Combustion (19 page)

Footsteps echo across the garage, then stop.

Corey whispers: ‘He’s here.’

Judd whispers too: ‘Shhh. Voice down.’ He looks around. ‘We need to find a weapon.’

Corey scans the garage. There isn’t much to choose from. An old tyre leans against the wall nearby, but there are no tools that could be used as weapons. On the adjacent wall there’s a tall, thin metal locker. He points at it. ‘Might be something in there.’

‘Should have a look.’

Judd stays low to the ground and sets off towards it, creeps past the front of the Mustang. Corey follows. Judd sees him and stops. ‘You’re coming with me?’

‘Sorry. I thought we were doing it together.’

‘No, I’m doing it.’

‘Okay. So we’re going to split up?’

‘We’re not splitting up, it’s fifteen metres away. I’ll be back in thirty seconds.’

‘Oh. Right. But if we do get separated, where should we meet?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, think.’ He says it a little bit too loud.

‘Shhh. Voice down.’

Corey racks his brain. ‘I know! We’ll meet where we hid the bikes.’

‘Okay. Whatever.’ Judd moves off.

‘One more thing.’

Judd turns back to him, frustrated. ‘What? I could have been there and back by now.’

‘We should come up with an emergency word, in case, you know, one of us gets in trouble. I was thinking “tomato”.’

‘Tomato? No. Just shout my name.’

‘Oh. Okay. So you’ll shout out your name too?’

‘No, I’ll shout out your name.’

‘Right.’ Corey’s confused. ‘So we both shout my name?’

‘No. I shout
your
name and you shout
my
name.’

‘Got it.’ Corey thinks about it. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to use “tomato”?’

‘I’m leaving now.’ Judd turns to go.

‘Alrighty.’

‘Shhh. Voice down.’ Judd moves off.

Corey whispers after him. ‘See you at the bikes.’

Judd stops. ‘No! I’m coming back
here.
We’re not meeting at the bikes. We’re meeting
here.’

‘I thought we were meeting at the bikes.’

‘Only if we get
separated.
Otherwise, we meet here. And if you get in trouble you call my name. If I get in trouble I’ll call your name.’

‘So we’re not going to use “tomato” ?’

‘At no point is
anyone
going to use the word “tomato” —’

‘Shhh. Voice down.’

Judd drills Corey with a withering look then turns and moves off.

~ * ~

Kilroy stands in the middle of the garage and is sure he can hear whispering. He just can’t work out where it’s coming from. With all the hard surfaces in this place the sound bounces around like a pin-ball. He scans the dim surroundings, tries not to think about how much his shoulder hurts. He doesn’t even want to look at the burn. He’ll ignore it until these guys have been dealt with.

He hears a short, sharp scratch. To the left, like a leather sole on a cement floor. He turns towards an old Mustang in the opposite corner of the garage.

~ * ~

Corey winces.

Bugger! His left boot just scuffed the bloody floor. He raises his head and peeks through the Mustang’s cabin to make sure Ponytail didn’t hear it.

He heard it! And now he strides towards the vehicle. The fact his shoulder was recently
on fire
doesn’t seem to have slowed him down at all.

Their eyes meet.

Oh, damn it!

Ponytail breaks into a run, raises his pistol and fires.

Thud, thud, thud.
Bullets strafe the Mustang’s bodywork as Corey ducks behind the front passenger door. He stays low, tries to think of a way out of this.

~ * ~

The Australian! Kilroy saw him - but was he inside or outside the Mustang? Weapon raised, Kilroy approaches the vehicle and looks inside.

There’s no one in there.

He moves to the front of the car.

Nothing.

Where the hell is he?

A faint sound behind him. He pivots, swings the pistol to the boot of the car, finger tight on the trigger.

Not there.

Under the car. He must be under the car.

Ponytail drops flat to the ground, thrusts the pistol under the vehicle.

He’s not there either.

Where is the bastard?

~ * ~

Corey holds his breath as he crouches behind the Mustang’s front wheel on the passenger side, balanced on one foot. He looks over at the exit. If he ran for it he’d be out in the open for too long. Ponytail would see him straight away.

Bugger.

~ * ~

Kilroy pulls himself up and circumnavigates the Mustang’s boot, swings the gun down the passenger side of the vehicle.

No one there.

He turns.

‘Where is he?’

~ * ~

Lying under the car a metre away from you.

Corey watches Ponytail’s feet stride across the floor, then he loses sight of them in the darkness. Corey backs up, pulls himself out from under the vehicle, crouches beside the passenger door and peeks through the Mustang’s cabin again. He can’t see Ponytail anywhere, and he can’t see any sign of Judd either. He takes a breath and stays low.

Now what? Does he wait for Judd to return? He said he was only going to take thirty seconds. Does this mean they’re now separated?

He smells something unpleasant. What is that? Sharply toxic and instantly headache-inducing.

Corey turns.

Ponytail towers above him. The odour is his cheap and nasty cologne. It’s the first time the Australian’s seen the guy up close. Damn, he’s positively
ancient.

Ponytail points his pistol at Corey’s face. ‘Give me the counter-agent.’ His accent is thick Louisiana.

‘Counteragent? What’s a counteragent?’ Playing dumb is not Corey’s strong suit.

Ponytail steps forward, the pistol’s muzzle an inch from the Australian’s forehead.
‘Where is it?’

‘I only have one thing to say.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Tomato!’

‘What the hell are you -?’

‘To-ma-to!’

Wiif-Clunk!
Ponytail’s head jerks sharply to the left as something clips him across the back of his skull. He sways unsteadily for a moment, then keels over and slumps to the cement like a large sack of extremely old potatoes. He’s out cold.

‘The locker only had one thing in it.’ Judd steps forward and holds up a floor mop with a heavy wooden handle. ‘You okay?’

‘Took your sweet time coming back. Where were you?’

‘I thought we were meeting at the bikes.’

Corey’s confused, then sees Judd’s grin and realises he’s taking the piss. ‘Thanks, mate.’

‘Anytime.’

~ * ~

Judd and Corey study the crumpled, unconscious ponytailed man on the floor of the garage. Judd picks up his pistol and checks the magazine. There are four bullets inside.

Corey watches the astronaut closely. ‘We’re not going to . . . kill him, are we?’

Judd shakes his head and pushes the weapon into his belt at the back of his pants. ‘Just because he’s a dickhead doesn’t mean we have to be.’

Corey nods in agreement. ‘And he’s so old he could die of natural causes really soon anyway, so what’s the point?’ A moment passes, then he looks at Judd. ‘What
are
we going to do with him?’

~ * ~

Judd and Corey drag Ponytail to the dark corner of the parking garage behind the old Mustang. They prop him up so he sits against the wall then search him. Judd finds nothing, but Corey discovers a small walkie-talkie in his jacket. He checks to see if it’s functional. It is so he pockets it.

Judd looks at the old fella. ‘We need to tie him up.’

Corey thinks about it for a moment. ‘I got an idea.’

The Australian rolls over the bald tyre he saw earlier, picks it up and drops it over Ponytail’s head. Judd steps up and they both push it over his shoulders, then jam it down his torso until his arms are trapped tight.

Corey takes in their handy work. ‘Beautiful.’

Judd turns to him. ‘Let’s deliver those canisters.’

They move fast.

Spike pants at the entrance of the parking garage as Judd and Corey exit. He barks.

‘Sorry, mate, no lemon sorbet.’ Corey pats him on the head as he turns to Judd. ‘So, where are we going?’

The astronaut works his iPhone and reads the screen. ‘We head for the Federal Building. It’s on Wilshire. That’s where the FBI office is. Shouldn’t take too long on the bikes.’

They move past the wrecked cars. The Buick burns loudly, almost completely gutted. The Prius is only half alight.

‘Hold on a sec.’ Judd shields himself from the heat as he approaches the vehicle and looks inside. He uses his sleeve to pull on the doorhandle, which is hot to the touch, then reaches in to the passenger seat and flips something onto the street. It’s on fire so he lightly tamps out the flames with his shoe.

Spike sniffs it and barks.

Corey studies it. ‘Don’t know what it is, mate.’

‘I do.’ Judd crouches beside the smoking item for a moment, then flips it over. ‘It’s Ponytail’s iPhone.’

~ * ~

Kilroy comes to with a start.

He looks around the empty parking garage and realises his predicament. He’s trapped in an old tyre, he can’t see his pistol anywhere and the back of his head throbs worse than his burned shoulder. Overall his day has not gone to plan. The only upside is the fact those two guys didn’t kill him. It’s a pleasant, if not particularly shocking, surprise. They’re not the kind of guys who kill people, especially when they’re unconscious, though they will regret not killing Kilroy.

Kilroy knows he must get moving. Unfortunately he no longer has a car so Bunsen will need to pick him up. The boy won’t be happy about that, and will be even less impressed when Kilroy explains how he ended up in this situation. But before any of that can happen he needs to get out of this damn tyre.

He tries to wriggle out of it. No joy. They really jammed it on tight. He tries to stand, to walk out of here, maybe find a stranger to help pull the thing off, but without the use of his arms he can’t even get up. So he grits his teeth, pushes himself onto his side and rolls across the floor towards the old Mustang.

He’s sure it’s a 1967, though it could be a ‘68. It doesn’t actually matter because what’s important is that it has the chrome front bumper which wraps around the side of the car and ends in a point. Facing the ceiling, he works himself close to the vehicle and rams the sidewall of the tyre against the pointed end of the bumper. He then pushes his right leg under the car, braces it against the exhaust system and pushes hard. The bumper presses into the tyre’s sidewall and slowly edges it down his body. After what feels like a minute but is probably only twenty seconds, he stops, exhausted and sweating like a pig, and checks his progress. The tyre has moved about an inch and a half down his body.

An inch and a half!
This is going to take an age. No use whining about it. He braces himself and pushes again.

~ * ~

Judd and Corey briskly circumnavigate the apartment building and arrive at the spot where they hid the bikes behind the large-leaf plants.

Judd studies the burned phone then presses its home button. The screen blinks to life but it’s melted and cracked and only about twenty per cent of it is readable. He swipes a finger across the blackened glass and the phone unlocks. ‘It works.’ He’s happy.

Corey turns to him. ‘What are you looking for?’

Judd stares at the screen. ‘A clue to who this bastard is and what he’s up to.’

~ * ~

27

Judd and Corey ride along Wilshire Boulevard. Fast. Spike lopes along just behind.

To the Australian there seem to be fewer people on this road than Santa Monica Boulevard, and fewer burning and abandoned vehicles too. Even so, he stays focused, keeps his hands firmly on the handlebars and his eyes locked on the road. In spite of everything that’s happened today, he’s happy to have picked up the riding thing so quickly.

He glances over at Judd and realises he shouldn’t get too cocky. Judd’s hands aren’t on the handlebars and his eyes aren’t on the road. Instead, he swipes his way through Ponytail’s iPhone, occasionally glancing up to check if anything is ahead. When he does need to alter direction he casually leans to one side or the other.

‘Can you read this?’ Judd lifts his head from the screen, veers across the bitumen towards Corey and holds out the phone.

The Australian takes it. He makes sure the road ahead is clear, then studies the small portion of the screen in the lower right-hand corner that isn’t burned. ‘Phase - Phase Three? What’s Phase Three?’