picture of an anime girl with flame red hair and bright green eyes with the horse of a dog, had cured him of the need for sleep.
When he left the house the next morning its occupants were still in Noddy Land. The beauty of that was he didn’t have to face Wacker again and no one had noticed his bike was missing yet. He could lay low, do his job and hope Stud had more news by the end of the day.
He should’ve walked around the corner and phoned a cab, his knee would’ve enjoyed that more. But he hobbled the ten minutes to MacIntosh Street for no good reason. Driver knew he was dodgy. Not the ideal customer. There was no way she’d show up.
She was early.
6: Normal
Fetch could’ve kissed her. For no good reason except she’d made him happy by showing up. His little piece of normal. It’d been a long time since he’d hung around normal. The closest he’d come in months was a sixteen year old who wanted a fast track to bikie moll status. One who was hopefully home wearing more than her underwear, dreaming up a less fatal delinquency.
He leaned in the driver’s window. She’d been reading the paper while she waited. She might not have seen him walk up. Might not have figured he didn’t live at number 32. Nothing he could do about it if might wasn’t on his side, he needed to get off his leg.
“A woman like you couldn’t get a better offer?”
She shrugged, her lips tipped up into a tiny closed mouth ghost of a smile, but he couldn’t see her eyes behind sunglasses. “I can’t fault a good tipper. And to be honest, a woman driver makes most people nervous. Even other women. The tips don’t exactly flow.”
He laughed. “You don’t make me nervous, Driver.”
“No. I figured that.”
He opened the door and got in the back. She started the engine.
“How’s your leg?”
“Feels like trying to bend a watermelon. Thanks for asking.”
“You cleaned up that graze. I was worried it might get infected.”
He grinned at the top of her hat in the rear-view. “You were worried about me?”
Her head shot up. He met sunglass eyes. “Professional courtesy.”
Fuck, they were flirting . Lock that shit down right now. No room for normal. Certainly no room for bantering with a woman in uniform who he’d very much like to see outside of those drab black and whites. Who he’d like to see smile and mean it. He didn’t even know what her hair looked like or what her name was. That’s how starved he was for normal after two years in the biker badlands.
“Yeah well, no need to worry about me.”
He got brisk and gave her the typed list of addresses with the pick-up times written against them. She took the cue and put her eyes on the road and they made perfect time for the first two pick-ups. He sat slightly sideways in the back, his aching leg stretched out on the seat, his head resting on the window, and kept his trap shut and his vigilance exercised. He shouldn’t have got in the Statesman. He should’ve tossed her some cash and sent her on her way. She did not need to be tangled up in this mess. He’d wait till they did Station Street, the next stop, and ditch her. He could pick up an ordinary taxi there easy enough.
Once he’d made that decision he felt better. Until they pulled up outside the Station Street address. Things were not normal. There was an ambulance in the driveway. He had her drive past and park in an adjacent street. He walked back to the house. The ambulance was still in the drive. Whatever action was going down, it was happening inside. He had to get in there.
He stood a few houses back from the old weatherboard and worked through his options. Fetch wasn’t supposed to know he was delivering orders and the occasional special drug delivery. He wasn’t supposed to know the pick-ups were all about cash laundered from the club’s various businesses. Of course Fetch was a thickhead and that’s the only reason he was trusted as a delivery boy in the first place. But Fetch was
When he left the house the next morning its occupants were still in Noddy Land. The beauty of that was he didn’t have to face Wacker again and no one had noticed his bike was missing yet. He could lay low, do his job and hope Stud had more news by the end of the day.
He should’ve walked around the corner and phoned a cab, his knee would’ve enjoyed that more. But he hobbled the ten minutes to MacIntosh Street for no good reason. Driver knew he was dodgy. Not the ideal customer. There was no way she’d show up.
She was early.
6: Normal
Fetch could’ve kissed her. For no good reason except she’d made him happy by showing up. His little piece of normal. It’d been a long time since he’d hung around normal. The closest he’d come in months was a sixteen year old who wanted a fast track to bikie moll status. One who was hopefully home wearing more than her underwear, dreaming up a less fatal delinquency.
He leaned in the driver’s window. She’d been reading the paper while she waited. She might not have seen him walk up. Might not have figured he didn’t live at number 32. Nothing he could do about it if might wasn’t on his side, he needed to get off his leg.
“A woman like you couldn’t get a better offer?”
She shrugged, her lips tipped up into a tiny closed mouth ghost of a smile, but he couldn’t see her eyes behind sunglasses. “I can’t fault a good tipper. And to be honest, a woman driver makes most people nervous. Even other women. The tips don’t exactly flow.”
He laughed. “You don’t make me nervous, Driver.”
“No. I figured that.”
He opened the door and got in the back. She started the engine.
“How’s your leg?”
“Feels like trying to bend a watermelon. Thanks for asking.”
“You cleaned up that graze. I was worried it might get infected.”
He grinned at the top of her hat in the rear-view. “You were worried about me?”
Her head shot up. He met sunglass eyes. “Professional courtesy.”
Fuck, they were flirting . Lock that shit down right now. No room for normal. Certainly no room for bantering with a woman in uniform who he’d very much like to see outside of those drab black and whites. Who he’d like to see smile and mean it. He didn’t even know what her hair looked like or what her name was. That’s how starved he was for normal after two years in the biker badlands.
“Yeah well, no need to worry about me.”
He got brisk and gave her the typed list of addresses with the pick-up times written against them. She took the cue and put her eyes on the road and they made perfect time for the first two pick-ups. He sat slightly sideways in the back, his aching leg stretched out on the seat, his head resting on the window, and kept his trap shut and his vigilance exercised. He shouldn’t have got in the Statesman. He should’ve tossed her some cash and sent her on her way. She did not need to be tangled up in this mess. He’d wait till they did Station Street, the next stop, and ditch her. He could pick up an ordinary taxi there easy enough.
Once he’d made that decision he felt better. Until they pulled up outside the Station Street address. Things were not normal. There was an ambulance in the driveway. He had her drive past and park in an adjacent street. He walked back to the house. The ambulance was still in the drive. Whatever action was going down, it was happening inside. He had to get in there.
He stood a few houses back from the old weatherboard and worked through his options. Fetch wasn’t supposed to know he was delivering orders and the occasional special drug delivery. He wasn’t supposed to know the pick-ups were all about cash laundered from the club’s various businesses. Of course Fetch was a thickhead and that’s the only reason he was trusted as a delivery boy in the first place. But Fetch was
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