. Evie wiped her drying tears. She looked down at the photo of her and Michael and kissed her fingers before gently running them across the happy memory. 'I'm coming home, baby.'

She thrusted the gear stick into third gear and planted her foot to the floor. The engine roared instantaneously, like a lion. Evie was slammed back in the seat, the power of the Charger pulsating right through to her finger tips. The wheels spun again with a shrill and smoke rocketing the silver machine towards life or death. Evie glanced in her mirror to see the police car slowly shrink as she pulled away effortlessly, leaving the two occupants dumbfounded by her choice of action. She was now accelerating at incredible speed towards a suicide meeting with two thousand tonnes of hurtling steel.

The police were completely caught by surprise. Their hesitation and subsequent inaction prevented any hope of immediate recapture.

Evie had delayed just long enough to narrow the window of opportunity for beating the train across the level crossing. In the final moments the car chase had come down to: Who had more to lose? Her choices in life had brought her to this very point, her family, her lost child, her love for Michael. She regripped the steering wheel knowing she would only accept one answer, one outcome... life. She was prepared to risk it all.

Evie's concentration focused only on the road ahead. She blocked out the slow two-storey freight train approaching the crossing, its occupants oblivious to the impending collision. The setting sun obscured their vision.

Evie's car began to sway on the two-lane road. Its aerodynamics not yet fully perfected by its designers. The speedo needle sat hard against its top speed of 130 miles per hour. Evie stared at the wildly vibrating tacho needle as it passed 6,000 rpm. The engine's extractors now glowed an eerie red. The car's interior vibrated with the madness of speed.

Her moment of destiny was upon her. Evie watched as the freight train entered her peripheral vision. She was so close, her freedom so near. The driver's window could no longer sustain the continual stresses and shattered, thousands of tiny particles splintering into the air. The car filled with air, the pressure popping both rear vent windows, which were never designed for this sort of abuse. Evie's hair billowed out beautifully in the violent storm that surrounded her, lapping at her bleeding brow. She didn't turn to look at the monstrous metal beast that shadowed her. _What's the point? What's done is done_.

'I love you Michael,' she whispered. She leant forward and waited. Waiting for two thousand tonnes of freight train to wipe her from the earth.

A small echidna, startled by the lights and bells from the level crossing, waddled across the road, oblivious to the speeding car approaching from the other side. Its world already shaken by the strange sounds and shadows bombarding it, the small creature clumsily changed direction, deciding the side of the road would provide better protection. Just as the train began to cross the road, a new sound entered the tiny marsupial's world, a roar the likes of which it had not encountered, followed by a shadow that flashed overhead in a blinking moment.

Evie's car punched past the front of the train. Only now did its occupants catch a glimpse of her, a silver flash that appeared and disappeared in an instant. At over 140 miles per hour, the Charger was momentarily airborne, before gracefully landing almost sixty feet from the railway line.

Evie's heart felt as though it had stopped, she couldn't believe it. Luck had played its part, but all her experience, all her determination had combined to allow her to make an escape that would forever become part of Australian highway-patrol folklore.

Both police officers stared in wonder at what had just happened, each secretly admiring the skills of their prey.

'How are we going to write this one up?' the co-driver asked.

'Just as it happened,' China said, taking a well-earned breath. 'Just as it bloody well happened.'

# Chapter 13

The midnight road revealed nothing. Two beams of quartz halogen headlights from the Charger showed the way for its weary and injured occupant. 'Not far... now,' Evie muttered, barely keeping her eyes open. It had taken two days to get home after holing up in an abandoned farmhouse. The police had been everywhere, watching, waiting for 'the one who got away'. She had struggled to concentrate from the effects of her head wound: her eyelids felt like lead weights, she wanted nothing more than to sleep.

'Who the hell is that?' Pop said, springing from his bed. 'What bloody time is it?' He grabbed his shotgun resting next to the bed and peered out the window. He scratched his head as a shadowy car slipped through the front gate. _That's not?... It couldn't be!_

With his trusty shotgun at the ready, and dressed in his pyjamas, Pop cautiously skulked towards the mysterious silver car.

Evie opened her door and tried to speak.

'Jesus girl!' Pop rushed forward, dropping his firearm.

'Hi Pop,' she croaked with a wan smile before stumbling into his arms.

'What have ya done lass?' he said supporting her under the arms, guiding her to the house.

'Little trouble with the cops... that's all.' She staggered into the kitchen and slumped heavily onto a chair.

Her grandparents cleared everything off their modest kitchen table. Evie's grandmother gasped at the sight of her granddaughter's head wound. _Look at all that blood, what has the dear thing done?_ She wet a face cloth and started dabbing the dry blood covering Evie's face and neck.

'I know woman.' Pop answered watching his wife of fifty years signal her concerns. 'I know what it looks like Meg,' the old man snapped, turning Evie's head from side to side. The impact between the window and Evie's face had ruptured the blood vessels in her right eye. The entire right side of her face had begun to swell.

Meg rushed to the side cabinet and picked up the telephone, pointing it in her husband's direction. 'I can't do that. Can't you tell what's going on?' Evie's grandfather had known what her plan had been all along, but he had never counted on his granddaughter getting hurt.

'Whose car's that?' he grunted as he inspected her wound.

'It belongs to,' Evie had to concentrate to organise her words. 'It's Mick's. I gotta get it back to him.'

'Who's Mick?'

'The bloke I stole it off.'

'Stole it!' He paused his inspection. 'I'm dumpin' it in the creek.'

' _No!_ ' Evie grabbed his wrist. 'I've gotta get it back to him. I shouldn't have... he's too good--'

'Righto! Settle down.' He prodded the weeping gash.

Evie suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth and retched. She lurched off the chair and staggered out the kitchen door stumbling to the ground. 'Just look after it, will ya?' Evie tried to steady herself, she wasn't accepting her body's ultimatum to concede to her concussion. She wiped the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand. 'I've just gotta collect the reward... from the cops... then, I--' Evie staggered forward and her eyes rolled backwards. Pop just managing to catch her limp body.

*

Evie tossed feverishly on her bed, oblivious to the sunlight dancing across her clammy forehead. Meg applied a cool cloth in an attempt to ease her suffering. The night had been a long one. Pop eventually succumbed to his wife's silent pleas for a doctor. However, despite the doctor's advice to move her to a hospital, her grandfather thought it raised the risk of her being discovered by one of Ratcaj's men or a crooked cop.

Evie had disclosed everything to the old man before setting out to set up the organised crime figure. She feared for her grandparents' safety once all was revealed, but her grandfather didn't flinch at the risk. 'I'll send the bastards to hell, that's what I'll do,' he had declared.

In the silence of her room he sat quietly by his granddaughter's side, making sure they were alone before speaking, his wife lingering until he was at Evie's side. 'Ya stupid kid,' he said as he placed his weathered fingers around Evie's narrow ones, his inability to share his emotions always a catalyst for hurt within his family. 'I never told you something.' He ran the back of his hand across his runny nose, unable to acknowledge his feelings. 'I reckon,' his voice quavered, 'if it wasn't for you I would have chucked it in long ago.' Unaware of his confession Evie slept peacefully. Still too afraid to speak, he managed an emotional whisper, 'I love ya lassie.'

After a while Pop stood and gently brushed a strand of hair off her face with a callused hand before slowly leaving the room. 'Don't leave her side until I get back,' he barked at his wife in an attempt to conceal his emotions, as the two of them passed in the doorway.

_I know you too well Paul Rose._ Despite his aggression Meg knew him better than he knew himself. She realised that in his heavy heart he blamed himself for the entire situation.

*

Evie's mind wandered helplessly between dream and delirium, her subconscious throwing up random memories of her past and possible futures.

Evie saw herself standing in the middle of a rich green pasture, she saw herself as a six year old in the loving arms of the mother she barely remembered. The young woman looked lovingly into Evie's smiling face. 'I love you darling and always will.'

In a blink, Evie was an adult again, dressed in a beautiful wedding dress, looking down at a beautiful blue-eyed daughter she could never have. Evie cried out to the heavens begging for forgiveness, holding the little girl tightly to her womb.

'Evie.'

She looked around to find Michael by her side, her daughter gone, disappeared in the blink of a dream. His crisp dress army uniform hugged his powerful physique.

'Michael!' Evie said, smiling. 'I didn't mean to--'

'It's alright, it's alright I'm here now.'

Evie embraced her lover, unable to believe her luck, somehow knowing that upon waking her beautiful Michael would be gone.

*

Meg dabbed her granddaughter's brow, she smiled as Evie's lips motioned sweet whispers.

'Mick you,' Evie whispered in her sleep, 'you gotta forgive me.'

Suddenly a car door slammed from outside _._ _Who could that be._ Meg peered through the window to see her husband arguing with two strange men dressed in black suits.

*

'I already told yas, I haven't seen her in months.'

'Listen old man,' a man in his early thirties said, slamming his door. 'You wouldn't be lying to the police now, would you?' The tall brown-haired stranger produced a detectives badge.

'Police! My arse you're coppers. Since when do youse drive Mercedes?' Evie's grandfather said, pointing at the stolen black late-model vehicle.

The man smiled and stepped forwards, without warning he drove a powerful fist deep into Pop's stomach. The blow slumped the farmer down on one knee. 'Now listen you old cunt.' The cowardly thug briefly looked around the dusty entrance. 'If ya know what's good for ya... ya better tell me the truth. Now where's Evie?' He grabbed Pop by the hair and rammed his knee into the old man's defenceless face. Paul's head swung back, his face a bloody mess, he groaned in pain, collapsing backwards into the dust.

'Good one Al,' the smaller man said and laughed. 'Ya got the old fucker that time.'

'Shut up Greg!' he snarled and returned his focus on Pop. 'Now listen.' Al grabbed Pop by the hair. 'Tell me where the bitch--'

A thunderous blast erupted twenty feet away.

'What the fuck!' the smaller man called, turning to see a woman pointing a double barrel shotgun at him.

'Look at this old bitch!' Al smiled at Meg adeptly handling the powerful weapon

*

Evie looked around her dream world, the clouds moved faster than was possible. Suddenly a loud gunshot shattered the silence and she found herself cradling Michael's head against her shoulder. She sensed something was wrong and felt a wet warmth on her hands; when she raised them thick blood draped down her fingers and wrist. She broke her embrace to discover the source of the blood. 'Michael!' she called out as she realised it wasn't hers.

'I'm sorry,' he struggled to say, his pristine uniform now replaced by his combat fatigues, the fabric tainted with blood reflecting the eerie twilight. Evie's beautiful wedding dress stained with oozing blood _._

*

'Stupid _bitch_ has to reload!' Greg laughed, not realising Meg's weapon had two barrels. He stepped forward reaching inside his suit jacket for his stolen police-issue pistol. 'What are ya gunna do now you silly old cow--'

A second blast shattered the midday silence.

A cloud of flesh and Italian cotton sprayed into the air. The force flung Greg's leg backwards into the air, sending him crashing forwards onto the dusty earth. Al watched in disbelief as his partner landed heavily on the ground, losing hold of the only firearm the two men had.

_Shit._ He glanced back at the woman who had already cracked open her shotgun and was calmly loading two more shells. Al half crawled, half ran, through the dust grabbing at the small pistol laying by his partners withering side. He fumbled it into his palm and turned, ready to fire.

' _Fuck_!' he said, looking down the long cold barrel, the powerful firearm pressing hard against his forehead. 'Hey lady _,_ ' he pleaded, 'don't do anything--'

*

'I love you Mick. I'm sorry, sorry for everything.' Evie grabbed at Michael's failing body, the cause of his injuries still unclear.

'You've got to go,' Michael strained. 'Wake up Baby. You're in danger. Wake up!'

*

Evie's bloodshot eyes flew open. 'Nan... Pop?' she said, struggling to her feet. Her head thumped, her vision was blurred, but she was focused on what she had to do.

*

The family farm resembled a war zone: one man doubled up in pain with a pool of blood trailing from his shattered leg, the other pleading for mercy at the end of two hard, cold barrels.

Paul dragged himself to his feet; Ratcaj's henchmen had given him a severe beating. Despite being in custody, Ratcaj had put a message out through his network of criminals to track Evie down, and kill her.

'Please, I'll just leave... You can take him, do whatever you want with him.' Al pointed to his whimpering partner.

Meg showed no emotion, she stood silently wishing she could yell her thoughts. _You animals come into my home, threaten my family and beat my Pauly._

'She can't speak, dickhead.' The whimpering criminal looked up to see Evie standing over him. 'But if she could, she'd tell you to go to Hell.'

'Don't you get it?' Al said, pleading with open hands, 'We're just gunna keep coming for ya. Mi's well just come in and tell the cops it was you. You and Lance did it all.'

Al stared into the face of rage that loomed above him. A shovel balancing on her shoulder. He closed his eyes as Evie brought down the end of a small shovel across his head.

The blow shattered his face: his cheekbone and nose collapsed under the cold hard steel, his once-powerful presence crushed in the dirt like a slaughtered pig.

Evie's grandfather staggered to her side. He snatched the shotgun from Meg intent on finishing what she had started.

'Pop wait, I've got an idea,' Evie said, grabbing him by the arms. 'I reckon we can use them.'

'Don't be stupid.' He aimed the shotgun ready to kill. 'This bastards goin' to Hell.'

'Pop!' Evie moved in front of her bleeding grandfather, his lip split, his nose broken. 'We can use'em to send a message.'

'Message? There's only one message these pricks are gunna get!'

'Pop, please. Trust me on this.'

Paul Rose looked beyond his granddaughter at the two men laying in their own blood. _She aint got the stomach for what needs to be done --what has to be done._ 'Alright Ferret, have it your own way. You see the cops and I'll get these arseholes gone.'

'I'm right Pop,' Evie smiled at her bleeding grandfather, 'you'll see.'

# Chapter 14

Traffic Squad Headquarters, Sydney - late September 1971

'Have a look at this!' The constable smiled and nudged his fellow officer.

'Huh... Phwoar!'

Evie breezed through the dreary police station draping the corridors in colour. Dressed in a scarlet red mini-dress, white belt and dark sunglasses. She walked the gauntlet of curious eyes with the grace of a movie star.

*

'Yes sir, the young lady is coming in today,' Detective Pearce replied, twirling the phone cord. 'Yes it's all gone very well sir.' Pearce smiled at the kind words from the Commissioner of the New South Wales Police Force. The successful arrest and apparent disbandment of the car-theft racket a week ago, had impressed the detective's superiors all the way up to the political ladder. Pearce hung up the phone, a well-earned smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Despite only one of Ratcaj's men escaping in a stolen Charger, it had been a successful operation.

'Sir!' A constable knocked on the door.

'Yes!'

The tall man leant into the starkly furnished office. 'Miss Evelyn Rose is here to see you.'

'Send her in.' The detective sat up straight, still on a high from the Commissioner's encouraging words.

Evie slinked through the door, transforming into the victim she created. The room suddenly lifted in colour and sensual femininity.

'Here miss.' The constable offered a chair while scanning Evie's tanned thighs. 'Can I give... er, can I get you some tea.'

Evie shook her head. 'No thank you.'

'Please sit down Evelyn,' Pearce requested and politely stood.

'Thank you Detective Pearce.' Evie raised a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

'Is everything alright dear?' he asked sympathetically.

'It's just that...' Evie paused long enough to dry her tears, allowing the ever observant detective to notice her bruising under her sunglasses. 'I'm frightened, my fiancÉ was... angry.' Evie burst into tears, her performance convincing, the opportunity allowing her pour out her bottled-up emotions from this past harrowing week.

'There, there.' Pearce got up from his seat with tissue in hand. 'Constable!'

The door opened almost immediately. 'Yes sir.'

'A cup of tea for the young lady.'

The constable nodded before casting one more alluring look at Evie's tanned legs.

'I don't care if he is your fiancÉ,' Pearce said, handing her the tissue, 'no bloke should hit a woman.' He carefully removed Evie's glasses for a closer inspection.

' _Jesus!_ ' Pearce was shocked. 'What a low bastard.' The normally reserved detective believed Evie's story with conviction. 'That's a nasty cut. What did he hit you with?'

'I think it was made of glass--I'm not sure, because I was knocked out.'

'Bloody hell.' Pearce shook his head, wanting to protect her, wanting to go twelve rounds with the coward responsible.

'All I remember is he said,' Evie drew in a shuddering breath, 'that Ratcaj's men would catch up with me and that he never wanted to see me again.' She burst into tears as the constable entered the room. He tried to make himself invisible, surreptitiously placing the cup of tea on his superior's desk before quietly leaving.

'Don't worry about Ratcaj, he's going away for a _long_ time.' Pearce patted her hand. 'And as for the rest of his bunch, we're getting closer to finding them every day.'

'Detective, I think it would be best if I get away for a while, maybe even leave the country. Would it be possible to collect the reward today?' she said, knowing it was a long shot.

The detective sat up and smiled sympathetically. 'Unfortunately Evelyn, even though Ratcaj will definitely go behind bars it won't be possible to pay any rewards until he's convicted.'

Evie tried not to show her disappointment. 'Detective Pearce, would it be possible to have the reward made out to my elderly grandparents, they're farmers and they need the money more than me.'

Detective Pearce imagined Evie's grandparents as the stereotypical old couple caring for their pretty granddaughter. 'That's fine Evelyn, I can organise that.' He stood and handed her the cup of tea, noting that it had an instant calming effect on her. 'Now don't you worry about any of Ratcaj's men, I'm sure that they won't be bothering you for too much longer.'

Evie sipped her tea and smiled as she looked up over her cup. 'I hope not Mr Pearce, I really hope not.'

*

'Go on ya bastards,' Paul ordered, shoving each man in the back with his shotgun. 'Keep walking.'

The men stumbled past scattering chickens outside the barn, hands tied behind their backs, gags wedged tight in moaning mouths.

Al and Greg saw their black Mercedes parked ahead next to an old fence post. Greg half crawled, half walked ahead thinking the old farmer had come to his senses.

'Hang on!' Paul demanded. 'Not so fast arsehole.' He reached up from behind and with one hand pulled at a piece of canvas, the knot that had been so tight around each man's mouth fell away onto the muddy paddock. 'Turn around!'

Two dirty faces that hadn't slept for days stared at the armed man. The morning sun silhouetted Paul's body, each henchman struggled to make out his cold smile.

'Which one of ya's want a job?'

The men looked at each other. The question didn't make any sense.

'Well... ya dumb bastards?' Paul said, taking a step backwards and lowering his gun to chest height. 'I need a messenger, and there's only one opening going.'

'I'll do it.' Al spoke up, realising what was installed for the remaining candidate.

'What's he on--'

'What's the message?' Al said, ignoring Greg's question, his hobbling partner barely able to stand.

'Thought you'd want the job.' Paul smiled, he cocked one of the barrels and aimed his powerful weapon. 'Tell the devil--' His smile went cold. '--that I'll be sending him a whole bunch of you _cunts_ that'll never touch my family ever AGAIN!'

'NO--'

Paul blasted into the henchman chest. Pellets shredded through the man's body as though he were made of straw. The sudden impact allowing him a final thought, _Smithy was right, this bitch is... she's..._ Aldo Ratcaj slumped to his knees. The youngest brother of the murderous Ratcaj crumpled face first onto the muddy paddock.

'What are you cryin' for?' Paul barked, turning his smoking gun on the petrified survivor. 'Ya still alive aint ya?'

'Don't kill me! Please... please. Ya wouldn't treat an animal like this would ya? Help me please.' Greg cried and fell to his knees, his tourniquet bound leg no longer his biggest problem.

'Help ya?' Paul shook his head.

'I'll do anything, anything at all.'

'I know ya will ya dumb prick.' Paul waved his shotgun to the rear of the car. 'Open the boot.'

'Sure.' Greg realised what he was being asked. 'What about my hands?'

'Slide them under your arse.'

Greg did as he was told. He kept one eye on the old farmer as he lay down before painfully pulling his hands under his legs.

'Hurry up!' Paul demanded and opened the boot. He moved back as the henchman hobbled towards the body.

'Urghh...' Greg struggled lifting Al's body inside the large boot. An arm flopped down hitting the bumper. The fact his partner of two years was dead had little effect on the criminal, his only concern was surviving. 'There, now give me--' Greg froze. A cold barrel pressed hard into his throat. Paul shoved him against the open boot. Greg reached back, his hand touched the still warm body of his fallen comrade.

'The same goes for you ya _cunt_.'

'But--'

Pop smiled and pulled the trigger, the point blank explosion sprayed speckles of blood all over the farmer's face.

Greg's headless body wavered for a second, it went forwards and backwards. Paul used his empty shotgun to shove the body backwards into the boot.

'There ya go.' Paul wiped the blood from his narrowing eyes. 'Don't go sayin' I didn't help ya.'

*

Evie arrived home late in the afternoon to find the black car gone, as planned.

'Are they taking the message back with'em?' Evie asked walking into the kitchen, having no idea of the execution.

'Don't worry about it. I told ya I could do it,' Paul said, beckoning her over. 'I want you to take this.' He placed an envelope in her hands.

Inside was a large amount of cash.

'You've gotta get out of here, more pricks are gunna be back. You're not safe.'

'What happened?' Evie sensed something had gone wrong.

'It doesn't matter. I've killed before, and God aint gunna hold this one against me either.'

'Killed? Pop... what have you done?' Evie scanned his face for answers.

'EVIE! This isn't a game.' He gripped her firmly by the shoulders. 'These bastards meant business. More of these...' Paul took a quivering breath, he felt a sadness wash over his soul, his voice began to waver, 'these bastards are gunna come back and I don't know if I could,' He lowered his head, 'bear to lose another daughter.'

This rare emotional outburst caught her by surprise, two large tears rolled, unchecked, down her cheeks.

'You've gotta go away. Outta the country.'

'But--'

'No buts.'

She gazed into her grandfather's eyes, but too many years of the hard life had taught him to guard his feelings, they barely revealed the deep love she had always craved, and which he had possessed all along.

Almost losing control of his emotions he turned away. 'As soon as we can get you outta the country the better.' His voice trembled with heartache. 'I... don't... I can't--'

'Pop, I love you. I don't want to go. Me tellin' the cops I want to leave was just bullshit, and you know it.' Evie strained as she attempted to turn him towards her, but he resisted, his wiry old body surprisingly strong, from years of toiling the land. He refused to face her, his only grandchild, ignoring her pleas and affection.

'POP! I don't want to go,' Evie cried as she slumped at his feet.

He tried to speak; he could feel his emotions bubbling to the surface. _I can't, I don't know why._ He turned and walked away, too proud and foolish to show his feelings, unable to tell Evie he loved her, needed her, as a bird needed the sky and a fish the water.

Evie looked over at her grandmother; the older woman's eyes were wet with sadness _._

_Why can't he tell her, tell her as he does me?_ Meg held her grandchild in silent comfort, unable to speak her love, condemned never to speak her thoughts.

# Chapter 15

'Dimitra!' Nic called from the hotplate, 'More fish.'

Since Michael had left for Vietnam Dimitra had begun helping Nic at the family's takeaway business. She had accepted, without protest, being brought back into the business fulltime. Any apprehension about returning was soon quelled by the increased social contact, with customers. Old customers welcomed her back with affectionate greetings and new customers warmed to her caring personality.

Russell had also joined 'Team Nic' since being fired as a mechanic.

Nic and Dimitra had received the news of Beth and Russell's relationship with astonishment. Nic had made Russell squirm for what seemed like an eternity, pretending to be upset. 'You tell me you _love my daughter_ and you want to marry HER!' Nic yelled, struggling not to laugh. ' _I_ won't let my--' Nic hesitated when Russell passed out face first on his living-room carpet.

Beth and Dimitra ran in from the kitchen to find Russell unconscious. 'Dad! What did you do?' Beth demanded, cradling her boyfriend.

'I did nothing,' Nic answered, raising both hands. 'He just went _boom!_ '

Nic had convinced Russell to come and work for a few months in their takeaway business to learn about customer service before looking for another job. Russell fumbled his way around the shop and accompanied Nic to the fish markets daily. He proved himself worthy when Nic's fully laden station wagon broke down at the fish markets.

'I don't need _this_.' Nic cried holding his hands open to the heavens. 'I just get it serviced.' Nic continued turning the key, his wincing expression matching the wining engine.

'Let me have a look.' Russell jumped out and lifted the bonnet. 'Give it another go,' he said holding an ignition lead in his hand. 'You've got power.' Russell continued to fault diagnose as an audience of market customers gathered around. 'Crank it again.'

Nic obliged. _All this fish is going to waste. Why today of all days before the weekend._

'Found the problem,' Russell said and nodded his head. 'The fuel pumps stuffed. You're not getting any fuel to the carbie.'

'Shit!' Nic cried slapping his forehead.

'Don't worry Nic, I'll see what I can do.' Russell disappeared into the crowd leaving Nic stranded at the exit of the car park.

'Nic!'

Nic turned to see his friend Theo walking towards him.

'What's the problem?' Theo asked, looking under the bonnet.

'Fuel pump,' Nic answered feeling a headache coming on. 'My...' Nic made a face, 'my future son-in-law is getting a tow truck.'

'I heard about him. An Australian boy,' Theo said, making a judgement.

'He is--'

'Told ya I'd sort something out.' Russell smiled and climbed up on to the roof racks. 'I'll just get this Jerry can secured and we'll be on our way.'

'What are you doing up there?' Nic said, leaning out the window. 'The problem's down here.'

'Give me a sec.' Russell ran a hose from the full jerry can of petrol, down the windscreen and into the engine bay. 'This'll get us home, no worries.'

'How is it--'

'Gravity fed fuel delivery.' Russell smiled and sucked on the hose bringing petrol spiralling down the transparent hose. Theo watched on impressed while Russell attached the hose to the carburettor. 'Give it a-go Mr Halias.'

Nic turned the key and brought the engine to life.

'Smart boy your future son-in-law.' Theo smiled and tapped Nic on the arm.

Nic smiled. 'My daughter knows a good man.' He pulled the gear lever down and accelerated out of the markets.

Nic loved having his family around him in the shop. He sang to his customers knowing how it made Dimitra feel. 'Sush Nic! You make me turn red.' Despite Michael's absence he and Dimitra welcomed the extra workload. Nic liked it busy, it made him forget about his son's dangerous new life.

Within a week Dimitra had taken over all the transactions and table service. Nic was able to produce more meals through her innate sense of what he needed next. When he suddenly realised he needed more tomatoes and lettuce it seemed to miraculously appear. Within weeks Nic and Dimitra were operating like a well-oiled machine and with Russell's help business had increased by ten percent.

Every afternoon like clockwork, one of Nic's oldest customers would stop by. Bruce MacKenzie, the local postman, had known Nic for fifteen years and always timed his lunch so he could drop in at the busy takeaway. Bruce delivered the Haliases' mail in person, because he enjoyed Nic's conversation. Bruce was close to retiring and had known Nic and Dimitra since they first opened the shop; he was one of the few who hadn't discriminated against the struggling young Greek family.

Bruce was a creature of habit; in all the time Nic had known him he had always ordered the same meal. 'What will it be today Mr Bruce?' Nic asked, already knowing the answer.

'Guess, Mr Halias,' Bruce replied with a grin, adjusting his cap.

Nic clicked his fingers and smiled before pointing at the postman. 'Only the best piece of fish and my famous Greek salad for you.'

Bruce chuckled and plonked a bundle of letters on the counter. 'I think there's an airmail envelope in there somewhere,' Bruce said alluding to the obvious.

'Dimitra!' Nic called out. 'Another letter from Michael.'

Dimitra stopped rolling hamburger patties in the small kitchen and bustled out to the front counter.

'Good afternoon young Dimitra,' Bruce said with a smile, removing his cap, his silver hair miraculously still looking neatly combed.

Dimitra blushed at the compliment and picked up the mail.

'Good to see you two lovebirds working together again,' Bruce remarked.

Dimitra blushed again at someone other than her husband commenting on their love. She concentrated on opening Michael's letter. Nic and Bruce watched her eyes dart across the pages, handwritten in Greek.

'Well, Dimitra?' Nic said, widening his eyes and opening his hands. 'What does he say?'

She wanted to read the entire letter first before translating it into English. Michael had promised to write twice a week regardless of the subject. Dimitra rapidly read the three pages. She would read the letter at least twenty times before storing it with the others. 'He says, "Hello _Mama_ and _Baba_ ".' Bruce needed no translation. '"I miss you all a lot. Especially Mum's cooking. The food is not so good".' Dimitra hesitated as she constructed the sentences. '"Haven't done any soldiering, just build and fix bridges all day long."'

Michael's letter continued in the same vein, allaying his parents' fears. Bruce watched Michael's proud parents hang on their son's every word.

Bruce's daily ritual had brought about a coincidental elevation in Nic's mood, in fact, this happened whenever the two caught up. Bruce fulfilled the role of the older and wiser uncle that Nic missed since moving to Australia. When Nic required any assistance with paperwork or legal documents Bruce was always happy to provide his guidance and insight.

Nic and Bruce's relationship always became interesting when Bruce attempted to pay for his meal. Nic would protest, telling Bruce to eat for free, for all the assistance he had provided and Bruce would argue that he didn't accept charity. 'It's a matter of principle,' Bruce would explain. Eventually both men would reach a compromise on a 'special MacKenzie rate'.

Dimitra lost count of how many times the two men would argue about the same point.

# Chapter 16

Phuoc Tuy Province, South Vietnam

'Mick! Get around back,' Sergeant Thompson barked through the shirt-sticking heat. The forty-eight year old was a veteran of three wars and had the temper of a gorilla. 'Mick!' he called again in frustration.

Michael couldn't hear Tommo over the thunderous engine that powered his bulldozer. It had been two weeks since he arrived and he was still battling the stifling heat. Like the rest of his troop he worked shirtless. His arms rippled as he wrestled with the controls of his four-tonne beast. The only protection from the sun was his army issue floppy hat.

'Mick ya deaf prick,' Tommo yelled, pulling his powerful six-foot-two-inch frame up, and onto the bulldozer's step.

'What Sarge?' Michael answered, the sergeant only inches from his face.

'What? What do you mean "what"? For fuck sake, I've been trying to get your attention for ten minutes!'

Michael swallowed nervously, he had been lost in thought. The woman who had stolen everything was all he could think about.

'I want ya to build that bank over there another three foot higher. Got it?' Tommo pointed at a bridge under construction, his powerful forearm revealing a tattoo of a devil-tailed Amazon princess; Michael had noticed it the first day.

'Ya hear me?' Tommo barked.

'Yeah Sarge.'

'Good, then stop dreaming about crumpet and get on with the job.' Tommo smiled and ran his banana-bunch-sized hand over Michael's head. 'Finish up after that, and we'll get outta this shit-hole.' Tommo jumped back down onto the red mud.

Michael nodded with a smile. _The_ _big bastard can read my thoughts --_'SHIT!' Michael swatted a huge fly that buzzed into his ear. 'Fucken flies! Fucken heat! fucken EVERYTHING!' He swatted at the flies and crunched the bulldozer into reverse. A plume of black smoke pumped out into the humid afternoon.

Michael's troop was part of the 'Winning hearts and minds' engineering program. Their mission for the past week had been part of a road-and-bridge-building task force.

Word had leaked out that an American senator was visiting the southern provinces to thank the locals for their support during the ten-year war. The whole base had heard Tommo yelling over the radio when he heard the news. 'Send the fish-head bastards a telegram, why don't ya?' Tommo's concerns were legitimate: it was never a good idea to broadcast what was about to happen, especially in a war zone. Tommo had been on edge ever since.

'Hey kid!' Michael called out, realising a little Vietnamese boy was standing close to his bulldozer. 'Watch out matey. Don't get too close, okay?' Michael smiled and waved at the little boy dressed in rags.

The boy waved back mesmerised by the size and sound of the bulldozer.

Michael was new to this world and the hungry faces that filled it. He found it difficult, if not impossible, to detect any fear in the people, despite what he had heard. The families who existed in this broken country were indifferent to the tall Australians. For the first time in Michael's life he appreciated his home, his country and the people he cared for. Deployment to South Vietnam was an eye-opener for this confident young man.

More children gathered from the nearby village to witness Michael's steel monster lifting a huge tree out of the ground. Michael could hear the children's excited squeals as he pitted machine against nature. _I'll give the kiddies something to get excited about._ With an almighty rev of his engine he dropped the tree before picking it up again in the bulldozer's jaws. He began shaking the tree like a beast killing its prey. He watched their faces light up, their imaginations soaring to new heights.

'Stop fuckin' round with the kids,' Tommo barked, struggling through the thick mud towards Michael's machine.

'Easy Sarge.' Michael looked embarrassed on the children's behalf. 'They're only kids.'

'Sooner we get this shit done, the sooner we can get out of this shit-hole. Now hurry up!'

'Sorry kids,' Michael said to the dozen smiling faces, 'I gotta go.'

The children watched him skilfully guide his bulldozer onto the back of an enormous flat-bed semitrailer.

Michael clambered into the cabin and looked back at the village. _Poor little buggers, imagine growing up in this kind of world._ The truck rumbled into life and joined the procession of vehicles meandering through the mud, back to their base nearby at Nui Dat.

*

'Oi Mick!' Graham called from his bunk. 'What-cha reading?' the twenty year old asked, turning onto his side.

'A letter from home,' Michael answered without taking his eyes off the paper.

'Is it from a chick? Has she got big--?'

'Shut up about sheilas will ya!' another soldier called out. 'All ya talk about are bloody chicks.' The tent was crammed with six men lying and listening to the continuous drone of night-time rainfall.

'Is it?' Graham whispered; the ginger-haired man had befriended Michael on day one. The two men were both categorised as 'Reos', reinforcement engineers for men who had finished their tour, or worse.

'It's from my--HEY!' Michael cried as the letter was snatched from his fingers. 'Give it back, Chicko.'

'I'll tell ya who it's from.' The six-foot-five blond ex-lifesaver grinned.

'Give it back ya dickhead,' Michael snarled, leaping up, clawing at the air, but Chicko's towering stature left Michael groping at the wind. He angled the ten-page letter to catch the light.

'What's this shit? All the letters are fucked up.' Chicko flashed the letter at the room of men.

'It's in Greek, ya moron.' Michael jumped up high but failed to capture his little piece of home.

'Wait a minute?' Chicko grinned. 'I can make sense of it now. It's from a woman isn't it?'

_How the hell does he know that?_ Michael looked up confused.

'It says...' Chicko winked at the other men, '"I love the way you touch my big Greek tits."'

'Does it?' Graham was all ears.

'Give it back, ya prick,' Michael said, grabbing Chicko's sleeve.

'It says, "I can't wait until I show ya my big hairy--"'

'CHICKO!' Michael used two hands to pull Chicko's arm down.

'No ya don't, Casanova,' Chicko teased, holding Michael back with a long arm. 'I'm right on the money, aint I? Why else would ya want it back in such a hurry, hey boys?'

'Keep reading.' Graham wanted to know more.

'I want ya big salami all the way--'

Michael took a step back and rushed forward, shoving the laughing giant against the centre post of the tent.

'Watch it you two,' Ron ordered from a corner bunk. 'You'll bring the whole fucken lot down.' Ron, a regular army corporal, he was almost thirty and this was his third tour. When Ron spoke, it was worth listening.

'I told ya it was from a sheila. I bet she's talking about all the weird tricks she can do with her--'

'It's from my _mum_ , you arsehole!'

The men all burst out laughing, except for Michael and Chicko.

'How the fuck was I to know?' Chicko defended himself to the room of pointing fingers. 'I mean, have a look at it.' He held the letter up again for everyone to see. 'All the letters are triangles and fucked-up shapes.' More laughs followed.

'Put your foot in it this time big fella?' Ron grinned. 'Mick's probably got 'em lined up at home, haven't ya stud?'

'Not anymore.' Michael smiled, returning to his bunk, his letter safely in his grip. 'I've got someone special in mind.'

'In mind?' Chicko said, sitting on the edge of Michael's bunk. 'You're not even an item?'

'Well...' Michael moved restlessly on his bunk. 'We already got together but...' Michael realised he was about to share a secret. But these men were different to anyone else. Each man would risk his own neck to help the other whatever the reason--for Michael, this emotional support was everything thing he needed.

'I met her just before I came ove--'

'Has she got big tits?' Graham interrupted.

Michael didn't comment. That wasn't what drove him to think about Evie, or the life he wanted with her.

'I knew she had big tits!' Graham said, turning to the rest of the men.

'Shut UP!' the tent of men shouted, every man was more than ready to hear a story from home.

'I met her in Surfers. We hit it off from the very start.' Michael propped himself up on one elbow and smiled at the room of men. 'She's got this... this energy that makes everyone like her. She grew up in the country, and when we got together,' Michael's eyes focused on the dull glow of the light bulb, 'man... it was like something out of a dream.'

'Did ya root her?'

'GRAHAM!' the men yelled.

Graham shrank back into his bunk, feeling the room's anger. A toilet roll smacked him on the head a second later.

'We made love around a camp fire and--' Michael smiled embarrassed. 'It's a night I'll never forget.'

'Does she write?' Ron asked.

'I stuffed up on our last night together. I said some stupid things.' An image of Evie drifted through his mind. _What an understatement. I can't believe I was so stupid judging her like that._ 'And then... well, then she stole my new car and disappeared.'

'Bullshit!' Chicko broke the silence. 'For real?'

'For real.' Michael nodded, flopping onto his back.

'Was it a good car?' Graham asked on behalf of everyone.

'A brand new... uninsured R/T Charger.'

'NO!' every man called back.

'Yep!' Michael answered, biting his lip.

'And you still want her back?' Ron asked, judging the kind of man Michael was.

Michael turned back onto his side and smiled. 'In a heartbeat.'

'Fuck,' Graham blurted out, 'you've got it bad.'

'What would you know?' Chicko said, reaching over and playfully shoving the young man's shoulder. 'You haven't even done the deed yet.'

'I almost did,' Graham declared innocently, not noticing one of the soldiers undoing his pants. 'I was this close to puttin' it in.'

'Did it look like that?' Chicko smiled.

Graham turned to find one of his troop only inches away, his bare arse staring at the horrified young sapper.

'PISS OFF!' cried Graham just as Chicko held him down.

'Give it a kiss.'

'NO!' Graham writhed, fearing his chuckling comrades.

Michael ignored the laughter. He went back to his little piece of home. Australia and everything that mattered was a world away. _If Evie could just give me half a chance I know I could win her back._ Michael inhaled deeply. _I wish I could find a way to reach her._ He glanced over at the men wrestling in the middle of the floor. 'Silly buggers.' He smiled and returned to reading the letter from his mother.

*

'Come on fellas!' Tommo boomed over the construction site. 'If ya can wrap it up by eleven hundred... it's beers on _me_.' The sergeant scanned his twenty men all doing their part in the football-sized road and bridge building operation.

Michael operated his dozer in a precise and powerful display of man controlling machinery, the shirtless soldier setting a cracking pace for the rest of his troop. He momentarily took of his floppy army hat to wring out the sweat.

Graham and Ron busily welded the finishing touches to the thirty-metre-long bridge that would soon carry the US senator safely across to the village.

Michael tried to ignore the village children watching his every move. News of the previous day's show had spread amongst the youngsters. 'GRRR!' Michael growled moving his machine towards the children before quickly turning away. The children screamed with excitement and scattered in every direction.

'What the fuck did I tell you?' Tommo yelled, noticing Michael playing games with his military hardware.

Michael looked over at Tommo marching from a tent under an enormous lore tree.

'I'm ahead of everyone,' Michael answered, waiting for the spreader to finish smoothing over the road edge.

'I don't give a shit,' Tommo said, marching up to the dozer. 'If you throw a track we're fucked, and the schedule's shot to shit.'

_Jeez, Tommo's got up on the wrong side this morning._

'And another thing Halias--'

'Sarge,' a soldier yelled, running from under the tree, 'base is on the wire.'

'I'll deal with you later _Halias_.' Tommo grunted then mashed his way back through the mud.

Michael returned to tidying up the area. It wasn't long before he could hear Tommo yelling from across the field.

'Fucken what? We're done here; I don't see--'

Michael watched Tommo kick a fold-up chair. 'Three fucken hours? You've gotta be outta ya fucken mind.'

Soldier after soldier heard the sobering news; their free beer from the sergeant was a _no go._

'Now listen,' Tommo barked and summoned his men to the shade. 'We got a change of orders.'

Michael squinted up at the hot sun while he walked over. He could feel a trickle of sweat running down his browning back.

'Headquarters is ordering us to hang around to provide extra protection for this dickhead pollie.'

'How long Sarge?' Graham puffed, his fair skin beginning to burn in the scorching heat.

_I can't believe I'm saying this._ Tommo stared at his men. 'Three hours.'

'What?' blurted some of the men.

'For fuck sake, Tommo. Ya sure?' Ron complained; he had known Tommo the longest.

'We've got our orders,' Tommo grunted, he didn't have a choice. 'Get the grub going. We'll eat now and as soon as this dickhead passes we're outta here.' _I don't want to be here any longer than we have to._ 'Mick get ya dozer loaded, Ron get the shit packed.' Michael turned and followed orders while Tommo got his men organised.

Within minutes a barbecue was sizzling with steak and onions, the delicious smells attracting half-a-dozen skinny dogs from the village. 'Fuck off ya mutts!' Tommo said, kicking at the strays.

'Another five feet.' Ron guided Michael to the left, the battered vehicle laboured onto the semitrailer with a crunch. 'That'll do Mick.' Ron signalled to stop the engine.

'Grub's up,' the cook called out, ready to dish out a meal of steak-and-onion rolls.

'Christ it's hot,' Graham complained, collecting a full plate of food. 'It's just as hot in the shade.'

'Stop whingein',' Ron said, bumping Graham as he walked past.

'Hey!' the young man protested, losing a sausage off his plate.

Ron smirked and looked for Michael, last night's story of Michael's broken heart had given him an idea.

'Mick.' Ron sat down next to Michael on the shady grass. He looked around making sure no one was close enough to hear. 'I was thinking about what you said last night, about your girl.'

Michael listened. Ron was known for coming up with a solution for any problem.

'Ya write her a letter--'

'I don't know where she lives.' Michael had already thought of that.

'Let me finish.' Ron looked around again making sure they were alone. 'What you do is write an open letter to the editor of the country paper where she lives. Where is it again?'

'I think in the Hunter Valley somewhere.' Michael was already liking Ron's idea.

'You make it a declaration of your love. You apologise loosely for your actions. Make it poetic, love and all that shit. You pay whatever it costs to have it run once a week for a month. If she doesn't see it I guarantee someone who knows her will.'

Michael beamed. Ron knew he had come up with a fix for a broken heart. He had seen men distracted by problems from home: a failed marriage, mothers panicking their sons with thoughts of doom. Too busy daydreaming instead of focusing on an enemy who could appear at anytime from anywhere.

'Ron, mate, you're a genius. I would never have thought of that.' Michael reached over and shook Ron's hand with a new appreciation for his friend. 'I mean, that's brilliant.'

'Anything for love,' Ron said, standing up. His expression suddenly changed. 'I mean, love in general. Not that I'd love a big-dicked dago like you Mickey boy.' Ron bent down and tapped the brim of Michael's hat. 'See ya later.'

Michael smiled and threw what was left of his lunch over his shoulder. He immediately pulled out his pocket-sized notebook and started writing his letter to the editor. _What a good idea._ Michael's pencil darted across the tiny pages. More smiles appeared as his pencil scratched away at the paper. He nodded subconsciously writing words that danced, orchestrating a lingual path to Evie's heart. _Shit this is good._

Time sped by for Michael. For others it was taxing in the depressing humidity. Some of the men slept. Others played cards, and others had become bored.

'Watch out!' Graham called as an ill-timed kick sent a football bouncing off sleeping men, ricochetting off a table of card players and sending their soft drinks toppling.

'Fuck you're annoying,' Chicko yelled at the apologetic-looking Graham. 'If you weren't such a crack shot I'd shoot you myself.'

Michael picked up the ball and tossed it in the air. 'Who's up for a game?' Four other men, the youngest of the troop followed Michael towards a small patch of grass.

'All good, Mick?' Ron asked when Michael walked past.

'Everything's fantastic,' he said with a wink of appreciation.

Ron smiled and turned back to reading his magazine.

The village children pointed and giggled, watching the men wrestle and tackle each other. Michael got possession and kicked it high into the air. He could hear the children's collective sigh when the ball spiralled up to the heavens.

Graham ran backwards catching it on the full only to be tackled heavily to the ground.

'Fuck this,' he groaned, getting up covered in dirt and sweat.

'Come on,' Mick encouraged, 'we've only been playing for half an hour!'

'Graham's right,' another soldier agreed. 'It's too hot for this shit.'

Michael watched the rest of the men stagger back to the shade. 'You're all soft cocks!' he called with a smile. He was still on a high from finishing his letter. He was just about to walk back when he noticed a little boy standing nearby. 'Hey little fella,' Michael said, realising it was the same child who had spent all day watching him on his bulldozer. 'Ya wanna have a kick?'

The boy didn't understand the tall man's words, but the bright blue-eyed smile was enough to convince him he liked the Australian.

'Here, catch.' Michael gently kicked the football straight at the boy's chest. It clunked into his bony body. Two skinny arms grappled at the odd shaped ball.

'Now all ya gotta do is--' Before Michael could offer instruction the little boy booted the ball with everything he had.

'Good work!' he exclaimed.

The odd couple kicked the ball backwards and forwards as more children appeared from the village. Before he realised what was happening over thirty children had joined the fun. Giggles and laughter erupted every time Michael unleashed a powerful kick into the air. 'Watch this one kids.' Michael gripped the ball and gave it an almighty boot.

'Ah-h-h!' the children sighed, watching the ball pierce the clouds.

Michael took his eyes off the ball to gaze at their expressions. As he watched their smiling faces he wondered about their future. _Poor buggers_ _have no idea about all this shit going on round 'em_. Looking back up for the ball he squinted to find its location in the sky. Suddenly, without warning, it bounced only a few feet away making him jump back in surprise. The children began to laugh, some clapped at the one-man footy show. Michael pointed accusingly for laughing at him. 'Just for that I'm gunna get yas.' Michael lumbered like a monster, purposely missing every opportunity to grab a petrified child.

The squealing children didn't understand the _funny man's_ language, his impersonation of Frankenstein kept them wanting more. 'Ya funny buggers,' Michael laughed. Even the grandparents chuckled without warning. Their life in a war torn country momentarily forgotten, but never their reflexes for survival.

'All you lot, over 'ere now,' Tommo called from the side of the road. 'VIP's early, probably ten minutes away. Get organised and stand in formation over by the vehicles.' Some men were still dozing under the shade of a dense leafy lore tree while others were enjoying an extended lunch and smoke, waiting for the Americans to arrive. They all leapt up as one.

'See ya kids, gotta get back to work.' Michael waved goodbye to his young friends and turned to walk away. Sensing their disappointment that the fun and games had come to an abrupt end, he spun around and caught them by surprise, performing one more Frankenstein chase.

'Rharrr!' he roared. Children shrieked and scattered to hide behind carers' and siblings' legs, peeping out shyly after a few moments of muffled giggling. Michael grinned, _You wouldn't know these little guys were living in a war, they --_'What?' He looked down at the small boy grabbing at his pants, the same boy who had become his shadow. 'Hey fella.' Michael bent down and spun the football in one hand. 'Here ya go, mate. A present from a bloke called Graham. It's better if you hang onto it.' Michael grinned. 'We'll all be a lot safer if you've got it.' The boy's eyes widened; it was his first present. 'Gotta go.' Michael gently squeezed the youngster on the arm and jogged over to the rest of his unit, he was the last one to arrive.

_Fucken Mick_ , the __ sergeant thought, shaking his head at his newest sapper. He looked over his men, now drenched in perspiration, their rifles all in line, resting on proud young shoulders. To them he was a hard man, full of aggression, emotionless at times, but it was a facade. He saw himself as a father figure and since being part of the South Vietnam conflict he had watched men come and go, most by foot, but others not so lucky. 'As the Yanks pass just salute and don't break until they're round the corner. Got it?'

A collective monotone echoed back from his weary men: 'Yes Sergeant.'

The men were on more personal terms with the sergeant but, in front of dignitaries, they performed for his benefit. They casually began conversations without breaking formation. The VIP and military escort appeared in the distance, slowly trundling along the muddy road, curious villagers gathering in clutches to watch them pass.

_Why do the Yanks bother with this sort of shit,_ Tommo thought. _The fuckers blow the shit out of the whole country and expect the locals to cheer 'em along. Dumb bastards._ 'Listen fellas.' __ The sergeant decided to give his men a brief background on the VIP, laced with more than a tinge of sarcasm. 'Word has it some Yank senator is romping around the countryside thanking the good people of South Vietnam for their assistance during these times of trouble. Probably the clown's first time over here.'

Graham and Michael nodded at Tommo's remarks even though they themselves had been in South Vietnam for only weeks, and knew little of the surging political undercurrents involved in this situation.

'Look sharp fellas, here they come,' Tommo barked.

The men stood at attention in front of their vehicles. 'Hope the fucken bridge holds,' Chicko blurted out, causing the rest to giggle, holding their salute with quivering hands.

The VIP escort was led by two jeeps, followed by an armoured personnel carrier and another two jeeps. Michael watched from the corner of his eye as the vehicles passed safely over the bridge _Phew!_ Local villagers lined the roadside waving small American flags as previously instructed. Two soldiers on the lead vehicle threw chocolates to the young crowd bringing smiles all around.

_I wonder how the locals feel?_ Michael wondered. _This guy's not even looking at them in his air-conditioned limo._ _He's got no idea._

A young woman dressed in orange held a large bouquet of local flowers. She stood out from the crowd. _Wow!_ Michael thought, _You don't see a woman like that around here._ The escort vehicles passed her by but the VIP's limousine slowed down, its occupants also taken by her beauty. The black limousine's rear window began to lower, in order to accept the gracious gift.

Instantly a loud American accent bellowed from the rear, 'MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!' The limousine driver rapidly accelerated away just as the young woman lunged forward, hurling her bouquet in through the car window.

_What the hell?_ Michael thought, watching the unfolding events some three hundred feet away. Before he could prepare himself a flash of bright yellow light filled his vision. _Shit!_ A sonic boom hit him in the chest, a thunderous explosion overwhelmed his senses and debris rained down around him.

Michael's legs shook. He had barely recovered from the shockwave when a blast of automatic gunfire erupted from dense trees and undergrowth at the opposite side of the village.

'CONTACT!' Tommo screamed. Small flashes appeared like fireflies from the shadows of the jungle. American soldiers began firing in all directions. Startled by the explosion, Michael and Graham stood transfixed by the unfolding events while Ron and the other men hit the ground for cover.

'CONTACT!' Tommo yelled again amid the gunfire.

Michael and Graham hit the ground in shock. Their senses numbed by their first taste of war. The rest of the troop had immediately sought protection behind their vehicles.

Michael shouted over the ringing in his ears, 'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?'

'Satchel charge,' Sergeant Thompson yelled back, presuming the young woman had detonated the deadly bouquet. His ears were also ringing from the blast.

American soldiers from the escort took cover behind any object that could provide protection from the continuous gunfire. Michael and his troop now shared cover with US troops who fired indiscriminately into the village. If his troop hadn't been standing at attention with their SLRs they would have been defenceless, or put at risk while trying to recover them.

Michael peered under his truck at the tree line, rifle in hand, in an attempt to identify the origin of the gunfire. All the while a US soldier beside him continued to fire randomly at no clearly identifiable target. Michael was horrified to see villagers running in all directions, mainly south, away from the crossfire. He hit the soldier on the arm to get his attention. 'Watch out for the people.'

The soldier ignored him and scrambled away into a new position to continue firing.

Michael looked back towards the village, taking refuge under the truck's rear axles. It was at this intense moment that he noticed two tiny figures holding hands and running towards a hut. The hut appeared larger than the others and was located in the centre of the village. He then saw automatic gunfire coming from the far edge of the village just to the right of the hut. American soldiers had also noticed it; they changed position and began to concentrate their fire, narrowly missing the edge of the hut and the two children inside.

More US soldiers appeared next to Michael, firing their M16 rifles, the deafening percussion murderously pounding his battered eardrums.

Sergeant Thompson had already organised his multi-skilled engineers into a firing line, targeting sections of jungle for maximum effect. He had rallied his men behind a large fallen tree, which provided excellent cover and many small openings through which to fire their rifles with relative protection. The sergeant performed a quick head count. _Where the fuck is Mick?_ Tommo exposed his head for half a second and spotted Michael still behind the truck. 'MICK! Get your _arse_ over here!' he yelled.

Michael turned and seeing the rest of his troop behind the fallen tree began crawling. He ignored the sharp rocks tearing at his knees, he dragged himself over a thorny branch that cut into his chest. 'Guys,' Michael managed, dragging himself to safety relieved to see everyone intact.

Sergeant Thompson grabbed Michael under the armpits with two meaty paws and hauled him in behind the trunk. 'The Yanks have called in the artillery, we'll be safe here.' His large hand gripped Michael's shoulder. 'Those dope-smokin' Yanks are gunna blow the shit out of the whole place.'

Michael's eyes darted about witnessing deadly chaos. His entire troop firing their weapons. Tommo even had his recently acquired American Colt 45 pistol un-holstered and readied for close-quarters combat, momentarily placing it on the ground to reposition himself for a better angle. Michael only now began to comprehend the truth and enormity of what the sergeant had just said. He suddenly remembered the two little children running through the village. 'Tommo, there's a couple of kids in a hut. I just saw them run in.'

'Not for long there's not.' Tommo turned away and surveyed his men firing their weapons. It wasn't that he was cold-blooded, it was just how war happened. Innocent people got caught up and killed in war: men, women, and even children.

Michael watched helplessly as the madness unfolded. _You're always thinking of yourself._ Michael suddenly heard Russell's words rattling round in his conscience. _What's in it for me? Never thinking about helping anyone else._

The sergeant felt judgement oozing from Michael's silence and turned back to direct the young man into a firing position.

'Fuck me, look at Mick go!' Chicko yelled.

Tommo peered out in horror to see his sapper running towards the centre of the village. Tommo's side arm now in the hands of his youngest soldier.

Fuelled by adrenaline, Michael changed direction every three steps just as the country cop had told him. Darting behind carts, huts, anything that provided cover and interrupted the enemy's line of sight. Never once taking his focus off the hut that held the terrified children. Michael hurdled over a number of haphazardly scattered laundry baskets. A fleeting thought struck him about the villagers. _The poor bastards mustn't have known what happened when all hell broke loose._

The hundred yards to the hut passed quicker than he expected. Without hesitation he cleared all four steps in one leap, crashing into a small table just inside the door. He looked around the room and realised it was a classroom. He dropped to the floor and began searching for the children. Seconds later a couple of bullets passed through the walls just above his head. _Enemy fire? Friendly fire? Doesn't matter!_ He only had minutes to get the job done before the area would be bombarded.

'Hey kids, come on, I'm gunna get ya outta here,' Michael called, frenetically scanning the room, searching, hoping to find them. He noticed movement in the corner and leopard crawled to the other side of the classroom. More bullets shattered parts of chairs and tables. He had already determined his rescue strategy. _First, I'll pick the two littlies up and stop at the entrance for cover. Then, I'll sprint to the cart halfway back, rest for twenty seconds and sprint all the way back._

He reached the huddle of tiny arms and legs and froze. _What the..._ There weren't two, but four tiny faces huddled crying in the corner. Three girls and a little boy, aged from three to five years old.

'SHIT! I can't carry 'em all.'

Realising he couldn't carry all the children at once Michael quickly tucked the pistol in the back of his pants and scooped up two of the children. The two remaining little girls stared straight into his ocean-blue eyes with an expression that needed no translation: hope. He leant closer and whispered, 'Wait, I'll be back. Don't move.' He pointed firmly at the floor in front of their toes to emphasise his point then tucked his hand back around the little boy's waist.

In a flash Michael was out the door running, not just for his own life but also for those of his two little passengers. His powerful legs barely noticed the extra load but the slight incline back to safety affected his speed. With time against him, he abandoned the strategy of resting halfway and continued sprinting, his lungs screaming for oxygen. _I can do this... I gotta._ Even with his additional load he still managed to change direction to avoid enemy fire. Two bullets whizzed by. The enemy were now aware of his rescue attempt.

'Group your fire,' Tommo ordered his men, 'in the middle of the tree line.'

'Watch out for Mick,' Ron said, correcting his aim just as Mick veered left. He shuddered, realising he had almost fired at his mate.

Michael stopped to regain his bearings after momentarily losing sight of his unit. Two clumps of red earth flew up next to him. _Shit, they're onto me_.

Instinctively he ran forward with added determination. He sprinted the final sixty feet, leaping over the fallen tree trunk and landing heavily on his back. Sucking deep breaths of air Michael shoved the children into the tattooed arms of Sergeant Thompson. 'Here, take the kids.'

The sergeant looked down at the two crying children in his arms. 'Ya bloody idiot! I don't wanna see ya do any more stupid shit like that again, EVER!'

But it was too late. Michael had already clambered back over the log and headed back with complete disregard for his own safety. Like most heroes Michael wasn't risking his young life for fame or fortune, he was risking it for the unselfish greater good, one life for many.

His legs were now tiring, his concentration fading. The words of advice from his training were becoming fuzzy, his running direction not so altered. _I've gotta get 'em out... I gotta..._ Michael paused under a cart for protection. Its full load of timber provided valuable cover from the enemy gunfire. He took precious seconds to regain his composure before the final rescue attempt. It was only now that he realised what he had been looking at between breaths. What he had originally thought were bundles of laundry dropped by scared villagers, were in fact bodies.

_It's a... it's a girl_. He stared into the lifeless eyes of a young woman. She appeared to be staring straight at him, but it was haunting illusion. The reality of war hit him. Michael dragged his attention back to the present and gathered his energy for the last sprint to the hut.

He launched himself forward with all his strength pushing off each powerful leg in turn. His stride had almost reached its full length when he felt a rush of pain through his lower arm. The pain momentarily distracted him from his mission but he didn't have the luxury of time to stop. Undeterred, he continued sprinting towards the school hut. Michael again leapt up the four stairs but this time tripped on the top step and fell heavily into the room. 'Shit!' he yelled in pain as he tried to push up. His left arm was covered in blood. His fingers no longer worked, muscle had been savagely blasted from the bone.

Michael disregarded his wounds and crawled towards the remaining children whose tears had been replaced by shock, two small trembling bodies desperately clung to each other. The children looked up at their rescuer without emotion. They accepted their fate as whatever the gods had chosen.

Again Michael leant forward and attempted to scoop the children up into his arms. 'Aaahrr,' he screamed. A shooting pain like an electric shock ran up his entire arm preventing him from holding one of the children. Undeterred, he repositioned himself and tried the lift again. 'Shit!' he shrieked with the excruciating pain.

_I've only got one choice._ He had no alternative but to take one child at a time. He sat both girls back down. 'Now listen.' Michael looked them both in the eyes. 'I can only take one of yas, okay!' He picked up the smaller girl and looked into the eyes of the older one. 'Now I'll be back soon. Stay right here.' Michael pointed to the ground near the little girl's hand. Five trembling fingers grabbed his sleeve. He looked down into eyes that were old enough to know the truth. Eyes so dark the irises reflected Michael's own desperate reflection. 'Hey,' he said, forcing a smile, 'I'll be back, promise.' Michael lifted his index finger and gently poked the girl's chest making her look down, then he lifted his finger up, tapping her nose and catching her by surprise; the same trick he used on his little sister to distract her or cheer her up. 'I'll be right back.'

*

'Shit!' Graham yelled, noticing movement around the edge of the village. 'Sarge. The tree line.' Graham pointed just as machine-gun fire blasted the tree.

Tommo evaluated the madness. 'Ron, Chicko and Snow, watch the creek. The fuckers are everywhere.' Tommo and his men continued firing at the tree line behind the hut in an attempt to ward off the suspected Vietcong soldiers. Ron pointed at three darkly dressed figures who had snuck up from the cover of the surrounding huts in an attempt to surprise Michael. Without thinking Tommo stood up exposing himself to the enemy and fired with deadly accuracy. Two men slumped where they stood. The third figure eluded the fire and scrambled through a window of the school's hut, where Michael was. Tommo held his breath. What seemed like minutes to Tommo and his men ended with a brief exchange of pistol and automatic gunfire. _Come on, kid... Come on son... Please God --_

*

Michael burst out of the hut at a sprint, his legs now heavy and tired. The extra load added unbearable strain to his body. His focus was now on carrying his little passenger to safety and then somehow getting back again. _The shelling should have already started._ Michael abandoned his zigzagging motion, making them easy targets. _Zing_ , _zing_. Bullets whizzed past, way too close _._

Inconveniently Mother Nature opened the floodgates erupting in an instant tropical downpour. At first the sheeting rain provided some cover from jungle eyes but whatever advantage he gained was quickly lost; the damp red earth dragging at his boots was even harder to move across now.

Michael's strides had been reduced to lunges. His load was heavier and the finish line appeared agonisingly distant. Through the rain Michael could see his friends urging him to safety. Their yells of encouragement were impossible to hear amid the gunfire. Thirty feet, twenty feet, Michael's thoughts were suddenly in the present. _I just gotta... almost..._ His adrenaline was now spent. Pain gripped his entire arm and right side. The distance seemed impossibly far. Images started to flicker through his thoughts: the people he loved, his parents laughing, his sisters chasing each other last Christmas and... Evie. Her smile, the memory of her--

The first bullet punched through Michael's taut thigh with bone-shattering force. A shockwave resonated through his skeleton ending with a deafening _bang_ in his head. A symptom of high-calibre gunshot wound to bone. Michael spun off-balance, lurching towards the rain-soaked earth. He stumbled and fell heavily into the red mud. He squinted through the streaming rain, his one good arm still clutching his precious cargo tightly to his side.

'Go! Go! Get outta here,' he yelled at the little girl. Michael pushed the child forward. Her face was splattered with tears and rain. ' _Run_ , dammit. RUN!' he pleaded, but realised she didn't know what to do or where to go. _I've got no choice_.

Ignoring the bullets whistling past, he stood defiant against the danger, lunging forward one step at a time, dragging his shattered thigh behind him. Bullet and bone fragments tearing an apple-sized exit wound in his flesh. He reached down and in one fell swoop grabbed the girl under the arm, pushing forward and managing to gain valuable ground.

Suddenly, his body shuddered to a deathly stop. He hesitated, then stared in wonder. _What? I... can't..._ His body refused to obey his will. His eyes blinked with confusion. He looked down at his chest and stomach. Shredded fabric flapped, soaked with dark arterial blood. _I must... I've got to move..._ But instead his energy was slowly draining away. Another bullet sliced through his body, which was already shutting down, unresponsive to all nerve impulses and brain signals. He attempted to fight the darkening downward spiral but could only watch, a spectator to his own demise, as the earth rushed up to meet him.

Michael's body sank into the muddy earth. Stripped of his strength, he lay hunched sideways. He could only stare helplessly towards the village and its last remaining occupant. The image of the young woman's lifeless eyes flashed to the forefront of his memory.

*

'Shit, I'm going in,' Tommo yelled.

Graham stood up exposing himself to enemy fire to protect his sergeant. The young man's innocence gone as quickly as the bullets he fired.

Tommo scurried through the mud. He ignored the tracer bullets that rained down on his rescue mission.

A bullet _whizzed_ past Graham's ear, but he didn't flinch; he wasn't about to let his mates down. The twenty year old fired at the faces emerging from the jungle. _Ya not gunna get us, fuckers._ Graham fired with exacting accuracy. A head seemed to explode from a direct hit. Another enemy's leg snapped at the knee. Graham moved to the left then to the right, never giving the enemy an easy target. A bullet burned past his neck. Fair skin began to bleed... but Graham wasn't going anywhere.

'Their coming up the creek bed,' Ron yelled. 'We'll all be exposed.' He readied his rifle and moved away from cover.

'No Ron!' Chicko called, trying to grab Ron's sleeve. But it was too late. The twenty-nine year old had made his choice. Chicko watched in horror as his mate ran and jumped into the creek bed metres away.

Ron landed with a splash. He went down on one knee and took aim at what was coming. _As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,_ Ron prayed, shooting the first soldier in the chest. _I will fear no evil._ Two more bullets blasted from Ron's rifle, both hitting their targets. _For you are with me... I love you Mary._

The rain curtained down over the death march Ron had chosen. He fired to the left, then lurched forward throwing himself into the mud for cover, mowing down three more enemy. 'Come on ya fuckers!' He jumped up and stalked closer towards the lion's den. A bullet tore through Ron's arm. He blasted back killing two more. 'FUCK YAS!' Ron charged forward. The enemy hadn't expected the fight to come to them.

A shadow passed across Michael's face. He watched with drooping eyelids as a half-naked tattooed image brushed by his face. Its hairy canvas pulling at his collar, dragging him through the sticky mud to safety.

His head lurched forward facing the jungle and village. Bright automatic gunfire continued to flash in his direction. He watched blankly as the green jungle was suddenly obliterated by blasts and flames.

The jungle and village erupted in a fireball of trees and shattered timber. Michael's oxygen-deprived blood had all but stopped powering his brain. He stared upwards at the heavens, at the beauty of delicate rain drops falling gracefully earthbound. He smiled and watched the light slowly depart his sky. _Evie...I'm...I'm sorry..._

# Chapter 17

Bruce MacKenzie walked a little slower along his well-travelled route. The weather had been unseasonably hot and he struggled with his fully laden trolley of mail.

Mrs Chappell, who had known Bruce since his football days, made sure she was always in position to say hello to the dapper gentleman. He only ever complimented women, both young and old, earning him many points with his female admirers.

'Good morning Bruce,' Mrs Chappell said, waving from her garden.

'Good morning to you Alice.' Bruce hesitated and glanced at Mrs Chappell with a concerned expression. 'What have you been doing to yourself?'

Mrs Chappell put a hand to her heart. She didn't know what Bruce was referring to.

'You're looking younger every day.' Bruce smiled at her embarrassment.

'You're absolutely terrible Bruce MacKenzie!' Mrs Chappell waved his compliment away but was unable to conceal her red-tinged cheeks.

Bruce laughed and continued on with his heavy trolley. 'See you tomorrow Alice.'

'See you tomm--' Alice remembered something she was going to mention. 'I hope everything is alright with the Haliases.'

Bruce stopped and turned. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, with those Army men turning up and all.' Alice had redirected the two Army officers to Nic and Dimitra's takeaway shop half a mile away.

'How long ago was this?' Bruce demanded, surprising Mrs Chappell with his tone.

'Oh um, only about five minutes ago. Just before you got here.'

'Shit!' Bruce said, wrestling with his trolley as he dragged it back towards Mrs Chappell's front gate. 'Here love, look after this for me, will you?'

'Do you think it's serious?' Mrs Chappell said, shuffling to the side to let Bruce pass.

'It doesn't get much more serious,' Bruce grunted lifting the full trolley up the steps. 'If they send a couple of officers it can't be good.'

Mrs Chappell looked indignantly at the worn-out trolley. 'I can't look after your trolley, I'm meeting Mrs Hall and the other ladies, we're going--'

'Just take the bloody thing, will ya?' Bruce didn't have time to listen to Mrs Chappell's detailed reasons for not offering to help and heaved the trolley on to her front garden. He set out, running down the footpath as fast as his arthritic knees could carry him. 'Watch out love!' he called running around the corner and nearly bumping into a young woman.

Bruce's legs strained, as much as his old lungs heaved, to get him to where he needed to be, by the side of his good friend Nicholas Halias.

*

'Nic! Leave the drinks and help me with the food.' Dimitra pleaded with her husband from the small kitchen in their takeaway shop. With the forecast of warm weather Nic was busy stocking his new and larger fridge.

Dimitra made all her usual frustrated sounds in an attempt to gain his attention but Nic fastidiously rearranged the drinks to maximise more sales.

Nic enjoyed the mornings with Dimitra in the shop; customers didn't start rolling in until mid-morning enabling him to sing along to the radio while preparing for the day. He was going about his business as usual cleaning the stainless-steel bench tops when his favourite old-time rock'n'roll song came on the radio, 'Rock around the clock' by Bill Haley and the Comets. Nic rushed over and turned the volume up. 'Dimitra, come quick!'

Dimitra rushed in from the kitchen and was surprised when Nic grabbed her by the hand and spun her around in the entrance to the seated area. She protested at first, but Nic's smile was infectious and she quickly succumbed to the beat of the music. Her laughter filled the empty shop as Nic spun her light frame around with ease; her laugh was one of the things he loved most in life. He smiled and danced with her until the song petered out. Nic's strong hands gripped her gently around the waist as he lowered her into a slow dip. Dimitra was now engulfed in the moment and extended her outstretched hand, tilting her head back and staring at the world upside down.

'Excuse me.'

Dimitra's smile quickly vanished at the realisation that two customers had entered the shop. She struggled from the awkward position to fix her hair and uniform before vanishing into the kitchen, embarrassed.

Nic didn't care that anyone saw him dancing with his wife and carried on as normal, greeting his customers as always, with a smile.

'Good morning gentlemen, what would you like to eat?'

'Mr Hal... Mr Hallar...'

'Halias,' Nic replied, squinting at the silhouetted figures in the shop's entrance.

'I'm Lieutenant Murphy from Second Military District Personnel Depot.'

Nic moved forward only now noticing the young officer holding an envelope and accompanied by a second man, also in uniform.

'I'm afraid to inform you your son has...' The young officer spoke but Nic couldn't understand his formal words. Nic's heart had begun to race, sending cold blood running throughout his panicked body. _No not this!_ Nic thought. _Not my good-looking boy!_

Nic looked towards the kitchen area realising he was alone to face the unthinkable. It was the news all parents of soldiers feared. He felt numb. He took the brown envelope and slowly removed a small piece of paper, folded neatly in three. Despite the young officer's words Nic was transfixed by the thin piece of paper that would ultimately decide his family's future. Nic's knowledge of the English language was limited to speaking; he had struggled to understand the basics of reading and writing, eventually relying on his children and his good friend Bruce.

'Dear Mr Halias.' Nic understood this section of the telegram but the majority of words appeared jumbled and confusing. He desperately attempted to focus on the words he understood. 'With regret ... Michael Halias ... your son ... result of ...' Nic felt a comforting hand on his shoulder as tears blocked his vain attempt to re-read the telegram. Anger and frustration clouded his concentration; he attempted to will himself to understand. 'With regret ... Michael Halias ... serious ... your son ... result of his wounds ...'

Again and again Nic attempted to read the small telegram, tears running freely as his face contorted in silent suffering. His pulse began to race as he contemplated the unthinkable. The tiny telegram shook violently in Nic's hand from his breaking heart. The room felt small and began to spin; Nic's nightmare overwhelmed him. 'Mickey,' he whispered. He lurched forward unable to bear the weight of his loss. He instinctively reached out to steady himself on the steel benches. His hand sent a stack of serving trays crashing to the floor.

*

Dimitra had busied herself back into the small kitchen; her brief embarrassment had given way to her hectic preparations for the coming weekend. She looked up when she heard the sound of crashing metal. 'NIC, YOU OKAY?'

It wasn't unusual to call out a question, it was more efficient and it certainly wasn't unusual for a tray or plate to smash either. What _was_ unusual was not to get a reply.

'NIC!' Dimitra yelled louder. 'YOU OKAY?'

She marched towards the serving area. 'Blooming man,' she muttered. 'He can hear when he wants to and not when I'm talking.' Dimitra wiped her hands on her apron and turned from the narrow kitchen doorway. 'NIC!' she called.

There are moments in time that we forget as quickly as they occur and others that are scratched into our memories forever. At first she couldn't distinguish the shapes darkened by the reflected light. She squinted and walked towards the counter. _Who are these men holding my Nichol --_'Nic!' She called, realising something was wrong.

She ran to his side, her small frame hurtling down the narrow service space. Dimitra didn't recognise the two men or the relevance of their uniforms. All she wanted to do was make sense of her husband's silent tears.

Nic could sense her touch but couldn't bring himself to speak the words, the words that would crush the woman that meant everything to him. He had let her baby boy die; he knew she would die inside from that moment on. He would never again hear her sweet laughter that still echoed from only moments ago.

'Nic. Look at me. What's wrong?' Dimitra asked, only now looking at the men who were attempting to support her husband's grief-stricken body.

The paralysing instant Dimitra noticed the two polished crosses pinned to one officer's pressed khaki collar she knew the reason for Nic's condition.

'It's Michael,' Nic managed to say; speaking his son's name brought a new wave of emotions cascading down upon him.

'He's... he's...' Nic shook his head, unable to hold her gaze.

'NO!' Dimitra argued, not prepared to let the event happen. 'NO!' she repeated, refusing the Army chaplain's attempt to comfort her, pushing him away, surprising both officers with her aggression.

Dimitra refused to let either Army officer speak, instead yelling at them, 'GET OUT, GET OUT. GO AWAY!' Her demands eventually descended into tears. Dimitra vividly remembered when she was an eight year old child. The terrible sight and sounds of her mother wailing, the distraught mother inconsolable on hearing of her son's death during World War Two.

Every attempt by the young officer to comfort Dimitra resulted in a volley of slaps on the young man's chest. The lieutenant had been trained and told what to expect but nothing had prepared him for a reaction of this magnitude.

Dimitra's voice slowly faded, only her mouth remained open, her eyes closed against life. Her cries for her darling Michael rising to engulf the room.

*

Bruce could hear the wailing before he entered the shop. _Bloody hell ... not his ...not to these two._ He attempted to recover from his half-mile run, feeling nauseated from his desperate sprint. He tentatively approached the counter, noticing the two Army officers attempting to comfort Nic and Dimitra who were clinging together on the floor.

'Nic,' Bruce called, his voice beginning to falter.

Without a word Nic passed the crumpled telegram up to his oldest and dearest friend. Bruce read the telegram in an instant.

.

URGENT ... AHFPD 15C

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT DELIVERY

MR N.HALIAS

43 O'BRIEN ST

BANKSTOWN NSW

.

VERY SERIOUSLY ILL STOP IT IS LEARNED WITH REGRET THAT YOUR SON 2789609 PRIVATE MICHAEL PETER HALIAS WAS PLACED ON THE VERY SERIOUSLY ILL LIST ON 21 ST SEPTEMBER 1971 AT AUSTRALIAN FIELD HOSPITAL VUNG TAU VIETNAM AS A RESULT OF WOUNDS SUSTAINED IN ACTION IN PHUOC TUY PROVINCE VIETNAM STOP A PROGRESS REPORT WILL BE SENT TO YOU BY TELEGRAM AT REGULAR INTERVALS BUT IF A CHANGE OF CONDITION OCCURS YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED IMMEDIATELY STOP ... ARMY HEADQUARTERS STOP

.

'Nic! Dimitra!' Bruce realised what had happened. 'Nic, listen to me.' Bruce bent down and grabbed his dear friend by the shoulders. 'He's not dead. Michael's alive. You've misunderstood.'

Nic and Dimitra, consumed with grief, barely heard the old postman's revelation.

'Nic, mate!' Bruce grabbed each of them by the shoulder and raised his voice. 'Your son's alive! Michael's been hurt, but he's not dead. Do you understand me?'

Dimitra was the first to stop crying, she looked up as if she had woken from a nightmare. 'What are you saying? Are you telling me my... my boy is alive?' Dimitra asked, bursting into tears.

Despite how hard he tried Bruce couldn't contain his emotions any longer. 'Jesus you two! I'm too old...' He swallowed and wiped his tears away. 'Look. I'll read it to you.'

They were the hardest words Bruce MacKenzie had ever read, but he made sure that Nic and Dimitra understood every detail and military term in that fateful telegram.

Bruce barely managed to complete all his mail deliveries that day, the harrowing images of Nic and Dimitra cradling each other never far from his thoughts. He stumbled home knowing he had honoured his friendship with love and respect. The old postman just made it through his front door before breaking down, in private. Bruce's weathered hands cupped his face as tears of relief flowed free. _Bloody hell..._

bloody hell.

# Chapter 18

Megan Evelyn Rose, Meg to everyone who knew her, filled her lungs with the sweet country air that had sustained her for seventy-seven years in this close-knit society, as a girl, a farmer's wife, then a mother, and later as a grandmother. She enjoyed her Fridays in town, especially the mornings. The sounds of the bustling community flooded her with hope and the aromas of fresh produce embraced her, drawing her in to familiar establishments, into the comfort of ritual greetings and warm interactions.

Her usual weekly visit to the small town of Cessnock in New South Wales looked innocent enough, but this time her routine of mail pick-up and grocery purchasing was a ruse. Drought and loss had defined this tough country woman who now tucked her granddaughter's passport securely inside her handmade coat.

Three weeks had passed since Evie had escaped Ratcaj's grasp and outrun the police. In the last week strange things started to occur, mail stopped arriving at the farm, and worst of all, her husband's prized cattle dog was found dead by the side of the road.

Ever since losing her voice, Meg had developed a heightened sense of hearing. She seemed to notice the little things people took for granted. It was this ability over the years that drew her attention to _everything_ , all the time, no matter how random or insignificant; she could identify specific species of birds by their unique call. Her magnified skills of observation allowed her to hear the details of private conversations, especially of the people who ignored her. It also helped her recognise when anything was out of place, a car not parked parallel, a dirty section of glass on a shop window, and the two strangers in black suits watching her every move, ever since she had left the post office.

_I've seen them before,_ she thought. _Parked high up on the hill overlooking our farm, talking to the locals_. After a week of apparently fruitless surveillance it was clear that they were about to make their move.

The two men made an odd couple and weren't there together by choice. Tino was pudgy faced, and the youngest nephew of Ratcaj, with a mean streak that went back to his childhood. It was only Ratcaj's crooked connections that kept this depraved young man out of prison. Smith was thin and boney, when he stood next to his partner he appeared taller than six foot. He had done serious time since he was eighteen when Ratcaj first met and then groomed him as a loyal employee. Smith despised babysitting his new boss.

'Oi! Lady,' Tino called, blocking Meg's path. She offered the unshaven fat-faced thug no reply. 'We know who you are, you're Evie's grandmother, and we want a word.'

Meg's heart went cold. She broke eye contact and looked everywhere other than at the stranger with bad breath.

Smith stood back and watched as Tino miss-handled the situation. He slid his claw-like fingers through his oily straight hair. He didn't interrupt his cowardly companion but kept an eagle eye on everything around him; he noticed the local butcher, Mr Richards, making his way towards them.

'What do you two want?'

'What's it to you, Pops?' Tino snarled.

Despite Mr Richards being sixty years old he still retained an intimidating stature, standing six foot two in his socks, and was not in the least afraid of the two shady figures.

'Mrs Rose can't speak.' Mr Richards took a closer step to his smaller opponent. 'So there's not much point in harassing her.' Mr Richards gave Tino's shoulder a solid shove. 'Is there?'

Like a rat, Tino backed away, pretending he wasn't scared.

Smith smirked and strolled after Tino; he enjoyed watching his younger more inexperienced partner floundering with his own ill-conceived plan to get the truth from Evie's grandmother.

'Where the fuck were you?' Tino finally spoke, now out of the butcher's earshot.

'What? Can't handle an old fart by yourself? What would your uncle say?'

He knew exactly what his uncle would say, and do. He picked at his fingers while searching for a reply. He glared across at the old woman and the butcher deep in a one sided conversation.

'Are you alright Mrs Rose?' Mr Richards asked quietly, receiving Meg's customary exaggerated nod. 'Very well then.' He turned and stared down the two strangers before striding back to his butchery.

_What do ya know?_ Tino smiled. _The old tart's deaf._ 'We'll go over tonight,' Tino said, finally coming up with a reply. 'Surprise 'em. Uncle, I mean Ratcaj, wants this bitch big time.'

Meg's heart raced again. She suspected their error and played along, pretending not to hear. Her family was at risk. She had to do something, and quickly. Meg didn't react as she opened the squeaky door of her old pick-up truck. She watched the two men in her rear-vision mirror slowly disappear in the dust of her truck. _It's got to be tonight._

*

'I don't know Tino,' Smith said, pulling up mile from Evie's home, 'we stand out like dog's balls in this moonlight.'

'Stop bitchin',' Tino picked his nose and examined his finger, 'I've had enough of this stake out bullshit.' He opened the door and struggled outside. 'The sooner we nail this bitch the sooner things get back to normal.'

Smith shook his head and followed his pudgy partner down the quiet country road. Tino complained with every step. 'Fuck!' he yelled, twisting his ankle half way to the farmhouse.

'Keep it down dickhead.' Smith ran his hands over his face. _Jesus Boss, why'd ya leave me with this useless prick?_ The two men arrived at the entrance to the family farm unaware that the absence of barking dogs should have alerted them that their cover had been blown; raised in the city it hadn't occurred to them that there should have been at least one dog on patrol at all times. They had presumed the dog Tino cruelly ran down was the only one on the farm.

They watched the small farmhouse from across the road, a single light bulb shone dimly in the old homestead. Smith stared with hawk-eyed concentration while Tino paced on the gravel and stared infuriatingly at the stars.

'Keep it down will ya,' Smith whispered, considering his options.

'I've gotta do a piss!' Tino relieved himself, whistling to the splashing of his own urine.

Smith rolled his eyes at having to babysit Tino, twice in one day. _What were you thinking Boss?_

*

Ratcaj was always thinking, despite being behind bars he wanted to establish his rank among his fellow inmates early.

'You look too stupid to read, wog.'

Ratcaj looked up at the shaven head of the man standing over him, blocking out the light while he attempted to read his romance novel, a piece of literature he had deliberately picked up to invite a challenge. The ensuing failed attempt would allow him to orchestrate and, without doubt, secure his dominance over the other men.

Ratcaj sighed in disappointment, _He will do._ A fist crunched into the man's crotch with sickening effect; his pockmarked face contorted in pain. Ratcaj rose up, his towering height made the others stand back. A second fist ploughed directly into the man's throat, crushing his vocal cords. Unfortunately for the staggering man Ratcaj's demonstration wasn't over. He slammed another fist into the man's mouth sending shards of teeth everywhere.

Nauseated, without breath and with air rushing in across his exposed nerves the bloodied inmate withered in pain. The other inmates looked around at the prison guards for a response; they expected the guards with their batons drawn to descend on the fight. Instead, Ratcaj smiled when the officers winked his way; it was clear Ratcaj was a person of importance and this early display of force established his position in his new world.

The prison guards and police secretly admired Ratcaj's intelligence and organisation: he was only ever suspected of killing other underworld figures, he hadn't harmed the innocent and was an enthusiastic brown-paper-bag contributor to his select few, trusted crooked police.

Ratcaj's youngest nephew was nervous visiting his uncle behind bars, he had witnessed his violent relative beat a man to death then return to the card table as though he had just taken out the rubbish. _But that was on the outside, he's behind bars now,_ Tino thought. _I'll be calling the shots soon._

'Tino, come. Over here.' Ratcaj's strong Croatian accent boomed across the visiting area.

'Hello Uncle,' he replied, not trusting his imposing relative. Despite the young man being Ratcaj's sister's son, the two men shared little resemblance to each other. On numerous occasions Ratcaj commented how Tino's Italian father was a 'weakling in thought and frame.'

'I've got a job for you Ti-no.'

Tino waited nervously for his orders. He was desperate to make a name for himself and saw his uncle's imprisonment as an opportunity to progress in Australia's underworld.

'My men, the Australian ones, are shit; they do what I say but they are the fleas of rats.'

Tino nodded in agreement, he saw himself above his uncle's band of loyal men. Ratcaj half believed what he said: despite his men never betraying him, his paranoia had been running rampant since being locked up.

'When you get this bitch, Evie,' Ratcaj whispered, leaning forward. 'Don't kill her straight away, make her suffer, make her know terrible pain.' Ratcaj concluded his order with a sinister smile.

Tino smiled too; he was similar to his uncle in one distinct way, his fetish for cruelty. Ratcaj had bribed a number of detectives to ignore Tino's treatment of a young under-aged prostitute. Tino had erupted into a violent rage with a cricket bat when the young woman had inadvertently giggled at his flaccid penis. Tino had a sickness that would strike out of the blue: he could be thankful if shown kindness, but disturbed and violent if threatened.

*

Tino concluded his urination with a bizarre smile before strolling over and crouching next to Smith.

'Fuck this!' Smith snapped. 'Let's go in.' He was tired of the week of watching for Evie and baby sitting his whining sidekick. 'I'll go and--'

'I got this,' Tino clicked his neck from side to side. 'I'm not scared of a couple of pensioners.' He strutted towards the weathered front door with carless bravado. Smith stood back, he couldn't identify his suspicion, but the fact he was suspicious was all he needed. Despite deciding the old couple inside were not a threat he still had fears about the unpredictable young woman who had outsmarted his boss. Word had quickly spread how Evie had doublecrossed Ratcaj and collected a large reward for her act of underworld suicide.

For the first time since setting out to fulfil his uncle's orders Tino was nervous, his confidence was quickly evaporating in the cool night air. At first he hesitated and turned back to seek reassurance from his partner. Smith gave an affirmative nod, not truly knowing where the night would lead. He felt for his 38 calibre pistol, comfortingly tucked snugly in his shoulder holster.

_Knock. Knock._ The two men waited until an elderly man answered through the door. 'Who is it?'

'My name's Smith. I know you know who sent us.' He nervously wet his lips. 'We just wanna talk.'

The door slowly opened, catching both men by surprise. Paul stood there, framed by the glow of a dim table lamp, stooped from a hard life. 'What do you want?'

'Your granddaughter's in a fair amount of shit.'

The old man looked down submissively. _Ya gotta do it for Evie, don't give nothin' away._ Next to the door, perched ready for action was his 12 gauge double-barrelled shotgun.

'Look old man, I don't want to give you any trouble but we need to have a chat with your granddaughter, tell her she needs to change her story, make things right. You know what I mean?' Smith looked around the room hoping to find Evie.

The old farmer knew exactly what the cool, calm and collected stranger meant. The attempt to lure Evie out would only put her in mortal danger. Ratcaj wanted revenge but not before trying to work a deal with the police by identifying Evie as the get-away driver and possibly scoring a reduced sentence. 'Come inside fellas, we don't get many visitors out this way, and with the wife being deaf the table conversation's a bit slow.'

Smith and Tino felt like diner guests arriving at a party. The fire crackled creating a bone warming atmosphere. Smith could feel the one hundred-year old boards creaking with every step. 'Are they scones?' Tino smiled and pointed with his eyes to the table. It was a family home neither man had ever experienced.

Paul gave the performance of a life time. _I don't care if these no-goods drop dead on the spot. I've just gotta keep 'em here... and make 'em believe I'm not bullshitin'._ He closed the door briefly checking for anyone else outside.

*

A shadowy figure escaped across the moonlit field to freedom. Her recently dyed sandy blonde hair caught the moonlight as she athletically hopped over the fence and sprinted across the field, hurdling tussocks, rocks and bushes as fast as she could manage. _Keep movin' girl... don't stop. Don't look back._

The past week of surveillance had made it impossible for Evie to show her face in public or even in the farm's paddocks. Coincidentally her grandmother had been in town to pick up Evie's passport when Ratcaj's nephew had abruptly approached her.

As the two men accepted their hot cups of tea from an apparently dithering old man, Evie ran the two miles or so to her grandfather's old ute. She climbed into the vehicle, which had been parked beneath the solitary old fig tree. She checked the red suitcase that had been wedged under the dashboard earlier and released the handbrake. Evie rolled down the hill in darkness, away from the only home she had ever known. After a few hundred feet she started the old pick-up and continued quietly, using only the moonlight for guidance.

*

'Sugar?' Paul offered the two strangers pouring their tea.

Smith declined but Tino took four teaspoons and scooped as many freshly baked scones onto his plate. His earlier aggressive approach towards Meg now just a distant memory.

Meg hadn't forgotten and was tempted to spit in his tea.

Smith had welcomed the hot cup of tea, after a week of roughing it in the countryside he let his guard drop but he recovered swiftly and soon got back to business.

'Look mate, if you know where your granddaughter is you best own up.'

The old man blinked at this sudden interruption while his wife continued to play the role of mute host, pouring more tea and offering more scones.

'Evie? I haven't seen her for,' He paused and rubbed his grizzly chin, 'over a month I reckon. She just took off, without so much as a goodbye; nearly broke my dear old wife's heart.'

Smith studied the old man's face for any sign of hesitation, a wayward glance from lying, but nothing showed in the older man's performance.

'Just like I told those two other blokes.'

Smith and Tino pricked up their ears, the old farmer had pre-empted their next question as to the whereabouts of their missing colleagues.

'When was that?' Smith demanded.

Evie's grandfather rubbed his chin again, not wanting to appear too well rehearsed.

'Oh about... two weeks ago I reckon. I told those two how she likes goin' to the Gold Coast, surfing and hanging around those long-haired no-hopers. It's those longhaired louts who are to blame--'

'That's _enough!_ ' Smith interrupted. 'We're wasting our time here.' Tino scooped up the last remaining scone as Smith motioned with his head to leave. As the two men walked towards the door Smith noticed the double-barrelled shotgun leaning beside the doorframe. 'Whose is this?'

'That old thing? I use it on snakes.' Paul paused and smiled. 'I even shot a couple of rats that were giving me grief.'

Ratcaj's henchmen shared a confused look, not understanding the country life or its people.

'Thanks for the scones Mrs Rose.' Tino nodded.

Smith shook his head and walked outside. The two men left the farmhouse satisfied that Evie had long since departed her childhood home, never once considering how an elderly couple had been able to run a property on their own.

Paul and Meg shared a sad smile, their joy was bitter sweet. They had helped perpetrate a well-planned escape, but had realised it was possibly the last time they would see their granddaughter.

A single tear tumbled down Meg's cheek, it summed up the emotions both of them were feeling. Paul gripped his wife's hand and smiled.

'Don't worry love, she'll be safe now.'

# Chapter 19

_It can't be this easy._ Evie drove through the night positive someone would be watching. She constantly looked over her shoulder for a hunter that never materialised. _I can't outrun nothin' in this heap._ Just on dawn she parked her pick-up next to a quiet railway station where her grandfather would collect it in a week's time. With her life in a suitcase, she caught a train to Sydney. Her flight didn't leave for another day leaving her with a nervous wait, holed up in a small room above a city pub. The room was clean but noisy, with trains thundering past.

Without knowing how long she would be out of the country, and with a day to kill, Evie decided to write Michael a letter explaining everything; she wanted to make sure he understood her reasons, why she had no choice. Her first three attempts ended in crumpled balls of frustration. What words could possibly explain her feelings? _I ripped you off because there's a really good reason... Shit!_ Evie screwed up the paper and thumped the timber table. _I reckon if you could see things from my way that... you could --_'Shit!' She pushed the paper off the table and covered her face with her hands. _What's the point? I don't even have his address --_Evie looked up.

The minute she had arrived in her room she had checked every cupboard and window for security, and to see what goodies the accommodation included. Originally she had dismissed the thick phone book as useless, a waste of paper _,_ but now she realised it could be the key. She turned to H; despite being unable to pronounce Michael's surname she knew the first three letters were H A L. Evie ran her fingers down the page. 'Haines, Haken... Halias!' Her eyes widened. _No way it can be that simple._ There were five Haliases in the phone book, it was now a simple process of elimination.

'Hello, is Michael there?'

'Who?' replied a woman with a strong accent.

'Is Michael Halias there?'

'No Mich-ael here. Who this?'

'Sorry to waste your time, bye.'

Evie hung up the phone surprised at how nervous she felt, surprised because she had experienced far riskier adventures in her short life. But this was different, this was a matter of the heart, and that alone was more risky to this country girl.

The second call ended with the same result, the third attempt caused Evie to drop the phone.

'Yes he's here. I'll get him,' the young girl replied in a singsong voice, not realising the woman on the other end of the phone had broken out into a cold sweat.

_Bugger this,_ Evie thought, wiping the sweat from her forehead. 'Hello...?' a young voice answered.

_He's only a kid._ 'Sorry. I've got the wrong number.' She replaced the receiver, realising only two numbers remained on the short list, her heart pounded in her ears. She should have _known_ the young girl couldn't fetch Michael to the phone: he was away in Vietnam. She was merely confirming his address, a simple process. _Get a grip,_ she reminded herself and dialled another number.

'Hello, Halias residence.'

Evie felt a shiver run down her arm when she heard the young woman's voice.

'Hi, is Mick there?'

'No he isn't, he's in Vietnam... who's this?'

'Is that Beth?'

Silence greeted Evie's question, then. 'Yes... Is that you Rachael?'

'Yeah,' Evie lied, 'I didn't know if he had left yet.' She rubbed her forehead feeling an intense pain coming from nowhere.

'We're all missing him a lot... Rachael I... I don't mean to be rude but I'm just heading off to work... and I'm sorry things didn't work out for you two.'

'Don't worry about it.' Evie smiled. 'I'm sure he'll fall in love soon enough.'

'Oh...' Beth looked into the hand piece. _Rachael doesn't seem like Rachael_. 'Well maybe I'll see you around then.'

'You can _count_ on it.' Evie smiled and hung up. _Shit, that's it! I found it._ It was the first smile in two weeks. She had now found the courage to complete her letter. Her face lit up as she thought of her lover.

.

Dear Mick,

I know you pretty much hate my guts right now but I have a good reason. I never meant to hurt you but I didn't have a choice.

When you finish reading this letter give it to my grandfather, he's got your car on the farm.

When I met you I didn't expect to feel anything for you, but I do. My life's been one big kick in the guts and I was trying to set things right when we met. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you and Russ.

I'll tell you everything when we get back together, if you still want me, because I still want you. I never met a guy like you before. I want us to be together like we said under the stars.

If you can ever forgive me I promise I'll never stuff things up again. I love you. This feels stupid but I can say it because it's true. I love you like I don't care about anything else except being together.

I'm thinking because your going away for a year I'm gunna go away for a year until things blow over, but if you can wait for me I'll be yours for good.

I love you Mick and hope that when you get back you can say it to me again. I think of you all the time. You will always be in my heart.

Love Evie

.

Evie signed her name and gently kissed the letter, hoping her sentiment would carry her words to Michael's heart. An overwhelming sense of relief filled her: her guilt, her want had temporary lifted, to a small degree.

She paused after sealing the letter, and as she wrote the address it occurred to her that Michael's home was only half an hour away by train and bus. She calculated quickly, _My plane doesn't go till four. I'll take it to his house myself._

*

Evie walked along the concrete footpath towards Michael's home; she imagined him as a little boy chasing Russell through the neighbourhood, sneaking into neighbours' gardens to hide and leaping out from behind trees. She rounded the corner into his street and sighed nervously at the prospect of meeting his family.

'Watch out love!' an old postman called and rushed past in a sprint.

'Oh!' Evie shook her head. _That old guy's in a hurry._ She turned back around and passed a group of schoolchildren who were playing in the school grounds. Their giggles reminded her of a life she might have with Michael; she dared to see herself raising a family in these suburbs.

She smiled when she realised the modest white brick home was Michael's. The home he had grown up in, the front door he had opened a thousand times, or more. Evie swallowed her nerves and approached the house.

For a moment she stood staring at the door, clutching the letter that bared her soul. What felt like minutes was in actual fact seconds, she crouched down and hesitated, ready to slip her thoughts into Michael's world. _I hope this gets --_

'Can I help you dear?' a woman's voice called from next door.

Evie jumped up, startled, as though she was doing something wrong.

'No, I'm just,' Evie searched for a quick explanation. 'I'm... here to see Michael.' She knew Michael wasn't there and pulled a face at her lack of preparedness.

'Oh dear,' Mrs Chappell replied, she considered Michael's many female admirers as hussies, but today was different. She had only just dispatched two army officers in full dress uniform with a telegram towards the Halias family business. It was only minutes since she had informed local postman Bruce MacKenzie of the terrible news, and now she had to deliver more of the same to this nervous young woman on Michael's doorstep. The older lady had thought the worst after talking to the sombre-looking officers.

Mrs Chappell clutched the small gold cross around her neck, a reaction Evie noticed immediately. 'I don't know how to tell you this dear,' Mrs Chappell began with a sad expression, 'but I'm afraid there's been some terrible news.'

Evie felt a coldness wash over her, her heart began to race. _No... don't --_

'Oh dear, how do I say this...?--the army was just here with a telegram for Michael's parents,' Mrs Chappell interrupted herself. 'What a shame, he was such a good-looking bo--'

'What are you saying?' Evie demanded, her eyelids beginning to flicker.

Mrs Chappell was taken by surprise, the young woman had transformed from an angelic stranger into a desperate one.

'It's not good news I'm afraid, my dear, especially when they send a chaplain.' Mrs Chappell paused momentarily then reconsidered her careless words. 'He will be one with God my dear, there's no need for tears.'

_What... I don't..._ Evie's face turned to stone: her warm glow slowly drained as Mrs Chappell gave her impromptu eulogy. Evie felt numb; the last time she experienced anything remotely similar was when faced with a terrible decision, a decision to end an unborn life out of desperation, a decision that continued to haunt her.

'Such a scallywag that Michael was.' Mrs Chappell continued prattling on, unaware of the devastation her words were wreaking. Evie slowly turned, she couldn't feel her legs moving, every step took her away from Michael, the letter that meant everything only moments before was now crushed in a fist of hurt.

_Michael? No! I can't --This isn't real._ Her legs moved as if on autopilot, she felt the agony of a fledgling love shattered. An intense hurt burned all the way to her core. Her heart ached with more sadness than anyone should have to endure. Michael was her future, he had stumbled beautifully into her world and swept her into his strong heart. Evie felt responsible. _Only bad things happen to people I love, it's my fault, it is, I know it is._

The group of schoolchildren were still playing and chasing one another, their joyful squeals from moments before now fell on deaf ears. Evie passed the school, oblivious to the children's stares, feeling alien in her own body, numb, nothing seemed to matter, life was irrelevant. _What's the point of it all?_

The children watched the sombre figure stumble along the school fence. Her wrist watch _clinking_ on the steel pieces. They watched when her body slowly slumped onto the grassy patch that flanked the footpath.

'Look at that girl,' one of the older children called out.

The children turned around, a little girl walked forward, her ocean blue eyes staring at the unconscious stranger. 'I'll get the teacher!' Sophie Halias declared and ran back through the playground.

*

Evie became aware of a noisy room. _Was it all just a horrible, crazy dream?_ As she slowly drifted back to reality the terrible truth shook her mind.

'She's awake doctor,' a nurse called before smiling back at Evie and hanging a chart on the end of her hospital bed. 'The doctor won't be long.'

Evie sat up and looked around the room. 'What's... what's going on?'

'Slow down,' the doctor said, rushing over and applying just enough force to Evie's shoulder to keep her still. 'It's quite normal to faint, considering your condition.'

Evie looked up, confused. _How could he know about Michael? How could he say it's normal to feel this much pain?_ Evie turned her face to hide fresh tears. _Michael, how could this happen to us? This doctor can't fix this. It's hopeless._

'There, there... I know it's upsetting in your condition,' the doctor soothed, lifting his hand and pointed to his wedding ring.

Evie didn't grasp his meaning.

'Probably about four to five weeks along I'd say, judging by the results. But don't worry, there's lots of options for unmarried teenagers these days.'

'What!' Evie sat up. 'You're saying I'm pregnant. I'm havin' a kid?'

The doctor blinked, he had assumed Evie already knew or at the very least suspected something. 'Well ye-e-s-s, I thought you knew.' The doctor was still earning his stripes when it came to bedside manner.

'Where's my shit?' Evie demanded, looking around for her purse.

'I think it's a good idea if you stay in bed fo--'

'I'm outta here Doc,' Evie bit back, pushing the doctor's hand away. This second attempt at restraining her was met with more force than he expected. She looked at her watch; she had been unconscious for over two hours.

'Seriously Miss--' The doctor paused to look at her chart. '--Miss Rose. You need to rest.' _What a mysterious young woman!_

Evie ignored the doctor's concerns and pushed past the surprised physician. His words had little effect on her. She had to get away, there was nothing left for her, she internalised her situation. _I should have known this would happen, I'm cursed, all the woman in my family are._ Evie paused in her moment of torment, she placed her hand on her stomach. All of a sudden it felt very familiar, like a dream she couldn't quite remember.

Michael had been snatched away in a painful sentence, but she had something of his, a something she would die to protect. In an instant, feelings of protectiveness galvanised her into action. She had to get away; she had to get to safety. Her plane ride to freedom was only hours away, she had to survive.

# Chapter 20

'I fucken told ya, $200 a week or I make things difficult.' It wasn't a threat but more of a promise. Detective Harrison was in his mid thirties and was as crooked as they came.

Harrison had shown great promise when he joined the police force. He was alert, forward thinking and possessed all the problem-solving skills to become a top detective. The issue was that he liked it where he was, and so did his superiors, on both sides of the law.

Somewhere along the line the tall blond officer got distracted, first it was the prostitutes and then, finally, the drugs. His meagre wage wasn't enough for the lifestyle he wanted, the lifestyle he thought he deserved.

'The arrangement has always been the same,' Harrison explained to the publican. 'If you don't pay we'll come down on ya, hard.'

The publican wet his lips nervously, the illegal gambling, the stolen alcohol, the detective knew about it all.

Harrison glanced around the bar as the publican handed over a brown paper bag containing the $200 pay-off. Harrison smiled; his bright white smile was a paradox considering how dirty he really was.

As the son of a respected policeman Harrison had naturally joined the force but was immediately compared to his tough father. His angelic face only added to the unwelcome taunts from his colleagues, it wasn't long until he was given the nickname 'Angel'.

'Call me Angel once more and I'll make you one!' But eventually the name stuck and after a brief violent objection Angel warmed to his new name.

Despite his alter-boy appearance he quickly showed he knew when to keep his mouth shut and when to lie through his pearly white teeth. His quick thinking and enjoyment of the underworld's offerings soon saw him as one of the 'Bad Boys'.

Angel stood-up to slip the cash-filled paper bag into his brown suit jacket when something caught his attention. A young woman in tight jeans had brushed past him, surprising him. The startled detective wasn't sure if it was the fact he was committing a crime or that he was curious about this sexy stranger who seemed to be running from something.

'Who's she?' Angel asked.

The publican couldn't remember the fake name Evie had given him, simply that she was checking out later that day.

'What room's she in?' Angel asked as he finished his lunchtime beer.

The publican bent down to retrieve the booking register. 'Room ten.'

Angel's curiosity had been sparked, the moment Evie turned in the hallway to run upstairs; the detective had caught a momentarily glimpse of her pretty face. He wasn't sure if it was her fresh country looks or if he recognised her from somewhere else.

'Fuck it!' Angel said, looking at his watch. 'I've gotta go.' He was running late for his next collection rendezvous. 'See you next time,' he said and pointed his finger like a gun. 'And no bitchin' about next week's payment either.' Angel swaggered out of the hotel with a smile and a wallet full of cash.

*

Evie hurriedly repacked her small red suitcase, checking everything twice. _Ticket. Passport. That's all of it._ She struggled to close the lid. 'Come on ya bloody thing.' She strained pushing the lid down. _Why won't it close... shit._ A loose piece of clothing lay over the lock. 'Bloody hell!' She pulled out the offending garment. It was her old red chequered shirt, its' sleeve tangled around a large envelope. 'Shit!'

The envelope landed on it's edge scattering the contents in a montage of memories. It contained over a hundred photographs of her life, and more importantly, some of the newer ones of Michael.

She had temporarily blocked out the pain of her heartbreaking news but when she looked down at the photos, the collection of pictures with Michael's face smiling back at her, it was all too much. _Mick!_ A wave of emotion washed over her body, she squeezed her eyes shut in silent suffering. Unable to walk away she slowly slumped down amongst her memories and cried, lost in this new world, a world devoid of Michael, except for these tiny pieces of paper that bore his face. _Oh Mick, what am I gunna do? I need you, our kid will need you._

Evie's lips trembled as she picked up the photos, one by one; she paused and reflected on each encounter with the only man who had ever truly loved her. She began to sob as she had never done before. In all of her nineteen years, nothing had ever torn at her heart with such devastation, such hopelessness, such loss. Evie curled up next to the photos and _bled_ tears of loss. _I'll_ always _love you Mick._

*

Angel adjusted his crotch and walked up the long concrete driveway. The wide entrance serviced numerous workshops and small businesses in the light industrial area. The sun was warm for the afternoon and his dark brown suit soaked up the heat. The detective briefly looked around before entering the side doorway of a large mechanical workshop.

Inside, men were removing and painting various stolen vehicles. Late-model, high-performance cars were in great demand. The three big manufactures: Holden, Ford and Chrysler produced high volumes of Australia's most powerful cars and gave car thieves a field day when it came to the lack of security.

Angel manoeuvred around the rear of two vehicles before stepping into the centre of the room; his ability for good timing and for going unnoticed were skills that had saved him on a number of occasions. Angel held his detectives badge up in the air and called out, 'This is the Police. Nobody move.'

A number of men instinctively dropped their tools. A new worker ran outside and jumped in his car and screeched down the driveway to freedom. Two men disappeared out the backdoor, both not ready to go back to gaol.

'One day, Angel... one day someone's gunna smack those pearly whites outta your crooked face.'

'What a bunch of nervous cunts.' Angel grinned and continued walking towards the thin Mr Smith, who was now wearing his more comfortable blue overalls rather than the black suit he had been living in for the past week. 'Haven't seen you around Smithy, where you been? Didn't do a runner on ya mates, did ya?'

'The boss has got us runnin' around looking for that bitch that dobbed him in.'

Angel couldn't care less about Ratcaj as long as he continued paying his regular protection money. 'How's his new home goin', not takin' it up the arse yet is he?' Angel burst out laughing.

The rest of the men remained stony faced. They were loyal to Ratcaj and knew that when their employer eventually returned, he would reward the men who had stayed loyal. 'The boss has put a reward of five grand on her head.'

'Shit!' Angel was paying attention _now_ : $5,000 was almost two years' honest wages. 'Any sign of her?'

'Long gone. We've searched everywhere; two of our blokes have headed up to Queensland lookin' for her,' Smith answered, unaware of the two men's fate at the hands of Evie's grandfather.

Smith reached under his overalls and removed a small Polaroid from his shirt pocket. The photo had been smudged with grease but the content was obvious. It showed Evie and her previous boyfriend, Lance. The young man had shown it to Ratcaj while pleading for his life, telling his executioner that his girlfriend was pregnant. Ratcaj had taken the photograph and smiled at him. Lance had breathed a sigh of relief then Ratcaj pulled the trigger; Lance's brains splattered the wall behind him. Ratcaj had burst out laughing, wiping his blood-spattered cheeks. 'See his face, he was smiling when I kill him. That is funny, no?'

Angel squinted at the photo in Smithy's greasy fingers and his jaw dropped when he realised the identity of the informant. Sheer luck had placed him in the right place at the right time. 'I know where she is,' he announced without thinking.

'You sure?' Smith questioned the possibility of this crooked detective having met the elusive young woman.

'She's at the...' Angel stopped himself and looked around the workshop. He realised there wasn't a man in the room who wouldn't betray him or call ahead to arrange one of their organisation to move in for the kill.

He smiled angelically as he backed towards the door, never once taking his eyes off Ratcaj's henchmen. 'Tell ya boss to get his wallet ready.'

'Bring her back here, Angel,' Smith called back.

'Won't be long,' Angel said, before turning with a skip and briskly walking back towards his car. _I can't believe my luck._ He was planning a big weekend of wall-to-wall alcohol and prostitutes, and it was just about to get a whole lot more enjoyable. He started his car and reversed out into the street.

'Jeez, I'm a lucky cunt,' he joked and crunched the lever into gear.

The busy afternoon traffic tempted Angel to activate his police sirens but he needed to mount a silent _arrest_. He quickly devised a plan. Angel recalled snippets of the events leading up to Ratcaj's trial and detention. He remembered how the young woman had refused police protection based on the fact that some sections of the department were corrupt. _Smart girl,_ he thought _._

_How am I gunna get her to believe that I'm just tryin' to help._ 'That's it!' Angel smiled realising he had found a solution. He turned down the main street towards the pub, a devious smile escaped from the corners of his mouth. _I'll pretend word has gotten out who dobbed Ratcaj in and that we've been following her all along. She'll fall for it no worries_. He was confident she would fall for his story; the combination of his charm and good looks usually worked on most women.

'Fucken lights.' He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and kept checking his watch _. Fuck! I've caught every red light. Fuck, it's taken half an hour_.

Angel pulled into the service lane behind the old pub and leapt out of the car, checking the laneway for potential witnesses. He had entered and exited this hotel numerous times, for various reasons, not many of them noble. Now, he easily negotiated his way along the old ornate hallways. The dingy atmosphere was a portent of Angel's intentions. Before revealing his presence to the hotel's patrons he poked his head around the corner that led to the staircase. Confident that the clientele were more interested in drinking and talking, he dashed upstairs.

Angel's pulse began to race, it was one of the things he enjoyed most about his job: the adrenaline. Some cases would last for months and other more lucrative ones only a day, but the buzz was the same from both, the rush from the thrill of the chase was addictive. He looked at the doors: _Six... eight..._ He paused as he approached number ten. For a moment he hesitated, undecided whether to sneak into the room or announce himself officially. _This bitch is clever. She's outsmarted Ratcaj and got away from the cops._ Angel decided to play the rat that he was and picked the old lock using his trusty modified knife.

The detective peered through the small gap, looking for the whereabouts of his prize. With the door unlocked he decided to announce himself, then when Evie came to the door he would strike. He closed the unlocked door and knocked twice. 'This is Detective Harrison. I'm here to discuss your security Miss Rose.'

'Who did you say?' a woman's voice replied.

'I've been sent down to advise yo--Look, just open the door: I'm a police officer.' Angel couldn't wait any longer and was just about to enter when the door suddenly opened.

'What's this all about?' asked a middle-aged woman wearing an apron.

Angel realised she was the publican's wife and that she was making up the room. 'Where's the girl?'

'She left about ten minutes ago. Why?'

'SHIT!' Angel yelled, hitting his open hand against the doorframe. 'SHIT!'

'She hasn't been a problem. The young thing paid in advance, didn't even hear _boo_ out of her.'

*

Evie stepped from the taxi, oblivious to the cop on her tail. She looked up at the entrance of Sydney's International Airport. _Come on girl._ She took a deep shuddering breath. _There's only one choice left, and now I gotta do it alone._ She dried her eyes, and took one last deep breath of Australian air. _I can do this. I have to._

# Chapter 21

Nic's eyes blinked open. _Shit._ He hadn't slept properly for two weeks. It was the worst time in all his forty-five years. He felt hopeless; he just wanted his boy back.

It was no better for Dimitra. She had found herself crying despite the twice daily telegrams from the army. 'I can't take much more of this Nicholas, I just can't!' Each successive telegram reported an improvement in Michael's condition until Dimitra greeted Nic one day with a smile and tears that said it all.

'Nic!' she sobbed, barely able to read the telegram aloud without crying; every attempt brought the same result: tears and hugs, until she gathered her strength and finished reading the brief telegram.

.

_MUM STOP DAD STOP I AM OK STOP GOT HURT BUT DOING GOOD STOP WILL WRITE SOON TO TALK PROPERLY STOP I LOVE YOU ALL VERY MUCH STOP LOVE MICHAEL STOP_ 2789609 PRIVATE MICHAEL PETER HALIAS STOP REPATRIATION GENERAL HOSPITAL CONCORD AUSTRALIA _STOP_

.

Nic and Dimitra's mood had elevated, from despair to euphoria: holding hands, touching each other and thanking the heavens for sparing their son. The traumatic events had brought the family closer than ever.

Russell had been the rock of his new adopted family, working long hours and going to the fish markets while Nic and Dimitra barely coped with the daily news. The takeaway shop had remained closed for a week so well-wishes flooded in from customers, and from people Nic didn't even know.

After stabilising Michael, the doctors in Vung Tau decided that Michael's injuries were so extensive that he had to be medevacced home. Michael's mind wandered due to the morphine. He drifted in and out of consciousness for the long medevac flight home. An RAAF C-130 Hercules, the Air Force's workhorse, had been specially fitted out to transport wounded men and they didn't come any more serious than this young man from Bankstown.

Michael had no recollection of how he ended up back on Australian soil. When he eventually opened his eyes, he awoke to the smiling faces of the dedicated nurses at the Repatriation General Hospital in Concord, in Sydney.

Eight weeks had passed since Michael's wounding. If the doctors had been betting men then Michael would have been a poor investment. Despite the horrific gunshot wounds it was the infections that had almost claimed his young life. The silent enemy invading his blood had been his biggest threat.

On the doctor's advice, only Nic and Dimitra had been permitted to visit their son in Ward 21. They hadn't known what to expect, holding hands they approached his bed. Dimitra was usually the strong one, but Nic had to support her shaking body. 'Nic he looks so... so--' Dimitra burst into tears and buried her face into her husbands chest. Nic kissed her forehead. She shuddered taking a deap breath and regained her strength and sat next to her boy. She held his lifeless hand as more tears erupted, she whispered her love to her son, gazing at his sleeping form. 'Michael, _agapi mou,_ It's __ your _Mama_ and _Baba_ ; we are by your side. We never give up on you. Don't give up on us.'

The doctors had performed pioneering microsurgery on the young soldier, attempting to mend bone that had been blasted away, making sense of mangled organs and muscle, and reattaching tendons, that had been violently ripped from their origins, as best they could.

Michael was still too weak to hear the complete truth. The medical staff had focused his attention on starting to walk again, the ruthless physio sessions draining him of whatever strength he had left so that he remained oblivious to the true extent of his injuries for over two months. The doctors had advised him not to tamper with his dressings, saying: 'You need complete rest to allow the body to heal.'

_What are youse talkin' about?_ Michael was confused by their orders. _They're bloody killing me with physio but I've got to rest other parts! What a load of bullshit,_ he anguished.

Eventually the surgeons decided to reveal the truth but knew from past experience it was never well received.

'You're all a bunch of _dickheads!_ ' Michael yelled. 'What would YOU LOT KNOW?'

His doctor had to take cover when it appeared Michael would tear himself from his traction on hearing the news. Two male orderlies held his enraged patient down while the nurse increased Michael's morphine dosage.

'It's okay,' the nurse whispered, smiling gently, stroking Michael's forehead until his eyes rolled backwards, taking him to another place.

His thoughts drifted and swirled, slowly fading, _They're wrong. I'll show 'em; I'll heal... and... be like new... just watch m-e-e._ Michael receded into the fog that was his new reality.

Michael was in denial. The surgeons believed that he would never regain full use of his left arm and hand. His shattered thigh bone would take at least a year to heal and he would need a cane to help him walk. His other injuries were more daunting, but Michael refused to accept their findings. How could he? He was Greek and the only son of proud Greek parents.

The days were tedious, but at times the company in Ward 21 was entertaining, both good and bad. Concord Repatriation Hospital had been built after World War II to treat and aid the recovery of all Australian service personnel.

Michael's ward was a large room lined with beds on either side. World-War-II veterans were located at one end for two reasons: firstly they felt comfortable in their own company and secondly it prevented fights breaking out between both groups of men. Some of the older men would argue that Vietnam wasn't a real war.

'Big deal! Ya fought for a year, try fightin' for six.'

'Yeah!' the Vietnam veterans would yell back. 'We did more fightin' in a year than any of you old codgers did in Africa or New Guinea throughout the entire Second World War!'

Nurses shook their heads at the lack of understanding from the older men, 'You young blokes are as weak as piss, didn't hear us cryin' for help.' Some older nurses recalled how those same men had been subjected to ridicule from First-World-War veterans twenty years earlier. 'We lost sixty thousand men, and you're complaining about losing forty thousand. 'Pah, ya bunch o' bloody whingers!'

*

Ten year old Sophie's world had only ever been a safe place, protected from life's problems. That was, until witnessing how devastated her family was after hearing of her brother's brush with death. Nic and Dimitra's whispers had reached their way to her innocent ears; she was scared for the first time in her life. Michael was indestructible in her eyes; nothing could stop her hero. _If someone can hurt_ Mickey _; what could they do to my family?_

Five months had passed since Sophie had last seen him.

'Michael is good, don't worry; he will be better soon,' Nic had reassured his little girl. 'When he is better we will all visit him together.'

Sophie sighed nervously in the back seat of the family's station wagon, because that day had finally arrived. She looked around the busy streets then back at her sister and new surrogate big brother. Russell caught Sophie's stare and winked at her, before returning to the adult conversation.

Russell had asked to visit his best friend a number of times, during their regular phone calls, but Michael had told him to wait.

'Wait for what? I'm ya mate.'

'I want to be able to look you in the eye.'

Russell knew that Dimitra and Nic had been concerned if their son would ever walk again. He knew that if Michael had summoned everyone to the hospital it would only be for one reason, and Russell had struggled to maintain the secret.

Nic led his family through the front entrance of the large red-brick hospital. Sophie clung nervously to her father's hand, preoccupied with the thought of what lay ahead. She stared upwards at the imposing structure.

She sniffed at the strange and powerful smell of antiseptic as she walked along the polished corridor.

'Look Sophie! We're going in a lift,' Nic said, indicating with their clasped hands. He had noticed his daughter's silence since leaving home, her usual vibrant chatter now reduced to mute observation.

If it had been any other occasion she would have been impressed with the adventure of this mechanical ride. But the short journey skywards only brought her closer to confronting her fear. _What would Michael be like?_ Sophie thought. _Will he still be my Mickey?_

She replayed her parents' instructions over and over: _Don't stare at Michael's scars. Don't ask questions about his bandages. Don't ask what happened. Don't, don't, don't..._

The lift doors opened to a fresh wave of disinfectant. Sophie followed her excited family, squeezing her father's hand in trepidation. Her tender young eyes wandered, peering down hallways and into rooms; they widened as she witnessed the human debris of many wars: men with missing limbs, sightless eyes, their faces scarred. _Is this what Mickey will look like?_ Two tears bubbled from her eyes. These men, not sick, but broken from many a campaign of war. Sophie gripped her father's strong hand, wondering about her big brother. She had promised not to cry, but it was all too much. With all her strength, she fought her trembling lip, struggling to hold back her tears.

*

Nic suspected, as Russell knew, that his son was getting stronger. Michael had spoken to Russell almost every day since being well enough to do so. Russell had tired of the one-track conversation.

'Mate, I told ya, the car's gone and so is Evie. They're both histor--' Despite Russell's attempts to satisfy Michael's questions it was never enough, their conversations often ending in hang ups.

Michael amazed the doctors with his ability to heal. His sheer determination to push through the painful physio sessions also earned him admiration. Despite the doctors' predictions Michael had made his mind up. _I'll fucken beat this, just watch me._

*

The Halias family made their way towards the large lounge area reserved for patients to congregate and entertain their daytime visitors.

'Michael!' Dimitra yelled, holding out her arms as she hurried towards the lounge area. The other patients turned and watched the emotional mother running towards her son. Michael stood proud, although slightly bent. His cheeky smile beamed like a beacon as his family descended upon him.

'My Mickey,' Nic said with tears in his eyes. The loving father holding his son as though he was made of crystal. Dimitra had no such concerns and hugged and kissed her only son fiercely. _I don't care about the pain... mum's worth it, they all are._ Beth and Russell joined the melee of limbs and kisses.

Sophie stood anxiously by her father's side. _He looks sick. Can I... will he --_

'Soph!' Michael called, leaning forwards.

She didn't know how to approach her fragile-looking brother, _I want to hug him but --_Michael leant over, and, with his strong right arm, pulled his little sister to his waist, lifting her off her feet. If the doctors had witnessed his gallant act of affection, he would have been put straight back to bed.

Sophie's anxious frown disappeared with one act of love. Her brother may have been broken but he knew exactly how to ease her pain. The little girl cried, with love in her eyes, her Mickey had returned.

The other men in the lounge area tried to hide their welling eyes. Sophie's tears were symbols of the beauty of the Halias family's love. They were not confined by social boundaries or English airs and graces: if they were sad they cried, if they were happy they laughed, but if they were happy, as they were _this_ day, then they did both.

# Chapter 22

Shadows of blue mist shrouded Michael's dream. The silence of the jungle's borders hid an enemy he knew was there, waiting for him, watching him.

He twitched and shook in his sleep, in the safety of his childhood room, constrained by the twisted sheets and trapped in his dream. He felt weighed down by his army fatigues and the mud, so much mud. He stood poised, his nerves jangling, oblivious to the security of reality.

He found himself alone in a rain-soaked tropical field: lost, panicked and scared. He tilted his head as the sound of a small child crying reached his ears. 'Where are you?' Michael called out in his sleep. Rain was now falling, his mind threw distorted memories from unresolved trauma into the bubbling cauldron of his dreams. The thunderous downpour saturated everything. His voice strained against the roar in this grotesque concocted world. 'Where _are_ you?' Michael broke into a sprint across the muddy field, in no particular direction, but he knew one thing: he was running for his life. Slowly, from the shadows, darkly dressed figures emerged from the jungle, firing. Bullets whizzed past him, too close. Michael dived for cover, writhing and thrashing as his body exploded in the gunfire.

'NO!' he called out. 'NO!'

'Michael wake up,' Dimitra said, shaking her son. 'You are having a nightmare.'

'What?' Michael sat bolt upright, covered in sweat. 'What's goin--? Have you seen her?'

'Who?'

'Her. A little girl. I can't--' Michael held his head in his hands. His head and heart thumped with debilitating anxiety. 'Mum?'

'It's me, Michael. It's me, your mother.'

Michael looked around the room and realised he was safe. 'Jesus!' He rubbed his forehead. Night after night he had been gripped by nightmares that did not allow him a moment's rest.

'Talk to me, Michael. Tell me, what is in your dreams.'

Michael shook his head, unable to recall the nightmare that hid a terrible truth.

'It is alright my boy.' Dimitra wrapped her arms around her son's drenched chest. 'You will get through this.' She kissed his head and secretly prayed for an answer to a question that frightened her.

*

Two weeks had slowly passed since Michael's jubilant homecoming. The first few days he was tired. 'Drug-affected' the doctor had suggested. 'Adjusting' __ was the next prognosis. Michael felt a surreal sensation of displacement. It was as if he was still in Vietnam but also in Australia. He couldn't explain it.

Nic wouldn't let anyone's concerns derail his happiness; his son had returned alive and everything else would fall into place. Michael would get better and return to work with his father and life would revert to normal.

Michael began to wake later each day, it wasn't that he was sleeping longer, he just wasn't sleeping at night. _I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,_ he thought. _I feel like I'm acting just to be myself. My heart feels cold, like I don't care about nothing. What's wrong with me?_

Dimitra was worried, her boy wasn't the same. She knew he had been injured, even though he wouldn't show anyone his wounds, except for the doctors. At dinner, the table was alive with conversation: Russell had everyone in fits of laughter with his stories of his inadequacy at the fish market. Dimitra would watch Michael force a smile, in an attempt to join in, but his once-bright eyes seemed a little dull. His thoughts were elsewhere.

Sophie had struggled, she watched not knowing what to do when Michael shuffled into the bathroom, she could hear him groaning to do the most basic of tasks. Her usual cheeky questions and even cheekier answers had whittled away to silence. Her mother had been serious when she pointed at her daughter, 'Be quiet when Michael is sleeping. Don't pester him. Don't ask questions about Vietnam.' __ Sophie was confused and sad.

Dimitra was worried. 'Russell, you're his best friend. Talk to him, ask him what is wrong.'

'I've tried Mrs Halias,' Russell said, scratching his head. 'It's like his...'-- _It's like I don't even know him --_Russell smiled and rubbed Dimitra's shoulder. 'I'll spend some more time with him, don't worry, he'll snap out of it.'

Russell struggled at first to rekindle their friendship. He had tired of Michael's constant questions.

'Have you been in touch with the police? Has Evie tried to contact us?'

'Evie? Forget her,' Russell said, becoming angry. 'Ya forgetting that I lost most of my savings on that... on that bitch!'

'Don't call her that!' Michael said and stood up, his blood beginning to boil.

'Whatever!' Russell looked around the courtyard, he noticed an empty bottle of wine under Michael's chair. 'I'm not gunna get in another argument.' Russell stood up shoved his chair back under the table. 'Some of us have to work you know.'

' _Pfff!_ ' Michael threw his hand up and watched Russell storm off.

Michael was making steady physical progress; he had begun to regain strength in his legs and had disposed of the walking cane. Russell had suggested to Nic and Dimitra that Michael needed a hobby: a reason to get up rather than lying around all day.

Russell arrived at the Halias family home in his old Holden ute. He had used all his spare time over the past few months to work on her, and had found therapy in replacing the old engine and components with everything he could salvage from Michael's smashed sedan. Despite the dented and faded appearance, the _old girl_ ran like new.

Russell called out to Michael who was sitting in the afternoon sun under the pergola; he noticed Michael had a full glass of Nic's red wine cupped in his hand. Russell knew that Nic had noticed his stock of wine dwindling fast but had justified Michael's actions, saying that Mickey was mulling over his future and reconnecting with his past.

'Hey Mick, give us a hand will ya?'

Michael put his glass down. Feeling good from his third glass of fruity red, he wandered over to see what Russell was looking at in the back of the ute. 'What ya got their Rusty?' he asked jokingly, the previous week's argument seemingly forgotten. Russell pulled back the old canopy revealing a cardboard box; the box was new and caught Michael's attention immediately. 'What's this?'

Russell immediately felt vindicated in convincing Nic to spend the money on the latest spray-painting and airbrushing kit. The kit contained an array of fine airbrushing tools and books detailing effects that created artworks for applications in the custom automotive world.

'Mate, this is fantastic.' Michael had forgotten his glass of wine, enthralled by the gift. He looked up at Russell and his expression changed to suspicion. 'Feelin' sorry for me, are ya?'

Russell had anticipated this response. 'Get over yourself.' He turned and pointed to his ute. 'It's cheaper for me to buy this set and have you spray my car than to pay some wanker to do it.'

Michael stood back and looked at the tired paintwork. 'The paint will be worth more than this piece of shit.'

Russell walked to the front of the vehicle and hoisted up the bonnet. 'Take a look; seen this before?'

Michael walked over and stared at a familiar sight, the car's entire engine bay looked _just_ like his smashed sedan. The engine, brakes, even the chrome radiator cap had found its way into the old ute. Michael raised his eyebrows at the enormity of Russell's request. 'It's gunna take a while.'

'You got somethin' else better to do?'

Michael turned to his friend and smiled. 'Smart arse.'

*

Dimitra and Beth had prepared a special dinner for Friday night. Russell and Beth's engagement party was only a fortnight away and the two women had grown closer. Their daily fighting had all but ceased as they discussed arrangements: the names of the guests who could attend and where everyone would be seated in the backyard.

Beth began serving dinner to Nic and Russell who were already seated, ready to fill their stomachs.

'Where's Michael?' Dimitra asked.

'He's been out playing with that paint set all day,' Beth replied.

Nic looked at Russell and winked; Russell smiled at the validation of his good idea. The week that had passed had forced Michael to use his bad arm and hand; it was unconscious therapy. The concentration required to operate the spray equipment took his thoughts away from his interrupted sleep and painful memories.

He had remembered working on a bridge, kicking a ball, a flash of light and worst of all, a crying child. The next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital unable to move, disorientated and confused.

'Michael!' Dimitra yelled from the kitchen, her voice capable of penetrating the solid brick wall to the backyard garage.

Michael wandered inside stretching his arm above his head.

The family looked up in silence as he sat down to eat, his white t-shirt covered in grease and paint, his new jeans partly covered in grey paint. It was the first time they had seen his disfigured lower arm, the pink scar tissue snaked around his olive skin.

Sophie couldn't contain her laughter and began to giggle with her hand over her mouth.

'What?' Michael asked.

'You look like you're wearing make-up.'

Michael glanced around the table at the assortment of expressions. He pushed his chair back and marched the short distance to the bathroom, not sure what he would find, but when he looked in the mirror he realised what was so funny. _Bloody hell!_ In his eagerness to test a new technique he had failed to secure the paint pot, causing it to spray light-blue paint back in his face. Instinctively he had closed his eyes so the paint had hit his eyelids; the resulting effect was a bright blue coat of 'eye shadow'.

He laughed out loud from the bathroom and it echoed back through the dining room, into his parents' hearts. Nic smiled at his wife and gripped her hand, _Mickey just might be getting back to the boy I know._

'How am I gunna get this shit off?' Michael asked his reflection.

*

Beth and Russell's engagement party had finally arrived. 'Today my daughter Beth and Rus-sell are engaged in front of everyone that loves them.' Nic held Beth and Russell's hands, uniting the two only once he officially announced their engagement. Russell placed the thin-banded ring with its small diamond onto Beth's finger. The young couple embraced to the cheers of the crowd, mostly family. Russell's father hadn't bothered showing up; no one knew his reasons, and secretly no one cared, except Russell. _The bastard can't even show up for five minutes... why did I think he would._

Beth and Russell were separated as quickly as they were united.

'Russell, you come with the men.' Beth's uncle George smiled and grabed him under the arm. 'We drink and start to make you Greek.' Russell was dragged back into the den of men who encouraged him to join in a round of ouzo shots around the clothesline. Beth's aunties and cousins whispered Greek secrets in her ears, with comments that made her blush. The decorated backyard separated into two groups of men and women, both groups eager to share their wisdom on marriage, everyone, that was, except for Michael.

_Jesus... keep it down._ The large and noisy crowd of people put Michael on edge, despite being extended family. Until now he had only drunk enough spirits to tolerate his feelings of anxiety, but tonight Michael couldn't stop, it was the only thing keeping him from going over the edge. _Why am I even here? Who gives a shit about Russ and Beth? What a joke._

Michael continued to cringe and shudder as the music grew louder and parents let their children run a little wilder. Sophie had taken charge of her younger relatives and, as self-elected leader, she had organised a game of chase. The group of excited children darted around the adults as they chased each other, their squeals and laughter tearing like a dagger into Michael's emotions; with every shriek or cry he winced.

A small cousin who was having the time of her life failed to notice the edge of the table jutting into her path. She collided head first sending her legs up into the air, her little frame plonked hard on to the concrete floor. She stared in shock for a moment, a long angry, red welt starting to form on her tiny forehead. Her little pink lips began to quiver, her eyes squeezed shut, then, a high-pitched scream erupted from her rosebud mouth, ringing out from beneath the table, catching everyone's attention.

Michael winced, _Jesus Christ!_ He turned away fighting the rising volume.

Her mother appeared in a flash from the dancing huddle to scoop her daughter off the ground. 'There, there _Jola._ ' She kissed the little girl trying to comfort her into calmness, while the rest of the party goers carried on as normal: drinking and telling stories, continuing to enjoy each other's company, everyone except for Michael.

Every time the little girl wailed in her mother's arms Michael screamed inside with rage. He looked around the party. _What's wrong with me? Shut the kid up, will ya!_ Everyone seemed immune to the child's inconsolable cries, everyone kept talking and laughing. _What's wrong with you people?_

Hot and thirsty, Sophie decided to rehydrate with a glass of cool soft drink. She ran to the table were Michael was sitting and poured a large orange cordial oblivious to her brother's proximity. With her glass nearly full, she tried to reposition herself to fill it to the brim. Just as she moved the bottle, she bumped the full glass over.

'FUCKEN IDIOT!' Michael yelled as the cordial splashed on his lap.

Sophie looked up in fear; she had heard swear words before but never directed at her and never by anyone she loved. Nic and Dimitra gasped, other guests whispered their disapproval in Michael's direction.

'Michael!' Dimitra rushed over and chastised him, in Greek, 'How dare you use such words towards your sister! How dare you disgrace your family with this behaviour!'

Michael raised his hand and extended his index finger, placing it on his mother's lips, smiling smugly.

Dimitra slapped his hand away and continued with her torrent of rage; her tirade motivated Beth to chime in with her own reprimand, in support of her mother.

'Jesus you two whinge like old goats: yak, yak, yak,' Michael said, grinning with drunken disrespect.

Nic had also arrived on the scene to defuse the situation. 'What's wrong with you Michael?' He attempted to take the glass of beer from Michael's hand.

Dimitra ignored Nic's attempt at subtleness and continued with her own style of invective. 'No son of mine speaks to his family like this.'

Michael smiled again and took another sip of his beer, drunkenly defying his mother.

Again, Beth jumped to her mother's defence and started up her own volley of advice. 'Get over yourself. You went to Vietnam and got shot. You're back home now, so deal with it.' Beth knew straight away she had overstepped the mark with her passionate retaliation. Was it because Michael was ruining her party? She didn't really know. It didn't matter, she couldn't take it back.

Michael slowly looked up at her with a calculating silence; his eyes revealed rough weather ahead. 'Make sure you don't...' Michael looked around realising everyone was paying attention, 'make your wedding dress white.' In one simple sentence he had destroyed his sister's reputation and her party. 'Her and Russ have been rootin' around for ages.' With that second sentence he had turned Beth and Russell's love into something dirty, and tarnished their future union.

Beth felt as if she had just survived an internal nuclear explosion. No sooner had she heard the first comment than she was hit over the head with the second. She lunged forward in a rage, fists flying in retaliation, trying to prevent any further truths escaping from his mouth.

Even in Michael's drunken state he was able to sidestep Beth's onslaught. He smiled at the sudden boost to his low self-esteem. He had cruelly undermined his sister and best friend in one selfish act. Michael laughed at Beth as Nic struggled to restrain her.

She paused momentarily, but as soon as Michael laughed she lunged forward a second time, catching him unawares. Beth lashed out at Michael's cheek leaving three parallel scratches. He stopped laughing instantly. 'Crazy bitch!' he hissed, feeling his cheek.

Russell had been standing across the yard talking to some of his future relatives and had only noticed Beth's second lunge at Michael, following her verbal outburst. With a gut full of ouzo and wine, Russell attempted to calm everyone down. 'What's goin' on Mick?'

Michael focused on Russell's sudden arrival. 'Piss off,' he said, pushing his friend hard in the chest. 'You're never gunna be part of this family.'

Russell moved forward again, grabbing him by the shoulders, trying to get some sense out of him. 'Ya gotta get a grip Mick.'

'Yeah, and what would you know? You don't even have a family.'

'Why ya acting like such an arsehole?' Russell tried to place his hand on Michael's shoulder.

'Just FUCK OFF, Russ,' Michael yelled. 'You and Beth just go and get fucked. Better still, go and fuck each other; ya good at that.'

Russell had been patient and sensitive towards Michael, he had been caught between the woman he loved and the best friend who was changing before his eyes. But Michael's last words had hit a nerve. He felt a cold anger flood his body, he was ready to explode.

Michael moved his head just in time to limit the impact of Russell's straight right; the punch jarred his jaw and set off all his alarm bells.

Michael and Russell's adrenaline took control as they both let loose with fists to bodies and faces. Russell caught a powerful blow to the ribs before returning the favour with a quick combination to Michael's stomach. Michael hunched over in response to the beating, which aggravated his recovering wounds. Michael regained his composure and drove his right fist upwards, catching Russell square on the nose, breaking it instantly. Russell stumbled backwards from the mind-shaking impact and fell heavily onto his elbows.

Overwhelmed with drunken rage Michael moved in on his prey, not caring that the man in front of him was his lifelong friend. The same man he had promised to protect as a child from anyone who threatened him. He moved forward and raised his fist as Russell tried to stand. Michael pulled his arm back, ready to strike a chilling blow. Suddenly, a powerful forearm and hand gripped Michael's shoulder. Despite their age difference Nic could easily manhandle his son.

'Leave me ALONE,' Michael yelled through bloodied lips.

'GET INSIDE. _Clean yourself up!_ ' Nic yelled back; he had tolerated his son's behaviour long enough. He spun him 180 degrees and pushed him towards the house. Nic turned and looked around at the so-called celebration.

Dimitra began to yell at Beth, 'How can you do this to your family?' Dimitra turned and pointed at Russell. 'And you, after all I do for you sneak behind our backs with Beth.'

Beth was enraged. 'I hate you Michael', she yelled at her brother's back as he disappeared inside. She began to sob and cradled her future husband's bloodied face, probably wondering if he still wanted the title. Russell was unable to stand and, caught between worlds, he lay awkwardly with his head in Beth's lap, appearing shocked by the stranger in Michael's body. Nic shook his head at his ruined party.

Michael slammed his bedroom door behind him. 'FUCK IT!' He was furious at the world, his family, but mostly himself _. Who do they think they are, talking to me like that? What would they know? Russ deserved everything he got._ _Shit! Shit._ Michael tried to convince himself everyone else was to blame for his actions. He started to unbutton his bloodied shirt, frustrated and upset he ended up tearing it off as he began to pace like a caged animal. Realising he was still wearing cordial-stained pants Michael quickly removed them, kicking them aside. As he calmed down and caught his breath Michael slowly began to realise what he had done. He held his head in his hands then slammed his fist against his forehead. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid.'

He stood in the middle of his room, naked and feeling emotionally isolated. For the first time in his life he was experiencing bottomless feelings of despair. _I can't breath. My heart feels like it's gunna explode._ He looked up at his reflection in his wardrobe mirror; it was the first time he had taken a good look at his body in its complete horrific entirety. The reasons behind getting his wounds were still a mystery, his recollections were vague at best. Michael's expression reflected his true sorrow, the magnificent physique that even Adonis would have been proud of was now a mishmash of muscle and scar tissue. His lower arm was more pale pink than his native golden brown. Skin and flesh had been stretched to cover missing pieces torn away by bullet fragments. Michael suddenly picked up a chair and threw it at the monster in front of him, cracking the mirror, only distorting his image further.

The bedroom door flew open.

' _Jesus!_ Dad,' Michael yelled as he turned away from his father.

Nic was going to tear strips off his son but the minute he saw him he realised someone else had beaten him to it. It was the first time he had seen Michael's butchered body, and it shocked him to his core.

'Don't you ever knock?'

'I'm... I'm not happy Michael,' Nic said, struggling to maintain his composure, studying his son's scarred back. 'You're acting like a crazy person.' Nic knew his words would only upset his son further but he couldn't help that. He was disappointed and angry at Michael's dreadful behaviour towards the people who loved him. 'You're not acting like the man I raised.'

Michael looked up at the ceiling and laughed. Nic stared at his son in confusion.

'Well Dad,' Michael said, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. 'There's probably a good reason for that.'

'What are you talking about? What's this nonsense?'

'I'm no man,' Michael said, his lips trembling. He slowly turned around, revealing the true extent of his disfiguring injuries.

Nic tried to hide his horror at the sight of Michael's wounds. He struggled but was unable to control the tears that ran down his cheeks. For the first time Nic saw an image that would haunt him forever. Michael's body had been brutally butchered. His left thigh had been torn apart by bullets shattering his thigh bone, ripping a large chunk of muscle as they exited his leg. Nic inhaled deeply, quivering with sadness as he continued to look at his only son. He tried not to react as Michael moved his hands away and revealed his disfigured genitals. Nic momentarily dropped to his knees, 'Michael!' Nic cried and covered his eyes, unable to handle the full implication of his son's condition.

Michael felt disgusting, not worthy of being called a man, not worthy of being called Nic Halias's son. 'What woman would ever want me?' Tears flowed unchecked from Michael's eyes. He took a deep shuddering breath and continued, 'Look at me Dad: I'm hideous, I'm a freak, I'm not a man.' His voice was barely a whisper.

'No!' Nic stood up with a resolve after this fresh revelation. 'This doesn't make you a man,' Nic said, indicating to Michael's groin with both hands. ' _This_ makes you a man,' he hit his son hard in the chest to press his point home. 'Heart and courage.' Nic cradled Michael's sad face in his hands and gently whispered, 'And soul, wisdom and compassion. _That_ makes you a man.'

Michael paused at his father's words. He knew they made sense but he didn't want to hear them and pulled his head away. 'Where's my clothes? I've gotta get outta here,' he said, searching for clean clothes.

'Where you going? You stay here and we make things better.'

'I fucked up, Dad.' Michael was coming down from his anger and continued to get dressed. 'I'm gunna split. I'll call you when I call you.'

'Don't go Michael; your Mumma, Elizabeth and Russ, we'll all talk it better.'

Michael slowly raised his hand to silence his father. 'Please Dad, I--' He shook his head, unable to finish his sentence. '--I'm going.'

Nic followed his son down the hallway, sorely tempted to prevent him from leaving, but he knew he didn't have the answers. _Who did?_ he thought. _What terrible things haunt my boy? What makes him run from his own family?_

Michael closed the door behind him and walked out into the night, with nowhere to go and no reason to stay; he was lost in a world that didn't understand him.

# Chapter 23

I can't believe this has happened, Russell thought. I feel like I'm ten years old and in the shit again. Russell sat at the kitchen table and listened to Nic and Dimitra arguing in their bedroom. Poor Beth, she's been publicly humiliated... and my nose. Russell touched the tip of his nose. 'Shit!' A zapping pain shot through his sinuses.

'Russell,' Sophie said, tugging at his sleeve. 'What's a slut mean?'

' _Shh!_ ' Russell answered, looking around to make sure Beth wasn't listening. 'It's a bad word and don't ask ya sister either.'

Beth snuck up and grabbed Russell's hand, dragging him outside. She whispered what she had just overheard.

'Michael's taken off and something's going on with Dad.'

'I know. He won't even look at me.'

Beth pulled a face and raised her eyebrows. Russell smiled, realising what she meant.

'It'll be different in a couple of days,' Beth squeezed his hand, 'just give them some space.'

'Do you want space, Beth?'

'Don't be stupid, you've _got_ to marry me now,' she said, smiling weakly.

He grinned through bloodied teeth, leaning in for a kiss.

'Forget it!' Beth put a stop to his advances with a forceful push. 'Go home, I'll talk to you tomorrow.'

Russell staggered down the footpath towards the safety of his bed. The combined effects of alcohol and a physical beating made his short walk a dizzy one. He zigzagged along the footpath and was about to walk through the front gate, into his driveway, when he misjudged the distance and went sideways, over Mrs Schmidt's small brick fence.

'Shit!' he cried out, landing face first into the rockery. 'Ah fuck!' he complained feeling the jagged thorns of Mrs Schmidts cherished rosebushes scratching his arms. 'My nose!' Russell felt a warm trickle of blood coming from his broken nose.

'I'm gunna die!' Russell mouthed into the garden bed. He slowly pushed himself up and managed to step back over the small brick fence, then correctly entered his own driveway. Russell touched his bleeding nose and recoiled. 'FUCKEN hell!' He just wanted to go to sleep and forget the night had ever happened.

Russell stumbled around into the backyard. _Christ, I feel like shit._ Mrs Schmidt's poodles began to bark at his strange antics. 'Shut up ya poofter lookin' dogs.' Russell waved his hands down at the barking duo.

'Enough's enough!' Russell demanded to himself; he extended his arms and wobbled for a few seconds then regained control. 'Right--' He was just about to walk up the three small steps to the back door when a silhouette appeared against the veranda's single light.

Russell squinted, attempting to focus on the darkened shape. 'Dad?'

The southerly winds blew the neighbour's banana trees violently, the leaves making intermittent slapping sounds, the loud rustling making it difficult to hear.

'Dad?' Russell called again.

'Get outta my house, ya Jap bastard!' Wally was drunk and, as usual, wild like the wind.

'Not now dad,' Russell stumbled closer, 'I just--' Russell froze when he saw his .22 rifle in the hands of his drunken father.

'You bastards, you're never gunna get me.' Wally pointed the gun shakily in Russell's direction, his finger precariously close to the trigger.

'Dad! It's me, Russ.' Russell held his hands out as if to surrender, which only enraged Wally even more.

'You fuckers got Jack and the boys.' Wally's voice began to falter. 'Ya NOT GUNNA GET ME, ya yellow _fuckers_ ,' he yelled, tiny pieces of spit sprayed into the night air. 'Ya hide in the trees like animals. You animal bastards.' Wally raised his rifle and pointed it squarely at his shadowy enemy.

_Fuck! His completely off his rocker._ Russell gradually began to move forwards with his arms outstretched, slowly repeating his name. 'Dad it's me, Russ. Come on Dad it's _me_ , _Russ_.' He raised his leg to step up but misjudged his footing and fell forwards, the sudden movement frightening Wally into action.

_BANG!_ Russell watched in horror as the gun discharged, sending a bullet spiralling just over his head; he felt the gush of wind as it missed him by only inches.

Russell quickly gained his balance and rushed forwards, gripping the rifle with both hands. Wally looked startled by the close-quarters tussle over his weapon. He struggled with the rifle, staring at Russell's bloodied face.

'Dad! It's _me_ , Russ.'

Wally looked into his son's face, reality slowly creeping in. 'Russell?'

'Course it's me ya bloody old fool.'

'Russell!' Wally repeated as he began to sob, 'I've shot ya. I've shot me kid.'

'No Dad, I got in a fight.'

'I killed me wife and now I've killed me kid.' Wally was inconsolable, admonishing himself for all the wrongs in his life. He slowly released his grip on the rifle and fell to his knees, like a lifeless puppet. 'I'm good for nothin', that's what I am.' Wally began to cry, 'I'm _fucken_ useless.' Russell stood still, trying to maintain his balance, looking down at his father's greying hair.

For the first time he saw his father as a victim of circumstance: losing friends in a war, losing a wife and losing a life he was supposed to have. Russell couldn't imagine losing Beth under the same circumstances. He leant the gun against the back wall and dragged his father to his feet. 'Jesus, you're a heavy prick.'

There was no response from Wally's limp body; it had happened before, he had cried out in the night, from the pain of living with so much anger and regret, only to wake in the morning and not mention a single word. Russell struggled down the darkened hallway dragging his father's drunken body with him.

*

The morning revealed a damaged face and throbbing headache. Russell cleaned himself up as best he could, carefully washing his face and inspecting his swollen nose. 'Shit,' he exclaimed at the sight of his face in the mirror; his eyes were also starting to bruise from Michael's powerful punch.

Russell had fallen asleep with a goal already planned for the new day.

First, he approached Mrs Schmidt and apologised for the damaged roses, hoping one of her prized poodles hadn't also caught a stray bullet, then he broached another, rather more sensitive, topic.

Mrs Schmidt was a generous lady who had emigrated from Germany with her engineer husband only for him to pass away a year later. Russell remembered the day she moved in, he was twelve and tasted apple strudel the very next day. 'Don't go takin' food off the enemy ya idiot.' Wally had slapped Russell when he found out his son had tasted the dessert. Mrs Schmidt had tolerated Wally's torrent of racial slurs since moving in next door; Wally routinely muttering 'Nazi' or 'kraut' whenever she was within earshot.

Wally and Mrs Schmidt had had a running battle over the banana trees ever since they were planted. He claimed they dropped leaves and attracted bats; she had planted them as a buffer against his verbal abuse. Now looking at the trees, Russell knew the real reason his father had tried to destroy them so often: once with petrol and many times with the axe. They reminded him of tropical New Guinea and the environment where many of his army mates had perished.

Despite not knowing how his father's confused mind worked, or why, Russell knew the trees set him off, especially when it was windy. The combined visual and auditory trigger had stirred terrible memories deep within Wally's soul.

Russell explained his predicament to Mrs Schmidt who, as it turned out, had changed her mind about not wanting to get rid of the trees, especially after her puppies had grown up and started barking at the bats at night. However, she admitted that every time she explored the possibility of removing them Wally would make another derogative comment, causing her to storm home, bristling with pride and defiance; but Russell's generous offer today had been too good to refuse.

*

Wally walked around his chook pen clutching one of his favourite bantams, as usual showing more love for the bird than he had ever shown his son. He was poking about in the straw, searching for eggs, when he heard a familiar voice calling over the fence.

'G'day Dad.'

Wally looked up, surprised to see his son's head poking over 'the enemy's' fence. 'What are ya doin' over _there?_ '

'Gardening.'

'Gardening?'

Russell dropped back down from the fence and continued doing what his father had never been able to do, clearing the clumps of banana trees one by one with ease. He piled them high in the back of his old Holden ute, wondering if the brakes would hold until he got to the tip. Mrs Schmidt kept up a steady stream of home-made lemonade to quench Russell's thirst.

'Phew!' Russell glanced up at the hot morning sun.

'Here you are Rus-sell.' Mrs Schmidt smiled handing him another lemonade. 'You are doing the most fabu-lous of jobs.'

'Thanks Mrs Schmidt. I reckon I'll be outta here in another half hour.' Russell turned back to the task of removing the last of the trees. He welcomed the opportunity to keep his mind active and not think about the stuff-up at the engagement party.

Russell coaxed his overloaded ute down the street, glancing at the Haliases' house as he drew near, only to see Dimitra and Nic outside about to get in their car. 'Shit!' He quickly averted his eyes when he saw Dimitra. _She saw me... bugger!_ Russell crunched into second gear and accelerated down the road as fast as the struggling Holden allowed.

*

Dimitra watched Russell drive away, hoping the 'not-so-pure Australian boy' would turn and see her stare. 'It is _his_ fault you know,' Dimitra said accusingly to her husband.

Nic raised his eyebrows, he wasn't in the mood for one of Dimitra's tongue lashings.

'I always said he was too shy, he was hiding something, I knew this.'

'What are you talking about?' Nic replied, no longer able to tolerate his wife's one-sidedness. He just wanted to go to the egg farm alone but Dimitra wanted to come and talk about her concerns.

'My Beth would have had nothing to do with sex if it wasn't for that Russell.'

Nic looked perplexed by Dimitra's statement, he began to say something then paused; he wanted to make sure he addressed her concerns completely. 'A relationship is like a sandwich.'

'What?' Dimitra turned to look at her husband, confused by his statement.

'I said relationship--'

'I heard you, but as usual you are not making sense.'

'Beth is one piece of bread.' Nic indicated with one hand held flat. 'Russell is the other piece of bread.' He opened his opposite palm, then slapped his hands together. 'The breads have to touch otherwise you have no sandwich!' Nic finished his answer with a 'there you go' look.

Dimitra blew a raspberry at her husband's logic, even though he made sense; she knew her daughter was a willing participant in the 'premarital-sex scandal'.

'And anyway,' Nic continued, undeterred by her reaction, 'we were like rabbits before we got married,' again indicating with a hand-slapping gesture, simulating the ferocity with which rabbits copulated.

Dimitra grabbed Nic's hands to stop him from referring to their relationship as an animal sex pantomime. She wasn't happy with her opinion being denigrated by her husband and didn't raise the subject again; she knew Nic had other things on his mind, Michael in particular.

# Chapter 24

Ten days had passed since Beth and Russell's disastrous engagement party. What was supposed to have been a celebration, of two people officially announcing their honourable intentions, had turned into a public humiliation.

Michael had roamed from pub to pub across Sydney. He ate when he was hungry and drank when he shouldn't have. The days had begun to blur and he became oblivious to the people around him. Only in an alcoholic stupor could he block out the real world. His dreams were incomplete: half nightmare, half jigsaw, their twisted messages bombarding his subconscious.

His troubled mind acclimatised to the seedy night-life of the Kings Cross streets. He mixed with the wayward people, not caring about anything or anyone.

His senses may have been dulled but something suddenly caught his attention. The familiar bounce of her hair, the sound of her voice. _Could it be?_ Michael thought as he approached a small group of women. _I can't believe it._ He walked up and spun the young woman around. 'Evie!' Michael exclaimed, his lips only inches away from hers.

'For tweny bucks... I'll be anyone you want, sweetheart,' she replied. Her poorly applied make-up had caked in the fine lines around her eyes, and one false eyelash was lifting along its outer edge.

'What?' Michael said, stepping back, realising she wasn't the woman he had fallen in love with.

'Come on sweetheart, make it fifteen bucks. Come o-o-n, don't be shy,' the prostitute called out as he stumbled away down the alley.

Michael shook his head. _You idiot... she wouldn't be caught dead in this place._ He hurriedly ran towards the safety of his next drink.

The barman was happy to have Michael's repeat business: he was quiet, had money and stayed until late. As Michael settled into his third beer, he noticed that two couples, who had been enjoying an enthusiastic conversation, were suddenly whispering. He couldn't have cared less and continued to dwell on his traumatic past and his confusing future. Suddenly a familiar scent drifted past his nose. _I know that perfume... that's the one --_

'Michael?'

He turned slowly, not recognising her at first, but then he began to smile. 'Rachael! I... didn't almost--Rach!' The last time, they had been in an accident together, this time they had met by one. Rachael had always worn smart dresses but now stood before him in jeans and a crudely dyed yellow t-shirt.

'You still in the army?' His hair was relatively short compared to the fashionable 1970s style.

'Was. I'm out now. Got hurt,' Michael said as he glanced over at Rachael's friends who seemed to be taking an interest in her movements. Michael waved at the trio but they ignored his gesture and returned to talking amongst themselves.

'You know we shouldn't be over there.' Rachael's once-innocent demeanour had been replaced by a colder businesslike manner.

'What?'

'Vietnam, we shouldn't be imposing our capitalist bullshit on a people's rightful government.'

Michael ignored her statement. He smiled into his beer and shook his head, draining the last of his cold ale.

Rachael became more animated; her voice began to increase in intensity as she tried to make her point. 'Women and children are being butchered every day by capitalist-led armies--'

'Nice to see you again too.' Michael turned and cut her off mid-sentence. 'Are you on somethin'? Have you fried your brain with your hippie... with ya hippie mates over there?' Michael had heard enough rhetoric.

The shutters dropped and Rachael's face became a cold blank mask, the previously besotted young woman was no longer under Michael's spell. She had been caught up in the student protest movement against the Vietnam War, wrongly targeting soldiers instead of policymakers. Rachael was now under another spell, which had been cast in ignorance.

'Can I buy you a beer,' she said, 'for old time's sake?'

Michael wasn't about to say no, considering his depleted resources, the barman plonked a large glass of cold beer in front of him.

'So where do you stand on the raping of Vietnam and its people?' Rachael demanded.

Michael thought about the question for less than a second. 'Blow the fucken place apart for all I care.' He reached for his free beer but before he could pick it up Rachael up-ended the glass emptying the entire contents over his head.

'Ya killer! You probably got hurt trying to rape some poor villager.' Rachael made sure her comments were heard by everyone in the bar; she smiled over at her friends and whispered back at Michael, 'You disgust me.' She strolled back to her supporters, to pats on the back and words of encouragement.

Michael sat on his bar stool in shock after the public berating. Beer dripped off the tip of his nose, his earlobes and his chin. He had seen protesters on TV but never experienced their callous behaviour firsthand, let alone from someone who had once cared for him. Michael felt his tolerant demeanour disappearing out the window; a fuse had been lit deep in his stomach, igniting an impulsive rage which boiled just below the surface. Michael slammed his fist down on the counter.

'Here mate, have this one on the house.' The barman offered. Michael ignored the beer and sat frozen in position. 'I don't want any trouble from your kind,' the barman continued.

The comment only fanned Michael's anger. _Does he mean because I'm Greek or cause I was in Vietnam?_ It didn't matter, he wanted retribution and his target was sitting by the window twelve feet away.

'I'm calling the cops!' the barman warned as Michael approached the party of four.

Rachael was seated between two men with another woman directly opposite her when Michael appeared by her side. Rachael noticed the conversation come to a sudden stop, her friend's eyes focused on the background behind her. She turned and looked up into Michael's emotionless eyes. He stood there, dripping in beer staring around the table. She had anticipated Michael's company and was already prepared to refute anything he had to say.

'What! Are you going to beat me up too or aren't my eyes narrow enough?' The other three laughed nervously as Rachael looked around the table, smiling.

'I don't hit women, never have, even a commy bitch like you.' Michael turned to face the bigger of the two men. Even though he and Michael briefly made eye contact, Rachael's friend didn't see it coming. Michael let loose with a straight right, crushing the man's nose like a tomato, blood and snot splattered in all directions, spraying both women's faces with fine droplets. Michael casually walked to the other side of the table as the second bloke scrambled to his feet. He held his hands up in submission.

'Hey man, I don't believe in violence--'

'Time to start believing, dickhead.'

Michael's second punch was far more powerful than the first. Patrons cringed hearing a moist snapping sound, the man's jaw shattering from the ferocious impact. Michael's victim's limp body fell forwards onto Rachael's lap. Michael gazed without emotion at the carnage in front of him, one man out cold and another unable to talk, except for a whimper, his muffled cries interspersed with the sound of blood dripping into his lap.

'Look what you've done!' Rachael screamed.

'Na...' Michael smiled, 'look what you've done.'

The women tried to comfort their boyfriends, only now realising the full impact of their ill-conceived attempt at a protest.

Michael's knuckles were bleeding from smashing bone or teeth, probably both. He didn't care; he strolled back to the bar and calmly slid onto his stool. He sat and coolly sipped his 'on the house' beer, blood mixing with the condensation on the glass.

'I've called the cops,' the barman declared.

Michael looked up. 'Good for you. Pour me another beer... hero.'

*

Nic hadn't been sleeping well since Michael's outburst at the party, he had called only twice for some money and clothing that Nic had organised without Dimitra's knowledge. The whole situation with his family's turmoil had edged Nic towards despair. _I saw terrible things as a child during the_ _Second World War_ , _but I'm no different from anyone else in my village._ He had tried many times to approach Michael for the truth about his Vietnam experiences. 'Tell me son, what is in your soul? What happened over there?'

'If I can't remember,' Michael yelled, 'how the hell are you gunna help me?'

Nic had come to Australia for a better future, to raise a family and to work hard, for his children to have opportunities he had never had. It hadn't always been smooth sailing, but he could tolerate the racism; _that_ was pure ignorance. _These people don't know me, they just know my skin, my accent. If they knew me, the real me, and still hated me, I would be sad, but I'm not, because they don't._

On the whole, immigrating had been a good move, there had been opportunities aplenty, so when Michael was selected to serve his country Nic felt obliged to give something back for the future his family had received, but at what cost?

Michael had returned a different man, when he walked back into Nic's arms he was cold and distant. Nic knew his son had experienced something terrible. Michael's flesh wounds would heal, although his manhood was all but stolen, he would learn somehow to live with it, but the scars that ran deep into Michael's soul were not healing, they were becoming infected, and no one had a cure.

As a proud Greek father, he mulled over his worries endlessly. Some nights he would lie in bed tossing and turning. The dinner-table conversation that was always so lively had suddenly ground to an uncomfortable hush. Nic had chosen to suffer in silence about his son.

Dimitra tried to hold her family together. Beth was angry at everyone and little Sophie was scared and confused. Every night Dimitra cooked one of Nic's favourite meals, in an attempt to lift his spirits, only to be rewarded with a half-eaten plate of food, and more silence. Beth also ate quietly, avoiding eye contact with anyone because of the embarrassment she had caused the family; she firmly believed her father was ashamed of her.

Dimitra looked around the table of forlorn faces. _Where has my family gone?_ They were each caught up in their own misery; she couldn't take it anymore. ' _Enough!_ Look at yourselves.'

Nic was emotionally spent, his eyes welled up; he couldn't contain his sadness anymore. Dimitra didn't have to ask, she knew her husband well. Even though he hadn't mentioned Michael she had known deep down what Nic was experiencing.

'Now listen! Michael's a man and what he did was bad.' Dimitra pointed her finger at Nic. 'But we raised him good, we give him love and family, and he knows it. You know this too Nic.'

Nic had been so completely preoccupied with his own suffering that he had failed to acknowledge his wife's pain. This sudden realisation hit him hard, the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt his precious wife. He couldn't take it any longer and tried to leave the table before his emotions showed, but Dimitra grabbed his arm, her tight grip surprising him.

'This is why I love your father,' she declared, looking at her daughters, her eyes filling with tears. 'He loves us so much... he destroys himself trying... trying to protect us.' She held her grip as Nic tried to go; she stood and wrapped her arms around him, the only man she would ever love, and in Greek she declared, 'I love you, my darling, as much now, as I have in the past, and I will do until the end of time.'

'Dimitra...' Nic wept openly in her arms, dwarfing his tiny wife, the rock in his world, her words conquering his powerful troubles.

_It's not all about me,_ Beth realised. She stood and hugged her mother and father. The man she had always perceived as a king was reduced to tears; it made her love him even more.

'It's alright Dad, we'll get through it.' Beth motioned for Sophie to join the family embrace; Nic and his three Halias women held each other tightly.

Nic hugged them back fiercely, his tears replaced with smiles, and a few more tears of happiness. 'Look at me! Crying like a baby.' He laughed and wiped his cheeks with his hand. 'It's a good dinner Dimitra, you spoil me.' Nic still had concerns but his tension had released. 'You're right, we'll fix this. We're Haliases, strong people.'

Dimitra rubbed Nic on the back reassuringly but deep down she knew there would be rough seas ahead. She had survived war-torn Europe and the famine that followed; she was determined to triumph over this moment of conflict, she wouldn't be beaten.

The evening was a pleasant change from the past two weeks of uncomfortable silence. Nic and his family congregated in the lounge room. Dimitra brushed Beth's long black hair, the two women sharing an intimacy that had been distant since Michael's outburst. Nic smiled at his daughter's emerging beauty; she had grown into a tall woman, taking after Nic's side of the family, her long black hair and olive complexion contrasted with her ocean-blue eyes. _I never get tired of looking at those beautiful eyes,_ Nic would often think. If his daughter's passion was anything like her mother's, Russell and Beth would have a happy life.

Sophie laughed out loud at a comedy playing on the TV, falling backwards from her crossed-legged position in fits of giggles. Nic smiled at his youngest daughter oblivious to the adult problems in the family. He was a blessed man and now he realised it. As long as he had his family, his courage would prevail.

Nic had settled into his favourite chair with the added knowledge that tomorrow meant he didn't have to be at the shop. Russell had suggested that he and Beth could operate the business on a Sunday. At first Nic was reluctant to step back and let them take responsibility for the family business, but eventually, as a concession, he made sure that everything was in order on the Saturday, guaranteeing a smooth operation next day. The idea had generated more income than he'd expected, making the most of this previously unused opportunity, the day that they had traditionally remained closed. The deal they had struck to split the profits worked out well for everyone. _Smart boy that Russell,_ Nic thought.

The phone rang shrilly, interrupting the peaceful family moment. Nic looked at his watch: _9.15 pm!_ 'Who calls this late?' He didn't appreciate the interruption, but despite the inconvenience he was too much of a gentleman to behave rudely. 'Hello, Nic Halias speaking ... Yes, this is me,' Nic answered, frowning. 'I am his father. Who is calling me again? ... Why?' Nic paused, concentrating on the deep voice on the other end of the line. 'Yes. I'll come now.' Nic stood silently, holding the phone at his side.

'Who was that?' Beth asked, as her mother continued to brush her hair, the television playing loudly in the background while she struggled to hear the answer.

Nic placed the phone gently back on the cradle oblivious to his daughter's question. _The police?_

'Nic. Who was that? ... _Nic!_ ' Dimitra repeated, handing Beth the hair brush.

'It was the police. Michael's been arrested.'

Dimitra jumped up. 'What? What do you mean arrested? Why? Is Michael--' Dimitra didn't have time for English and switched to Greek, as she always did when she needed answers fast. 'What has he done now? Has he had another accident?'

'Dimitra, please.' Nic held his hand up to stem the flow of questions. 'Michael is alright but he's... he has hurt some people.'

Dimitra's fast-moving lips froze, her words grinding to a halt.

'He was in some sort of fight. Some people are in hospital and Michael is at the police station.'

'I'll get my purse, we'll go and bring Michael home--'

'Wait.' Nic was calm, calmer than his wife expected. 'I'll go alone.'

'I'm coming too, just let me find my purse.' Dimitra hurriedly searched, 'Where is my purse?' Beth handed her mother the purse and helped her put on her jacket.

'NO! Just me,' Nic insisted.

Dimitra stopped what she was doing; she didn't appreciated her husband's tone but could see a determined look on his face. 'Alright Nic,' she said, walking up to him. She handed him his jacket and helped him put it on, pulling it tightly across his chest. 'I love you, Nic.'

'It's okay. I know.' Nic kissed her on the lips and walked out the door.

Dimitra returned to the lounge room and resumed combing her daughter's hair. 'I tell you Beth, men, they give you so much pain sometimes.'

Beth considered her mother's words, she felt the frustration in every strong stroke of her hair.

*

Nic had never been in an Australian police station in all his time in the country. He felt uncomfortable the instant he walked in the door. Big men in uniforms, all of them at least six foot tall. _Confident_ and _aggressive_ were the prerequisites for recruitment. Nic approached the desk sergeant who was busily typing a report, picking out each letter one finger at a time. 'Excuse me sir, I'm here about my son,' Nic said in his best English.

The sergeant ignored Nic's polite interruption and continued with his report.

Nic was unsure if the burly police officer had heard him and so he repeated himself. 'Excuse me--'

'I _heard_ you, th--Ah shit! Now I've got to start again.' The sergeant pulled the report from the typewriter and scrunched the document in his large hand. 'What's your name again?'

'Halias,' Nic answered, 'I'm here--'

'Heard you the first time Halias!'

Nic was a little surprised at the sergeant's ability to pronounce his name correctly.

'Oh yes, Halias; your son's in a bit of shit isn't he?'

Nic wasn't quiet sure what the sergeant meant but it didn't sound too good.

The sergeant yelled, without getting out of his chair, 'BAZZ! What's goin' on with that wog bloke in six?' He looked down the corridor, waiting for a response.

A voice called back, 'He's in the interview room, waiting.'

'He's in with the detective,' the desk sergeant advised Nic. 'Your son's done a pretty good job on one of the blokes in hospital, a politician's kid apparently.' The sergeant examined Nic a little more closely, just enough to make him feel uncomfortable. 'I know you from somewhere, don't I?' The sergeant hesitated then snapped his fingers. 'Iron Nic the Greek!'

Nic was surprised to hear his old boxing name; if it had been any other setting he would have felt proud, but not under the current circumstances.

'I saw you fight Johnny Crowley at Camperdown. I won good money on you. Shit you could punch.'

Nic's mind was instantly drawn back to the only three professional fights he had fought in Australia. He had told Dimitra he had been beaten up when in actual fact he had needed the money after losing their meagre savings, gambling. The money had been painstakingly saved to start the takeaway business. Nic had been in Australia for five years, with a young son and a baby on the way, when he had lost it all; from that day on he had promised himself to never gamble again, a promise which he had religiously kept. The punishment he received in the ring was justified in his mind, for his foolish behaviour.

The desk sergeant's perception of Nic had changed. He had witnessed a fighter, out of condition, take on a younger opponent and win. He knew character when he saw it, and now it was standing right in front of him.

*

'Come on arsehole,' a young constable instructed, opening Michael's holding cell. 'The detective wants to see you.'

The fighting spirit had left Michael, and his untreated hand was killing him. The pain throbbed whenever he let it hang in a relaxed position. Michael stood up and walked the short distance to the interrogation room, closely followed by the constable.

'Sit there.' The constable pointed. Michael noticed the constable's pink knuckles; it was obvious what _his_ job was in the interrogation process.

Michael sat on a wooden chair facing a bare table while the constable stood at attention nearby.

'Good evening sir,' the constable greeted the detective when he entered the room.

Michael glanced at the brown-suited figure holding a manila folder in one hand with a cup of tea in the other.

'Sit up!' the constable ordered, at the same time kicking the back of Michael's chair, the vibration sending a painful jolt through his hand.

'We're gunna have to stop meeting like this, Mr Halias.'

Michael looked up to see Rachael's father sitting there, sipping his cup of tea. _I knew her father was a detective but..._ He dropped his head back down at the hopelessness of his situation.

It wasn't by pure luck that _this_ detective was interviewing Michael; one of his fellow detectives had notified him when Rachael had mentioned her father was 'on the job'. Detective Sergeant Brett Kelsie was a career cop, a streetwise and no-nonsense breed of officer. He didn't talk about the job outside his trusted circle of colleagues and certainly never talked about how the job really worked to his family. His tall, wiry frame gave no indication of just how physically intimidating he could be.

He briefly scanned the report, momentarily flicking back to check something before nodding to himself. 'I never liked you Mick,' he said, dropping the report on his desk.

_This guys gunna kill me..._ Michael thought, as Rachael's father relaxed back into his chair.

'You're a smartarse, a real turd. Got it!'

Michael sat motionless, suffering a hangover from a fortnight of drinking; he maintained eye contact with the detective. The constable kicked the back of his chair again. 'Answer the detective.'

'Yes,' Michael muttered.

'But this is the funny thing,' Kelsie said, smiling, 'it turns out we're mates after all.'

Michael's head wasn't in any state for mind games, but the detective continued. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Do you know what that means?'

Michael shook his head; he was waiting for a punch to the face just like the last time they had met.

The detective leant forward. 'Rachael's fallen in with a crowd of low-life.' The father in him became evident with his tone. 'Arseholes who want to smoke weed and rip this country apart with their bullshit protests. All of a sudden she hates the police and hangs around her new boyfriend who... will be eatin' dinner through a straw for the next six weeks, thanks to you.' The last sentence brought a smile to his face. 'What you did, for whatever reason, gave those pricks a taste of their own medicine, the arseholes. Isn't that right, constable?'

'Yes, sir. Arseholes, sir.'

Michael briefly turned around to look at the strange new world he had woken to. 'What about the blokes I punched--?'

'Punched! More like half-fucken killed,' Kelsie laughed, prompting the constable to join in.

_Where's Rachael's dad going with this? The guy's never liked me. Why play all these games, the sick bastard?_ 'Am I gunna get locked up?'

'It turns out that the witnesses' statements indicate you were set upon by four high-profile protesters who have been responsible for, not only disgracing the honour of our returned servicemen, but also, injuring police officers who were merely doing their job.'

Michael stared across the table convinced Rachael's father was still playing some sort of cruel joke.

'As it turns out we have enough evidence to charge the young offender, once, of course, he's able to leave hospital. Now be a good boy and sign this statement that I've taken the liberty of compiling based on your recollection of the events.'

Michael reached forward and painfully signed his name without reading the statement. Kelsie took the original and handed Michael a copy.

'Now my advice, son,' Again the detective leant forward over the desk, 'fuck off, and get yourself sorted out.'

Michael pondered on the detective's blunt words of wisdom. At no time had Rachael's father been racist towards him, only brutally honest. Kelsie had every right to dislike Michael, but at the end of the day he had preferred a randy Greek kid to a political activist as a suitor for his daughter.

*

They drove back from the police station in silence until Nic pulled into the tree-lined street that they called home.

'Stop here, Dad.'

He pulled the car in to the kerb without saying a word.

'I know you don't understand, Dad.' Nic remained silent, looking at his desperate and confused son, his broad shoulders no longer proud, 'It's not the same. Things are different. I'm different.'

Nic chose his next words carefully. 'Michael,' he said and placed a hand on Michael's shoulder, 'do you remember that story I told you, the one about how I lost the fight in Germany, that punch, the left hook?'

Michael remembered the story straight away but couldn't see its relevance. 'Are you trying to compare a boxing match to... the same as this?' Michael motioned to his body.

'No, no... listen. You are not understanding--'

'Too right I don't.' Michael's eyes flickered with anger, 'I might as well have died over there. I can't have kids. I can't be with a woman. I'm fucken useless.' His voice began to tremble. He had thought this way, and it was eating him alive, but saying it out loud reinforced his fear.

'This is life sometimes, Michael--'

'Well, I hate life.'

Nic could tell the heated conversation was putting up walls that neither of them could penetrate. 'Michael, I love you, and you must always know this.' Nic paused and took a deep breath. 'I am a forty-five year old man. I'm not perfect, and I never met someone who was. I have faults, your mother has faults, everyone does; even you had them before you went, and more now that you're back.' Nic squeezed Michael's shoulder with a powerful grip and looked him in the eye. 'It's the... the,' Nic searched for the word that he needed his son to hear, 'it's the measure of you, as a man, how you deal with faults in your life that makes you,' Nic held Michael's cheek, 'you my son, a real man.'

Michael closed his eyes, he knew his father was right but he had a long way to go to measure up to the man he was. Two tears ran from his closed eyes.

Nic embraced his son. _How can I take his pain, his sadness?_ He kissed Michael on the cheek, his own tears welling up.

'What am I going to do, Dad?' Michael asked tearfully.

'Come inside. Your mother and me, we'll figure something out.'

'What about Beth?'

Nic knew that _that_ was another issue for another day. 'First you. Then you two will have to deal with it.'

Dimitra had watched the car pull over at the top of the street and had to fight with herself not to run up and find out what was going on.

Michael hugged his mother at the front door. Dimitra ignored the stench of alcohol and body odour that his dishevelled body exuded. 'Go and have a shower; I'll fix you something to eat.'

'Mum I'm--'

'Go now, we'll talk when you get out.'

Michael made his way to the bathroom, looking for any sign of his sisters. Beth and Sophie had chosen not to greet him, one out of fear, the other out of growing hatred.

He ate his mother's cooking as if he hadn't eaten for a year. Nic and Dimitra watched, and listened to their son's tortured nightmares.

'All I remember is kids playing, a woman carrying flowers.' Michael's voice quavered as his mind projected random images, flickering like a poor quality film. 'And a, a little girl crying.'

Dimitra squeezed her husband's hand tightly at her son's confessions. She knew how humanity could take a backwards step in times of war.

'There's something else.' He licked the syrup off the edge of a sizeable slice of baklava. 'When Russ and I went away, I met a girl.'

Dimitra had listened without interrupting him until the subject turned to love. 'A girl!' she repeated.

'Well, a woman.' Michael crunched up a flake of pastry that had stuck to his tongue. 'It's a long story, but she disappeared in the middle of the night.'

Nic also knew the car had disappeared in the middle of the night, but this wasn't the time to make accusations.

'We had an argument.' Michael felt ten years old again. 'Well...' Michael swallowed and looked his parents in the eye, 'I love her and I want to try and find her.'

Love was something Dimitra could understand, if anything could help with her son's pain it was love.

'She probably wouldn't want anything to do with me now... because... because of the...' Michael started to get upset. He could only imagine Evie's face at the sight of his scarring and disfiguration. 'It's the first time I ever felt such a deep love for a girl, and I know she wants to love me back, but look at me mum.' Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks.

'Stop!' Dimitra said, holding her son's hand. 'If it's love you both have she won't care about other things, people find a way around things.' Dimitra couldn't say 'sex' or 'intercourse' to her son; she had already started to blush.

'Mum,' Michael gripped his mother's hand and swallowed. 'All I could think of over there was Evie--'

'Evie?' Dimitra interrupted, putting a name to her son's love.

'She's beautiful, in a way I've never realised. She's strong like you, but fragile just below the surface, I realise that now.' Michael looked at both his parents with determination. 'I gotta tell her how much she means to me even if she never wants me.' Michael's eyes welled as his heart poured empty.

'Wait here.' Dimitra stood up and went to her bedroom.

Nic and Michael looked at each other as Dimitra rushed to her bedroom. She marched back to the dining table and shoved a thick roll of twenty-dollar notes into her son's hands. 'You go and find this girl, and find out if she still loves you back.' Dimitra grabbed the car keys from the sideboard. 'And take these.'

'I can't take the car.'

Dimitra lifted her chin high and extended her hand. 'Your father was going to buy a new one next year anyway. Next year, tomorrow, what's the difference?'

'Dad!'

Nic smiled and kissed his son on the cheeks.

'Go. Find this Evie, or find yourself, but remember to call us. Okay?'

'Okay.' Michael's bottom lip trembled as he hugged his parents tightly. He didn't need to say another word, his strong embrace said it all. His loving parents were his core. They had righted a sinking ship and had sent it on its way.

Nic and Dimitra watched him drive off into the night. They knew, as confused as he was, he now had a direction. The journey and how he got there wasn't important, as long as he got there.

'I liked that car,' Nic whispered.

Dimitra felt Nic's hand slide into hers, she squeezed it, knowing Nic's joke was hiding his broken heart. She watched, with a deep sadness as Michael's tail-lights grew smaller and smaller, until they finally turned the corner, and vanished. 'I love you my son,' she whispered _._ 'Be strong against the life that punishes you, embrace your courage, because, as God is my witness, I will never give up on you.' Nic sqeezed her hand, it was all she needed, a single tear escaped her ocean-blue eyes; the small droplet trickled down her cheek and along her jaw. Her silent grief symbolised her son's battle against a world that didn't understand him, that didn't want him.

But _she_ would never give up, never lose sight of what mattered most in her heart, and she prayed her son wouldn't either.

The End?

#

Mick and Evie's story continues in the emotionally

charged second novel in the Left Hook series

ON THE RUN

Coming soon in 2014

slhughes.net
