I parked the bike. I stood there for a moment weighing up whether I should ask him to repeat it. A good excuse to give someone a smack in the mouth.
I slunk inside, annoyed that Devon hadn’t come home, and threw myself on the bed. I began to replay the scenes from my brief relationship with Karen, wondering if I could have done things differently. It was as if the family had dumped me for being me.
When Devon did finally return I could tell without getting up that he had a new car but I felt so shitty I wouldn’t even look out the window. He walked in the door and shot a glance at me, seeming to take everything in.
‘What’s up?’
‘I went around to Karen’s place to take back the laundry, make amends maybe. It didn’t work. I’ve become an instant leper.’
Devon grinned and shook his head. ‘I’ve never been one to say “I told you so” but … I told you so. Wake up, Trace, it’s the real world, not fairy-dairy-land. It’s ugly out there. You had a brush with the rich and boring. Don’t give a flying one, man. It makes you look so pathetic. You’re better than that.’
‘Devon, I reckon there are some things that you don’t understand . You weren’t there, eh?’
‘I’ve been there. I didn’t like it. I’ve done dumb stuff too. But not twice in a row. Rule number one: don’t play by their rules … you always lose.’
‘Yeah. What’s rule number two?’
He thought for a while, and then, in a quieter voice said, ‘Don’t want it too much. You don’t even know what it is you’re after. Look, Trace, I
know
real rich people. They’re not all like that. Just these “play by the rules” stiffs. They’re killers.’
I must have looked a bit down, because Devon got up, gave me a thump on the arm and said, ‘Come out with me, I’ll take you to meet my old mate, Wes. He’s the guy who first had the idea of importing used Japanese cars. Began shipping out four or five, now it’s a shipload at a time. Lives on Parasite Drive. Swimming pool, Bentleys and Jags, dodgy houseboys. He does it the way it should be done. He’s got style.’
I didn’t feel like socialising but it seemed a better idea than lying around feeling sorry for myself. Devon was dying to take me somewhere. Outside was the reason: a Subaru WRX. A rally car for God’s sake. You could see the faint outlines of advertising stickers beneath the matt grey primer paint.
‘Do I see the hand of Rebel here?’
‘Yeah, he’s borrowed mine for a while. He probably wants something legit.’
It was a difficult beast to get into because of the roll bars andthe tight racing seats. The inside had been completely stripped: the dashboard was a nest of gauges dominated by a huge tach. Devon fired it up. The motor snarled back with an ugly cackle. It was a bitch to drive: the clutch bit sharply and the motor’s power was so raw it had to be tamed. Devon struggled to keep it within the legal limit; it jerked forward like an unbroken horse, champing at the bit. One thing was for sure, it would cover quarter of a mile in half the time the Escort took.
By the time we made the waterfront Devon seemed to have the knack of it. When he laid rubber now it was on purpose, not bad driving. We reached the cliff-top road, which was lined with huge white houses crammed together like a jaw full of jagged teeth.
‘Paritai Drive, Trace. For people who have made heaps and heaps of money … and aren’t afraid to show it off.’
Wes lived in a sprawling white stucco place, the kind they built in the thirties, but it had been added to by each new wave of money that had rolled in. The driveway was as stuffed with big British metal as Devon had said it would be. This young Asian guy answered the door. He looked like Bruce Lee and seemed to share some private joke with Devon.
‘Hey Joey, where’s the padre?’
‘On a phone. Come through, Devon. He just asking about you las’ week.’
In the front room were all the reasons why people paid a
I slunk inside, annoyed that Devon hadn’t come home, and threw myself on the bed. I began to replay the scenes from my brief relationship with Karen, wondering if I could have done things differently. It was as if the family had dumped me for being me.
When Devon did finally return I could tell without getting up that he had a new car but I felt so shitty I wouldn’t even look out the window. He walked in the door and shot a glance at me, seeming to take everything in.
‘What’s up?’
‘I went around to Karen’s place to take back the laundry, make amends maybe. It didn’t work. I’ve become an instant leper.’
Devon grinned and shook his head. ‘I’ve never been one to say “I told you so” but … I told you so. Wake up, Trace, it’s the real world, not fairy-dairy-land. It’s ugly out there. You had a brush with the rich and boring. Don’t give a flying one, man. It makes you look so pathetic. You’re better than that.’
‘Devon, I reckon there are some things that you don’t understand . You weren’t there, eh?’
‘I’ve been there. I didn’t like it. I’ve done dumb stuff too. But not twice in a row. Rule number one: don’t play by their rules … you always lose.’
‘Yeah. What’s rule number two?’
He thought for a while, and then, in a quieter voice said, ‘Don’t want it too much. You don’t even know what it is you’re after. Look, Trace, I
know
real rich people. They’re not all like that. Just these “play by the rules” stiffs. They’re killers.’
I must have looked a bit down, because Devon got up, gave me a thump on the arm and said, ‘Come out with me, I’ll take you to meet my old mate, Wes. He’s the guy who first had the idea of importing used Japanese cars. Began shipping out four or five, now it’s a shipload at a time. Lives on Parasite Drive. Swimming pool, Bentleys and Jags, dodgy houseboys. He does it the way it should be done. He’s got style.’
I didn’t feel like socialising but it seemed a better idea than lying around feeling sorry for myself. Devon was dying to take me somewhere. Outside was the reason: a Subaru WRX. A rally car for God’s sake. You could see the faint outlines of advertising stickers beneath the matt grey primer paint.
‘Do I see the hand of Rebel here?’
‘Yeah, he’s borrowed mine for a while. He probably wants something legit.’
It was a difficult beast to get into because of the roll bars andthe tight racing seats. The inside had been completely stripped: the dashboard was a nest of gauges dominated by a huge tach. Devon fired it up. The motor snarled back with an ugly cackle. It was a bitch to drive: the clutch bit sharply and the motor’s power was so raw it had to be tamed. Devon struggled to keep it within the legal limit; it jerked forward like an unbroken horse, champing at the bit. One thing was for sure, it would cover quarter of a mile in half the time the Escort took.
By the time we made the waterfront Devon seemed to have the knack of it. When he laid rubber now it was on purpose, not bad driving. We reached the cliff-top road, which was lined with huge white houses crammed together like a jaw full of jagged teeth.
‘Paritai Drive, Trace. For people who have made heaps and heaps of money … and aren’t afraid to show it off.’
Wes lived in a sprawling white stucco place, the kind they built in the thirties, but it had been added to by each new wave of money that had rolled in. The driveway was as stuffed with big British metal as Devon had said it would be. This young Asian guy answered the door. He looked like Bruce Lee and seemed to share some private joke with Devon.
‘Hey Joey, where’s the padre?’
‘On a phone. Come through, Devon. He just asking about you las’ week.’
In the front room were all the reasons why people paid a
Similar Books
