Floored by Ainslie Paton Page A

sure she didn’t leave him till Mildura, or maybe even Port Augusta.
    When he picked up the new duffle bag and stepped out of the room she was waiting by the car, the boot open, the back door open. She gave him a salute, all insolence and disrespect. It made him smile. She didn’t frighten easily and her controlled anger was fascinating to watch.
    “Yeah, all right. You’ve made your point.”
    “Whatever can you mean, sir?”
    He tossed his bag in the boot and slammed the lid. “Cut it out.”
    “As you wish, sir.”
    “Fuck me.”
    Yeah, she had no response to that, but then it was hardly witty repartee, so she’d spoken eloquently by saying nothing after all. Fuck again. He went the reception and settled their accounts. He got in the back seat of the car. She got in the driver’s seat and waited. That’s how she was going to play it. She’d make him give her instructions. Make him feel like a bloody bully. She’d have to try harder than that.
    “I saw a cafe on the way to the shopping centre last night. Let’s go there for breakfast. Do you want to visit the bank?”
    Sunglass eyes to him in the rear-view. “Yes, please.”
    At least she’d left the ‘sir’ off. And she was intending to bank the money. She’d have made him nervous if she’d decided to skip the deposit queue.
    “Right. I need to get new sunnies. Then we drive to Leeton, that’s about six hours. I don’t mind if we stop either side of the town for the night. I want to be in Mildura tomorrow night. Does that work for you?”
    “Yes. I’d like to discuss the rules for the engagement over breakfast.”
    “Fine. But whatever they are, so long as they’re about the professional provision of your services, you won’t find me disagreeing with you.”
    She started the car. “Would you like the radio on? Any particular station?”
    “Sure, whatever you prefer.”
    She picked a news station, something commercial with music. He hadn’t listened to morning radio for years. He didn’t recognise the announcers, or any of the songs. The Pariahs listened to a steady diet of old AC/DC and new heavy metal played at decibels designed to make the fillings in the neighbourhood’s collective teeth conduct electricity.
    At the cafe, she ordered fruit and yoghurt with her flat white. He got the full heart attack menu with extra bacon with his.
    They ate in silence, until he got bored with that. “So these rules?”
    She speared a piece of rockmelon, but didn’t eat it. As though she needed to concentrate on this; as though he was going to be as ornery as he looked.
    “No more than seven hours driving in twenty-four. No more than four at a single stretch, with a short break for me to have a walk around. No driving at night.”
    “Agreed.”
    She sat back a little in her chair and toyed with her fork. “A mandatory lunch stop. No eating in the car.”
    “That’s no fun, but all right.”
    “Drinking is fine.”
    “All drinking?” He couldn’t help himself but tease her with a very straight face.
    “Not alcohol.”
    “Agreed.”
    She breathed out as though she’d expected him to slurp his way through three states. She was looking at the table, anywhere else but at him.
    “Appropriate accommodation is to be found each night. I’m happy to take responsibility for finding budget hotels. No caravans or camping sites. No sleeping overnight in the car.” She looked up. “Obviously no sharing a room.”
    He inclined his head. “Obviously.” He sipped coffee to cover a laugh. “I assume you don’t mind if I snooze in the back when you’re driving.”
    “Not at all.”
    She looked almost pleased about that idea.
    “No smoking, no loud music, no distracting me.”
    He put his empty cup back in its saucer. “Distracting you? How do you suppose I’d do that?”
    She shook her head. She went from pleased to exasperated. “Just don’t bleed in the car again.” She bit her lip, stifling whatever else she was thinking from being