Taking the Chequered Flag (3 page)

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ groaned Hannah for the fourth time.

‘Come on, Hannah. What else would you be doing today?’ Gabby rode ahead of her struggling friend.

Hannah stopped her bike and took out her drink bottle. It was boiling hot—probably the hottest day they’d had all holidays—and there they were, cycling out to The Moon
again
to watch motorbikes
again
. ‘I can’t think of anything better I’d like to do,’ muttered Hannah to herself. ‘Like, I would really hate being inside the
cool
house surfing the net.’

‘Hannah! Stop stopping.’ Gabby had circled back.

‘I just saw something interesting,’ lied Hannah. ‘I wanted to stop and have a look.’

‘What is it?’

Hannah glanced around and pointed at the nearest shop. ‘In there.’

‘I knew it!’ Gabby said. ‘You
are
getting into motorbikes!’

Puzzled, Hannah looked more closely at the shop she was showing Gabby.

‘It’s a motorbike shop!’ Hannah shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I pointed to a motorbike shop.’

Gabby laughed. ‘So you didn’t really mean it? Let’s go inside anyhow. Maybe we’ll learn something.’

They leaned their bikes against the wall and pushed open the front door of the shop. Inside was nearly as hot as outside, and the smell of new tyres almost made Gabby gag. Several people roamed around, some hunting through the protective clothing for bargains, and some just standing and staring at the gleaming new bikes
on display. A man stood behind the counter, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wooden top. He took no notice of the girls.

‘Do you see anything interesting?’ Gabby whispered to Hannah.

Hannah walked slowly down the aisles. The shop seemed to sell everything a motorbike rider could want, from new spark plugs to magazines to whole engines. She paused in front of a row of helmets fitted with microphones. ‘What do you think these are for?’

Gabby shrugged and stretched forward to read the label.
‘“Touring Talk—talk to your mate without your mate stopping to talk.”’

‘A sort of two-way radio, then.’ Hannah studied the wiring closely. ‘Looks like it links up to a type of intercom system.’

‘Great. Are you ready to go?’

‘While we’re here, we might as well have a good look around.’

They moved slowly along the aisles but nothing mechanical caught Gabby’s attention. She left Hannah looking into a box of throttle grips and went to the clothing section. Hats and shirts and a range of accessories were displayed along the row. Some of this isn’t bad, Gabby thought, flicking through a rack of T-shirts.
Pretty trendy stuff. I like that T-shirt. Oh, and this pink one—

‘Gabby!’ Hannah was suddenly next to her, hissing in her ear. ‘Look.’ With an exaggerated movement of her head, Hannah indicated the front of the shop.

A boy and a girl stood at the counter. The boy was leaning across it, talking to the shopkeeper; the girl stood slightly behind him. Her arms were folded across her chest and she looked angry. A couple of times the man looked past the boy and fixed the girl with a stare that would have cut through steel. The girl refused to look at him. She swung around and marched off, pushing past Gabby and Hannah as she went.

‘Teagan!’ called the man crossly, but the girl ignored him. She pulled the door open and disappeared up the street.

‘Leave it, Dad,’ said the boy. ‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘Do it now, Jack. She’ll just cause trouble if she changes things now.’ The man banged his hand on the counter.

Jack shrugged. ‘She’ll be okay, I’ll talk to her.’ He walked off after his sister.

Gabby turned to Hannah. ‘So what? Two kids arguing with their dad. Happens all the time.’

‘Did you see the girl? Did you see her hair?’

‘Of course I did. I notice things like
hair.
She could do with a better conditioner.’

‘No, Gabby! Did you see what she had wrapped behind her ear? It was an ear-piece, just like the one you found.’

‘I saw the headband she was wearing. She should have been wearing purple. Would’ve matched her T-shirt.’

Hannah gritted her teeth. ‘It was exactly like this one.’ She pulled the green ear-piece out of her pocket. ‘This is the one you found.’

Gabby looked at it. ‘Wow, that’s interesting. What are you saying—that she was the one who rode down King?’

‘Maybe.’

Gabby took Hannah by the elbow and steered her towards the door. ‘That doesn’t make sense. If she lost the ear-piece
yesterday
then she wouldn’t have it wrapped around her ear
today.
I think you need some fresh air.’

They both stopped walking at the same time. In front of them, at the end of the aisle, was a whole display of lime-green gear. A motorbike—as green as the ear-piece on the girl’s ear—stood underneath. A pair of lime-green helmets, complete with
Touring Talk
lime-green microphones, sat on a display shelf above the bike.

‘If her dad owned the shop, then she could get a new ear-piece anytime she wanted,’ Hannah said.

Gabby shook her head, pulling Hannah out the door. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Well, I’m going to text Angus anyway. I’m sure he’d like to know who was on that bike.’

Hannah put the green ear-piece back in her pocket, and they rode in silence to The Moon. It was too hot to speak while they were pedalling and even when Gabby stopped to wait for Hannah, she didn’t say anything. They finally arrived at the dusty grey mess that was the motorbike practice site. Despite the heat, riders, clad in protective racing gear, were taking on the hills fiercely, screaming up and down.

‘Look, there’s Mario’s trailer,’ said Gabby and slowly pedalled the last 20 metres.

‘Hi, girls,’ said Mario from where he was sitting in the shade on the back of the trailer. ‘You look like you need a drink. Help yourself to the soft drink in the esky.’

Normally, because of her training regime, Gabby wouldn’t have had soft drink but the ice-cold cans were tempting. She took two without hesitation, handed one to Hannah, and drank
half of hers before she spoke. ‘Thanks, Mario. It’s much hotter than I thought.’

‘And we rode five kilometres to get here,’ grumbled Hannah.

‘Well, I’ll take you home,’ said Mario, grinning. ‘Your bikes will fit in the trailer next to the boys’.’

‘Is Tony here as well?’ Gabby asked.

Mario pointed. Zooming down a hill was a blue motocross bike—Tony. And after it came one that needed spray painting but was a sort of dirty brown—E.D. ‘They’ve been practising hard for an hour. Tony’s got a race on Saturday and he really needs to get to know this new bike. It’s more powerful than his old one.’

The bikes went past them, leaving behind a grey cloud that wafted over the trailer, covering everyone. When the dust cleared, the bikes were out of sight over another mound. The girls settled on the back of the trailer next to Mario, taking another drink when he offered.

‘Hey, look.’ Hannah nudged Gabby. ‘Here comes trouble and her brother.’

Another car, towing a trailer with two lime-green motorbikes on it, had pulled into the site. Two kids and a man got out of the car and started unfastening the bikes from their tethers.

‘I know those bikes,’ said Mario thoughtfully. ‘I’ve seen them here before. Didn’t one of them get into Emilio’s way last time?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘We missed that. But it wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘Hannah thinks the girl chased Angus and King yesterday,’ Gabby explained to Mario. ‘It was someone on a green bike.’

‘Those bikes are the latest model.’ Mario looked a bit envious. ‘I was thinking about getting one myself—a bigger one, of course.’

‘They’re probably straight from the shop. The shopkeeper and the kids are related.’

‘Ah,’ said Mario. ‘He’s the one who owns Proctor’s Powerhouse. I heard about him from Reg at the garage. He was here about six months ago looking around to buy a business. Alan Proctor. He’s from Queensland. He used to race a lot himself and his kids are meant to be pretty good at it.’

The boy climbed on his bike, started it easily, and roared away across the sand. When the other bikes came into view again, tightly bunched together, he was among them, racing along the tops of some hills. E.D. was in the lead, taking the bumps and mounds standing on his footpegs.

‘E.D.’s got the worst-looking bike, but he’s blitzing them,’ said Hannah.

‘E.D.’s alright.’ Mario got to his feet. ‘I don’t know about Tony, though.’

Dust covered the motocross bikes and it was hard to see clearly. Gabby watched the blue bike behind E.D. anxiously. It had dropped back, leaving a gap of about two metres between the brothers. The green bike was just in front of Tony. The pack went around the corner and started back towards the trailer. E.D. pulled even further ahead. He was sitting down again now, and on the flat sand he floored it and the bike screamed away.

‘He’s having fun,’ said Hannah.

Mario didn’t answer. He’d taken a step forward and was looking intently into the group of screaming, roaring bikes. ‘Hold it steady,’ he said. ‘Tony, hold it steady!’

Something was drastically wrong. The green motorbike pulled away from the pack, disappearing across the sand. Two other bikes swerved suddenly, veering away from the rest, exposing Tony on his new blue bike. He was wobbling dangerously from side to side.

Mario swore and began to run towards his brother.

There was nothing he could do. Tony hit a rider on his left and the blue bike spun out of control. It went down, sending Tony over the handlebars and crashing onto the hard sand. Other bikes slid over as well, making the dust thicken.

‘What’s happened?’ Gabby screamed.

‘They’ve all crashed!’ yelled Hannah. She stood up on the back of the trailer to get a better view.

The dust started to settle. Two of the riders who had gone down after Tony were on their feet, pulling up their motorbikes and wheeling them away. One rider sat on the sand holding his foot and someone stopped to help him. At first, they hid Tony from view, but when the injured rider hobbled away with the help of his friend, Hannah could see Mario crouched over Tony. ‘Tony’s hurt,’ she said to Gabby, and jumped down from the trailer and ran to the two brothers.

Tony lay motionless. Mario was gently taking off his goggles. Tony’s eyes were closed and his face was grey with dust and shock. Mario undid the chinstrap but Hannah put her hand on his arm.

‘Don’t take his helmet off,’ she said. ‘You aren’t meant to. Just in case he’s hurt his neck.’

Mario looked at her and Hannah saw how his face was twisted with concern. ‘Have you done first aid?’ he asked.

Hannah nodded. ‘I did it when I was a scout. I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember that you shouldn’t move people too much.’

‘He’s breathing. I checked that. But look at his leg.’

Hannah glanced at Tony’s legs. They were lying in an odd position, as if he was a doll that had been thrown away by some kid who was sick of him. Fear rose in Hannah’s throat. ‘Call an ambulance,’ she said to Mario. ‘He doesn’t look right.’

She crouched beside the unconscious boy while Mario pulled out his phone and made an emergency call. Tony’s breathing was slow and steady. He didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere. Hannah tried to think of what else she should do but came up with nothing. He wasn’t bleeding, he was breathing; they just had to wait.

Mario knelt down and gently took his brother’s hand. ‘They’re on their way, Antonio. You just hang in there.’

Hannah felt a shadow over her. She looked up; the sun was in her face and it took her a moment to realise who was standing there. In
the shock of the accident, she’d forgotten E.D. He stood there now, with his helmet off and the strangest expression on his face. Hannah reached up and touched his arm but he didn’t move. Then she realised just why she didn’t recognise that expression—she’d never seen E.D. terrified before.

Angus stared moodily at King through his bedroom window. Over the past few days he’d tried to busy himself with jobs both at home and down at the racetrack with his father. He needed to stay busy to keep from stewing over the crazy kid on the motorbike and what he’d do if he found him. He’d even tidied his desk. And he’d read and re-read the postcard Ling—Gabby’s cousin and his friend—had sent him, before carefully putting it away with his collection of letters, certificates and other awards. He was glad she was having a great holiday with her family. Angus glanced out the window again.

His father had organised for one of the local vets to come and look at King’s leg and the vet
assured Angus that, with rest, King would soon be as good as new.

Angus had kept a watchful eye on King and he appeared to be moving more freely, though to Angus’ trained eye he was still not anywhere near as relaxed and easy as he should be.

‘Angus, I’ve never seen those stables looking so good. There are corners and crevices I didn’t know existed out there.’ His father walked further into Angus’ bedroom and sighed. ‘You’ve got to let it go, son,’ he said, resting a hand on Angus’ shoulder. ‘You can’t undo time.’ Angus didn’t reply. ‘Look, it could have been ten times worse. You could be looking at an empty paddock now rather than one with King in it.’

‘That kid on the bike has got no idea, Dad.’

‘Well, we both know that. He’s probably some city kid who’s come down for the day to ride along the creek. You most likely won’t ever see him again.’

‘He shouldn’t have been riding on that track.’ Angus watched his father throw open the window. When a hot wind blasted in, he quickly shut it again.

‘Hey now, I’ll bet your friend E.D. has ridden a bike or two along that track.’

Angus smiled, nodding his head. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

‘Come on, Angus. What say we head into town and treat ourselves to a bit of lunch?’

‘Good idea, Dad,’ Angus said, moving away from the window. ‘Your shout?’

‘When has it ever been yours?’ his father asked, shaking his head. He was grinning, though.

‘Well, how can it be with the piddly wages you pay me for mucking out and riding the horses?’

The friendly argument continued all the way into Teasdale, with Angus’ father finally agreeing to a small increase in payment.

‘And what about a bonus for those sparkling clean stables?’ Angus asked as they got out of the car.

‘Hey, don’t push your luck.’ They moved quickly to the shade of the nearest shop. ‘I’ve got a few bills to pay and some letters to post. You want to come, or meet me at Bellini’s in about 15 minutes?’

‘I’ll meet you at Bellini’s,’ Angus replied. Something had caught his eye as they passed the new bike shop—something lime-green.

He headed off in the opposite direction to his father. A few minutes later he was standing outside Proctor’s Powerhouse.

Angus had been in the store a few times with E.D., and once with his father, over a year ago, looking for spare parts for their four-wheeler. He remembered the smell of oil and grease, the mess of the place with opened and unopened boxes strewn about without any apparent order and two old guys in dark blue, oil-stained boiler suits rummaging vaguely as they searched for spare parts.

Angus didn’t remember ever seeing many customers in the store on the few occasions he was there. No wonder the previous owners had gone out of business, he thought, peering in through the window.

What he’d noticed when they’d driven past was a lime-green bike—just like the one that had spooked King—standing on the footpath outside the shop. But it had gone now. The only person in the shop was a man standing at the counter, talking into a mobile phone. The place looked modern and clean. The walls were lined with shelves and to the right were a number of new motorbikes on display, their chrome and metal parts gleaming under bright lights.

Angus had no interest in going into the shop, but with a few minutes to kill, wandered into a
lane that ran alongside the store, drawn by the sound of a motorbike. It was a soft engine, not the harsh roar of the bikes he’d heard at the racetrack or The Moon.

Halfway down the lane the engine suddenly cut.

‘You promised!’

For a moment, Angus thought the girl who’d spoken was talking to him. He glanced around quickly but could see no one. The voice was strangely familiar. Then he remembered where he’d heard it before—it was the girl who had cut in front of King at The Moon. She’d been the one yelling at the rider leaning against his bike. And she was yelling again now.

Angus paused and waited out of sight behind a wooden fence.

‘Promises can’t always be kept, Teagan.’ This time it was a boy’s voice, mean and loud.

‘Please, Jack.’ There was a pause then the girl continued, her voice softer. ‘Dad doesn’t need to know. We just don’t tell him.’

‘I ride in both and I win both. I’m saving your
reputation
.’ An engine roared into life and their words were drowned out. It revved a few times, an ear-splitting noise that made Angus move
back; then suddenly it cut out. The putt-putting of the first engine he’d heard droned on.

‘But, Jack. It’s time I rode again. You kept it up while I was getting better but I’m okay now. Please, Jack.’

Angus edged along the fence to where the wooden palings started to angle down and peered over. He found himself looking into a large yard. A number of bikes stood about under a shelter, some of them with parts missing, one with both wheels lying on the ground.

A girl of about Angus’ age was riding a motorbike in circles. She revved it angrily when the boy didn’t answer, making the back wheel spin out to leave deep circular skid marks on the grass. She kept it revving until she’d cut the ground to pieces.

‘Hey, Teagan!’ the boy yelled over the noise, from a door that must have led back into the shop. ‘Dad wants you inside. Now!’

The girl stopped the bike and silence enveloped the backyard. The boy and the girl stared at each other.

‘And don’t ask me about the races, Teagan. You know it’s the way it’s gotta be. I hate it too, you know.’ The boy laughed suddenly. ‘But at
least I’m racing.’ He disappeared inside the house.

A door banged open to Angus’ left and he crouched down, not wanting to be seen, but curious all the same. Teagan? She must be Teagan Proctor. Of course, he thought, moving away. She was the kid E.D. had been telling him about—the gun rider who hadn’t lost a race. But the boy had said at least he was racing. Did this mean that Teagan wasn’t? It didn’t make any sense.

Angus’ thoughts were interrupted by a throaty growl coming from the far end of the lane. He looked up to see two enormous black motorbikes slowly rolling towards him.

He leaned up against the fence, waiting for them to pass, but instead the bikes slowed down even more, coming to a stop right in front of him.

His heart pounding, Angus turned to walk away, trying to look as relaxed as possible.

‘Hey, kid. Stop right there.’

Angus paused, and then quickly turned round.

‘Me?’

‘What are you doing?’ Both riders were off their bikes but neither had taken his helmet off. They were dressed in black leather. Angus could see his reflection in the visor of one of the men’s
silver and black helmets as he took a few steps towards him.

‘I…I was doing nothing; nothing at all,’ Angus stammered, taking a few tentative steps backwards, wondering if he should make a dash for it.

The second rider folded his arms across his chest and spoke.

‘Listen, buddy. This ain’t a good place for you to be hanging about, you hear? This laneway’s full of creeps who’ll try to steal your phone or your wallet while you’re not looking. Are you hearing me?’

Angus licked his dry lips and nodded.

‘S-sure,’ he said, taking another step backwards. The door to the shop banged open again. Angus was frozen to the spot, unable to move.

‘You know this kid, Alan?’ one of the riders called. Behind his dark helmet, his voice sounded muffled. The shop owner appeared alongside the two riders.

‘No, I don’t think so. Are you lost?’ Alan Proctor stepped towards Angus, but turned at a noise behind him.

‘It’s okay, he’s my friend,’ Teagan said, walking straight past the two bikies towards Angus. Angus looked from the shop owner’s face
to Teagan’s, totally confused.

‘Well, why didn’t you say so, Teagan? What’s your name, son?’ Mr Proctor asked.

Angus watched as both riders slowly removed their helmets.

‘My name’s Angus. I’ve got to go, anyway.’

‘Hey, man. Hope we didn’t scare you,’ the first rider said, shaking out his long dark hair.

‘You want something, Peter?’ Alan Proctor looked at the man.

‘Just looking for some spare parts, Al.’

‘Come on, then.’

The bike riders followed Teagan’s father into the yard, walking their bikes.

‘Thanks,’ Angus muttered.

‘No worries,’ Teagan said, smiling. ‘I’m Teagan. That was my dad and two of his friends. One was
Uncle
Peter.’ Angus frowned, wondering why she’d said
Uncle
so harshly.

‘Angus.’ He held his hand out then dropped it to his side again, suddenly feeling stupid. ‘So that big guy’s your uncle?’

‘Not my favourite uncle, though.’ Teagan shrugged then smiled at Angus. ‘Do you ride bikes?’

‘No, I ride horses. But my friend E.D. rides bikes.’ Angus looked at his watch. He was already a few minutes late. ‘Um, you weren’t riding your bike down on the path along the creek on Monday, were you?’

Teagan shook her head. ‘I usually just ride at the practice areas.’

Angus reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Hannah had texted him a picture of the ear-piece Gabby had found on the track. He opened the message and held the phone out to her. Teagan looked closely.

‘I’ve got an ear-piece like that.’ She put her hand in her pocket and pulled it out. ‘See? Lots of people have them now.’

‘This one was found by the creek. Some idiot on a lime-green motorbike spooked King.’

‘King?’

‘My horse. I thought it might have been you because of the colour. It seems to be the most popular colour of the bikes here.’

‘Yeah, it is, but it wasn’t me.’ She held out her hand, palm open, wanting a closer look. Angus passed her the phone.

‘What do you use it for?’ he asked.

‘It’s an intercom device—like a two-way radio. It means that Dad can talk to us when
we’re riding.’ Teagan looked at the ground. ‘Dad likes technical gadgets. He modified ours from the ones in the shop.’

‘Okay.’ Angus waited for her to continue but Teagan was silent. ‘Listen, I’d better go, but thanks for bailing me out there.’ They’d moved a little further down the lane.

‘No worries,’ Teagan said, lifting her head. ‘Might see you round?’

‘Yeah, maybe down at The Moon.’

Teagan laughed again. ‘Well yeah, I guess.’

Angus raced to the restaurant, panting as he stepped into the cool interior of Bellini’s. Teagan’s nice, he thought. I just hope I don’t ever meet up with those bikies again. He hurried to a table by the far wall where his father sat waiting for him.