Mind you, there were mainstream academics who doubted the existence of Ah Li Wu. No photograph had ever been produced but there were paintings of his image everywhere – a Chinese face with a long beard. Indeed, there was a fairly skilled example of his image done with spray cans on the wall in the room in which Conan stood, his nose twitching at the stench.
Conan stared at the picture of Ah Li Wu – appreciating the technique that had produced it and pondering the secret semiotic messages that such street art always carried. It was rumoured that Ah Li Wu would make a first ever public appearance at Illumination – a major Habal Tong festival to be held the night before the First Wave, culminating at midnight as the First Wavers became full citizens.
What a night that was likely to be – and possibly it was the reason for Loongy’s strange attitude. Obviously he had his work cut out preparing for the big night – such a huge gathering, of such symbolic importance, was a perfect target for Dedd Reffo and after just one morning at AFP headquarters Conan was in no doubt as to their main focus.
Gangland murders were unimportant.
‘But not to me,’ thought Conan, breathing through his mouth as he hurried from the house and made his way back to the hotel.
Chapter 4
Tim’s Time to Shine
‘So fuckin’ hot,’ muttered Robbie Bennett to no one in particular.
His mate, Chris Majkic, was driving but the air conditioning in the old, blue Mazda hadn’t worked for years. It had only been Robbie’s car for two years but it had been the Old Man’s for at least ten before that and had to be nearly twenty years old.
The lack of air conditioning had never been a problem in Melbourne, but it was now. They should’ve taken the coast road, but no – fuckin’ Chris had wanted to take the direct route through the heart of the desert.
One thing that did still work was the thermometer. At Andamooka it reckoned the outside heat (more or less the same as the inside heat) was 54 degrees. Robbie found it hard to believe that planet Earth could sustain such temperatures but, an hour out from Alice Springs, was grateful that the mercury had plunged to a more temperate 45.
‘Fuckin’ look at that,’ sniggered Chris, and Robbie looked up with mild interest at a couple of hitch hikers looming – a chubby young woman in yellow harem pants and her thin, male companion – plainly melting in the sun and pleading with the boys to pull over.
‘Whattaya reckon?’ asked Robbie, but Chris flashed past as the girl gave them one finger.
‘Fuck ’em,’ said Chris.
Robbie was a little uncomfortable with the idea of abandoning people to the perilous heat of the desert, but Chris was implacable.
‘They would’ve been trouble.’
‘How do you figure that?’ asked Robbie.
‘We haven’t passed any broken down cars,’ said Chris, ‘so clearly they’ve been dumped by whoever picked ’em up before. The fat slag was in yellow so she’s obviously some fuckin’ Habal Tong bitch who wants to convert everyone. That’s why they’ve been left in the middle of nowhere … you wanna put up with HT shit all the way to Ord City?’
‘No,’ said Robbie, who was relieved to see a roadhouse materialise out of the shimmering heat.
‘There you go,’ said Chris. ‘It won’t take ’em long to walk to the roadhouse so they’re not in any danger. Someone’ll give ’em a lift from there.’
‘You wanna stop for a beer?’ asked Robbie.
• • •
‘Fuckin’ cunts!’ shouted Lemon at the silvery blue Mazda as it passed.
Tim was all but ready to despair. He sat on their swag, wilting in the heat and wondering where Lemon got the energy to keep railing at the Mazda as it hurtled into the haze up ahead.
Suddenly she turned on him.
‘Get off the fuckin’ bag!’
Without a word he stood, and Lemon pushed him out of the way. Then she slumped down herself on the bag and pulled out a cigarette.
‘Lemon … ’ began Tim.
‘What?’ she snapped.
‘How many have we got left?’
‘I don’t care … I fuckin’ need one, alright?’
Tim shrugged, helpless. Cigarettes were really expensive now because nearly everyone had given up. Of course, that didn’t bother the tobacco companies. Supply and demand meant that it didn’t matter how much the price rose for those who still wanted to smoke. They’d pay anything.
Or steal.
It was always Tim’s job to do the thieving while Lemon distracted the store people with a disingenuous attempt at evangelism. ‘All is nothing, and nothing is all,’ she would tell them as Tim hovered in the background, and even the most disinterested shop assistant would eventually be forced to engage with Lemon’s irritatingly specious logic. That was Tim’s time to shine, and as he stuffed his pockets he would always be thinking, ‘Maybe this time?’
But it never was.
‘How far to Alice Springs?’ demanded Lemon, her nose and shoulders reddening in the mid-morning heat.
‘Eighty-five ks.’
There was a silence as they contemplated the impossible distance, then Tim took his courage in his hands.
‘Maybe next ride we should lay off the Habal Tong stuff … ’
‘Are you fucking mad?’ asked Lemon.
‘Only as a strategy to stay in the car longer,’ placated Tim. ‘People get pissed off when we start preaching The Way.’
‘It is our duty,’ insisted Lemon as she dragged heavily on her cigarette and glared through the smoke. ‘Our sacred fucking duty … to show people The Way … to share our enlightenment with the world!’
‘I understand all that,’ sighed Tim, ‘but I don’t want you to miss Illumination. If we keep getting kicked out of cars we’re not gonna make Ord City in time.’
‘Well maybe if you gave me a bit more support we wouldn’t get kicked out!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You always leave the talking to me. It’s pathetic.’
‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ he pleaded.
‘You could start by agreeing with me occasionally.’
‘I always agree with you.’
‘It’s pathetic agreement,’ she sneered, flicking the butt into a thicket of parched dry grass. ‘If you want to convince others you have to be more passionate. You have to be convinced yourself.’
Tim knew there was no point in pursuing the argument. He considered retrieving the precious butt to snatch a couple of drags, but stood and stared into the haze to the north-west, which suddenly cleared for a moment.
‘Is that a roadhouse up ahead?’
• • •
The beer was cold and tasted like heaven.
There was a bar and bistro attached to the roadhouse and, after filling up on Fifty Fifty, Robbie and Chris found themselves in a cool, dim paradise that smelled like old beer and stale sweat. It was a strangely pleasant smell and Chris breathed deeply as he relaxed into the padded booth seat – cracked and polished by the arses of a million truckies.
‘You know what I like most out here?’
‘What?’
‘The