Roll With It by Nick Place Page A

lot.
    About two hundred metres south, a caryard worker yelled, ‘Hey!’ and started moving in the Wild Man’s direction.
    The Wild Man waved a single finger in the guy’s direction then ducked back around the car, kicked the inert Salter in the kidneys, and slid into the Subaru’s driver’s seat.
    The guy yelled ‘Hey!’ more loudly and broke into a run as the Wild Man fired the engine, slammed the gearstick into first and planted his foot, erupting onto the Nepean Highway in a wide-arcing left-hand turn that had several cars veering wildly to avoid him, horns blasting.
    The Wild Man raced up to ninety kilometres per hour, screaming the gears through second and into third, before swinging left again and then right down a side street. This ring of skeleton keys is pure fucking gold, he thought to himself, grinning madly. Driving more sedately, he cruised along until he spotted a white Commodore parked outside a row of single-fronted shops. He parked the Subaru, got out, walked calmly but quickly up to the Commodore, inserted the appropriate key and managed to pull out without anybody noticing.
    He wove his way back to the Nepean Highway and headed for the city, pulling off his beanie and glancing at Salter’s Special Auto Stadium just long enough to register the group of people huddled around a blue-suited form, one blonde girl talking furiously into a mobile phone.
    The Wild Man flicked on the radio and winced when talk-back voices filled the car. He punched buttons until he found Triple J. That was more like it.
    The Wild Man cranked the volume and enjoyed the drive.
    ***
    ‘Well, Stig, this is a surprise.’ The voice of Andrew Wo, one of Melbourne’s rising drug stars, came calmly through the phone. ‘I’d heard some bad news about you, mate. You seem healthier than the Queensland authorities would have the world believe.’
    ‘Alive and well and loving the Darwin weather. But let’s keep all those facts between us, hey, Andrew?’
    Stig hoping that some profitable dealings with Wo before he went north would count for something.
    ‘You can’t seriously be trying to go behind Jenssen’s back?’ Wo said.
    ‘Once in a lifetime opportunity, Andrew, and top secret so nobody will even know. You in?’
    There was silence. Then Wo said, ‘You’re insane. I want no part of it.’
    ‘Why?’ Stig was genuinely shocked. ‘I can get the gear down to Melbourne within a day. What do you owe Jenssen?’
    ‘Nothing, Stig. It’s about staying alive. I owe the man nothing, but I also have no wish to find myself at war with him.’
    ‘For Christ’s sake. I’d heard you were the new muscle here.’
    ‘Do you mean Melbourne or Darwin?’ Stig winced at his slip, but luckily Andrew didn’t wait for a response. ‘I am a rising star, Stig – mostly because I conduct smart business. It’s time we wrapped this up. Now.’
    ‘Okay. Sure. I respect that,’ Stig said. ‘Andrew?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Just because you don’t want in doesn’t mean you have to fuck me, does it?’
    ‘What can you possibly mean by that?’
    ‘Can we keep the fact that I’m alive between us?’
    ‘Of course, Stig. I’m not entirely amoral, you know.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Andrew. You’re right, I shouldn’t have raised it. Just nervous, I guess. Better safe than sorry, hey?’
    Andrew Wo chuckled quietly. ‘Better safe than sorry? Better safe than fucking sorry? My friend, you left that behind forever the moment you took this path. Good luck, but please do not contact me again.’

Another night of being tormented by Wesley Coleman’s ghost. It was standing mutely at the end of the bed when Laver woke from what might be called sleep. Laver rolled over and growled at it to piss off. The ghost was still there forty-five minutes later when he woke yet again – Laver had serious words with it at that point – but then it was gone half an hour after that.
    Now he lay on his back, groggy and as tired as before he’d tried to sleep.