Thunder Road Read Free

traffic. Dead straight. Factories on both sides of the road.
    ‘I dunno.’
    ‘This is Whaitiri Street, but we call it Thunder Road. It’s where we race mostly. You come back here at midnight on Saturdaynight, there can be a thousand cars along here. Lining the street with their headlights blazing. Full of people drinking, smoking, dropping tabs and, in the middle of the road every thirty seconds or so, two cars head to head, winding their tachs up to nine thou … sorting out the order.’
    I looked at the street again. This time I noticed the burn-out marks for the first hundred metres of the straight.
    ‘What’s that?’ I said, pointing to a big stained area.
    ‘They drop the diesel there and set it on fire. For the flameouts .’
    A red Falcon ute chugged up alongside. It had flames on the bonnet and real low-profile tyres. The two vehicles were now blocking the whole street. In the ute there were three guys about our age. Two of them were twins. The other one by the passenger window yelled out to Devon, ‘Hey man, how’s it hangin’?’
    ‘Ay! The Taylor Twins and Rebel.’ He gestured to me. ‘Come and meet.’
    The twins had been to the same hairdresser I’d say; their red hair was short on top, long at the sides. Rebel was a solid little guy, muscles and a spider tattoo coming out the collar of his T-shirt. He looked like a heavy bastard. The sort you don’t want to mess with. There was a green trail bike roped on the tray. The sound from the bass driver was shaking the neighbourhood and the cab was a fug of cigs. The three of them were all smoking, hard-out.
    ‘Who’s this?’ asked Rebel with a flick of his head.
    ‘It’s Trace, he’s living at my house. Showing him the strip.’
    The three of them all fixed their eyes on me, sort of weighing me up, then Rebel offered me a palm for the bro handshake. The other two followed.
    ‘Where are you from, Tracey?’ said the Taylor with thechipped tooth. ‘Up from the sticks?’
    ‘It’s Trace,’ I said.
    The other one turned to Rebel with a grin.
    ‘Sure man, that’s what I meant.’
    ‘The Waikato.’ I didn’t want to be too exact.
    ‘Hicksville!’ Rebel grinned with contempt, and then added, ‘Got a car?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Planning to?’
    ‘Yep.’
    ‘When you’re ready … see me. Midnight Autos. I do the deals.’
    We all laughed. It had that corny, TV, used-car salesman sound to it.
    There was the bleep of a siren, then a voice saying, ‘Move on!’ over a loudspeaker. A cop car had pulled up behind us without us noticing. Me and Devon jumped back in and the ute shot off in the other direction. We pulled over to the side to let the cop through and he came alongside.
    ‘What are you up to, Devon?’
    Devon flashed a charming grin. ‘Sorry Orificer Carmody, those young men were asking for directions.’
    ‘I’ll give you directions if I see you hangin’ around here.’
    ‘Yeah I know it. Do not pass go … do not collect two hundred ….’
    Then Devon flashed the hang loose sign at him. ‘It’s cool,’ and gave a little blip on the accelerator. Drag talk.
    ‘Don’t even think about it. This could eat your
old lady
car over any distance.’ The cop grinned smugly and then, to prove it, he planted his foot. The police car disappeared down the strip like a sped-up film.
    ‘I know that guy. Story goes he used to race this strip andnow they’ve got him on the other side. That’s a special patrol car just for chasing down the dudes. It can really move. He’s taken some of my mates off the road.’
    We drove back slowly.
    ‘Who were the other guys?’
    ‘They’re your genuine Westies. Petrol’s in their blood. Born to race. The stocky dude, Rebel, real name’s Billy Revell. He’s a hard bastard. Been inside. “Rock College” he calls it. He runs this car and parts outfit … Midnight Autos,’ Devon said with a laugh.
    ‘What’s funny about that?’
    ‘You want a set of mags, he says, “I’ll get you a set