Hotel Ambrose

Chapter 18.1

I walked though the city until it got dark, then I went into a burger joint and bought a burger. I was cold and tired. My plan was to eat the burger, then keep searching for the Cripple and his Dogs. I'd walk all night if I had to. I'd already been to the usual places: the path along the river where the cops had chased me that time, the spot under the railway bridge, and the street where me and Sophie had first found them all those years ago. It had never taken me so long to find them before. The further I walked the more depressed I got, but after the burger I felt better again. It's amazing what a big greasy burger can do.

I decided I wanted some chewing gum. I stood outside the burger joint and fished around in my pockets for some change. I'd already forgotten about the ad I'd torn out of the newspaper, so at first when I saw it lying in my hand with the gold and silver coins I didn't realise what it was. I flipped it over with my finger. A gust of cold wind came up the street and I closed my hand over the scrap of paper just in time to stop it blowing away.

There was a phone booth over the road. I got inside and put the ad on the shelf next to it and just stared at it for a while. It was warm in the booth and the windows were foggy. Outside all I could see was blurry lights.

I picked up the receiver and fed two twenty cent pieces into the coin slot. Then I dialed. The phone rang six times.

"Hello?" A woman's voice.

"Oh," I said.

"Hello?"

"Um hi. I'm after, um."

"Joe?" she said.

Why couldn't I speak?

"Hello?" she said again.

"Yes-Joe-please," I said.

"Hang on," I heard her walk away. My heart was hammering.

I heard footsteps returning. The chunk of the phone being picked up. "Ambrose Maintenance, Joe speaking."

"It's Ben."

Silence. I'd expected him to ask Ben who? How could he remember me after almost eight years?

"You there?" I said.

"Yeh I'm here. Jesus. Give me a minute."

I gave him a minute.

"How did you find me?" he said.

"Your ad in the paper."

"Oh."

It was out of my mouth before I realised I'd said it. "I can't find my way back."

"You in trouble?" he said.

"No. I just – I've got nowhere to go."

"How long you been out? On the street?"

"Only a night."

"Okay. You can tell me about it in the car, mate."

"What car?"

"My car. Where are you?"

I told him.

"Right. I'll be there in twenty." He hung up.

There was a guy waiting outside to use the phone, so I got out. I stood outside a Seven Eleven and watched the cars crawl by. I wondered if I knew Dirty Joe as well as I thought I did. A lot can happen in eight years. Maybe he'd changed. What if he knew about Fred? That me and Sophie had killed him? He might take me straight to the police. It's depressing when you realise there's nobody in the world you can really trust.

I was looking out for Joe's old black car, so I didn't twig when the big white ute pulled up. A dirty brown hand pushed the passenger side door open from inside. I went over and looked in.

Dirty Joe looked much the same as last time I'd seen him, except perhaps a bit browner and more creased up, like a piece of leather that was ageing nicely. "Hi there Benny," he said, as if we'd seen each other only yesterday.

"Hi," I said. I didn't know what else to say to this strange brown thing from the past, so I just got into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed behind me.

"Mind if I?" he said, pulling a tobacco pouch and papers from a slot in the dashboard.

"Yeh. I mean no. Go for it."

He rolled a cigarette and stuck it on his bottom lip, leaving the tobacco pouch resting on his high bony kneecap. He fished in a pocket for a lighter, the kind that's a bright colour and see-through (this one was orange) and with the fluid sloshing around inside. He lit the cigarette. Then he shoved the pouch and papers back in the slot and pulled out into the traffic, turning the steering wheel with the palm of one hand.

"Where're we going?" I said.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Not the police."

"Okay," he said. He took a hand off the steering wheel so he could take his cigarette out of his mouth. "The missus is cooking up a storm. How about you come over to our place for dinner?" He gave me an uneasy grin.

The idea of Dirty Joe having a place and a missus was strange, but no stranger than seeing him again I guess. I wasn't hungry, not after the burger, but I said "Okay," anyway. Then I remembered my manners. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

I looked over at him again. Until now he had seemed like a dream, the way the Cripple and his Dogs were already like a dream. He kept his eyes on the road. He drove slowly and steadily. Someone pulled out in front of him and he said "Jesus" under his breath.