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CHAPTER NINETEEN
WAZZA DROVE SLOWLY down the pothole-ridden track. Was this the right place? He’d followed the guy at the convenience store’s directions on the hastily scrawled note. He had said this place was a tad difficult to find, but this was getting ridiculous, even by country-people’s standards. The air conditioning in the car was pumping, but it was getting hotter in here, as the humidity pushed in on all sides.
“Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go?” Kee voiced his concerns. She looked down at the note in her lap, and then peered through the windshield again. Vegetation closed in around the vehicle, making it feel claustrophobic. They were deep into the floodplains of the estuary formed at the mouth of the Norman River; the track following the slowly winding river inland. Every now and then, they’d catch a glimpse of sparkling water through the trees clustering along the river’s edge on the left. And to the right, the land opened up to smooth, grassy plains, full of tall sedges and the occasional salt flat. The theme from the movie Deliverance ran through his head and he wondered again what he’d got them into.
Wazza shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. “The guy said this man lived off the grid. Seems like a lot of folks out here do.” They’d passed a few other shacks—there was no other word for them—hunkered down on the edge of the river, but the road seemed to be taking them to the end of the world. “If we don’t find this place in the next five minutes, I’ll turn around,” he said, and Kee gave him a sideways glance, as if to say, where in hell would they find a place to even turn the car? The scrub had become so thick on either side, they might only have one option, and that was to keep going forward.
When Wazza had strolled up to the counter at the convenience store, arms laden with food supplies such as bread and tins of baked beans, he’d casually mentioned to the man behind the cash register that he was looking to buy a car, and did he know anyone who might have one for sale? Wazza was used to the open friendliness displayed in most country towns. People helped each other out, mostly, especially if you looked like you belonged. But this coastal town seemed to have a different vibe. The man, dressed in dirty overalls, with a scruffy beard and sharp, blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing, had looked him up and down before answering.
“Yeah, I might know a bloke,” he’d drawled. “Depends what you’re looking for.”
“Something old, but reliable. Preferably cheap.” Wazza had said with a friendly grin. The man hadn’t returned his smile.
“Bloke called Diesel could have an old Toyota, if you’re interested. He used to be a mechanic; keeps a few vehicles he’s rescued that he likes to tinker with.”
“I might be interested,” Wazza had shot back. “Where does Diesel live? Would he mind if we dropped by?”
“Diesel is usually at home, if he ain’t out fishing.” The guy behind the counter lifted his head and stared out at the puffy, white clouds on the horizon and then to the where the ocean was hidden by a row of trees. “Tide’s running out right now, nearly dead low on the flats, so he won’t be fishing at the moment.”
“Right. Thanks,” Wazza said, piling his purchases into a large paper bag. “If you could tell me how to get to his place, that’d be great.”
“Tell him George sent you. I’ll draw you a map,” the man drawled. “So you don’t get lost.”
Wazza nearly laughed at the absurdity of that comment as he continued to stare through the front windshield.
“I don’t think…” Kee trailed off as the trees suddenly opened in front and they emerged into a clearing. A tangle of buildings met their gaze, some leaning precariously at an angle, as if the next strong wind might blow them down. The driveway led to an old house perched on the edge of the river around hundred meters away. Lining the driveway on each side, there must’ve been at least fifty cars, all parked at right angles to the track and all in various states of disrepair. It looked like a junkyard straight out of the Deep South in Mississippi.
One glance at Kee’s face said it all. Dismay and uncertainty were evident in the twist of her mouth. And he didn’t blame her. But they’d come this far, they may as well check this guy out. Perhaps in amongst all these wrecks, he had one or two working vehicles that might suit.
As he approached the house and pulled up in the only area not overgrown with weeds, or stacked with engine parts, he noticed a large jetty with a pontoon at the end and a boat tied to it, reaching out into the river.
“Maybe you should stay in the car,” Wazza said slowly.
“I want to get out,” Benni whined.
Kee took one look at Benni and said, “We’re coming with you.”
He waited outside the car while Kee unstrapped Benni and brought her around to the front and put her on her feet. Then they all stared at the car graveyard with fascination.
“Look at all the cars,” Benni said in wonder.
“Yes, well, don’t go near any of them,” Wazza warned. “There might be snakes.”
“Really?” Benni’s eyes went wide, and she made a large detour around the nearest car.
“And don’t go near the water, either, Benni,” Kee said loudly, as Benni skipped ahead of them down the track toward the house. She was right to be worried; that water was moving fast. Really fast. What had the guy at the shop said? The tide was on the way out? Wazza had heard about tidal estuaries and how much water moved up and down them during a single tidal cycle. But this was like nothing else he’d ever seen.
They all trooped up the two steps and onto the dilapidated front veranda together, Kee glancing around nervously. But the house seemed to be deserted, and even though Wazza knocked three times, no one answered.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s at home,” Kee said, a relieved note in her voice.
“Hey, what do you want?” A man appeared around the side of the house. He was tall, really tall, with an old baseball cap pulled down over long, lank hair, and a set of overalls so covered in grease it was hard to see where the gray of the fabric began, and the grease ended. The man glared at them suspiciously, piggy eyes narrowed and long beard bristling.
Wazza placed Kee and Benni behind him, then took the steps down into the front yard, squaring his shoulders and putting on his best smile. The man might be taller than him, but he was thin and weedy. Wazza could take him if he had to. But he really hoped it didn’t come to that.
“I’m Wazza,” he said, stretching out his hand. “You must be Diesel. George at the convenience store said you might have a car you’d like to sell.” The man didn’t take his hand, and so Wazza dropped it. But his face lost some of his open distrust.
“George sent you, huh?” His stare landed on Kee and Benni, still up on the veranda. “And who might they be?”
