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back at the place.
    â€˜I can’t tell you how much I hated it,’ he said. ‘It was like a prison, for all the fancy psychobabble and bullshit.’
    I nodded. ‘I’ve been in prison. I can imagine.’
    â€˜Good. Something in common.’ He picked up the case of the Ry Cooder tape and examined it. ‘Yeah, he’s good. D’you like Elvis?’
    I’d got moving again but the question almost caused me to stall. ‘What?’
    â€˜Elvis. D’you like him?’
    â€˜Sure, everyone on the planet likes Elvis … and the Beatles.’
    â€˜Elvis helped keep me sane. I’m full bottle on him. D’you know who did the originals of “That’s All Right,” “Mystery Train” and “Hound Dog”?’
    â€˜I suppose I thought “Hound Dog”
was
original Presley.’
    â€˜No. Arthur “Big Boy” Crudup, Junior Walker and Big Momma Thornton. I’ve read
Last Train to Memphis
and
Careless Love
four times. I’ve got ’emin the bag there. I’m going to throw them in the first fucking bin I see.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t do that. The place they’ve got you is pretty spartan. A couple of books wouldn’t go amiss.’
    That quietened him. The institution was near the end of a road that wound around several large sections of bushland and rainforest somehow preserved from the developers. There was dense bush on both sides and ahead when I slowed to make a turn into the suburban road network. I had the window down and I heard the crack a microsecond before the windscreen exploded, showering us with glass. I ducked, grabbed Rod by the arm and pulled him down as I gunned the engine and swung the wheel to the left. The car jumped the gutter and I heard another shot ricochet off the roof as I slammed on the brake. Two cars at the intersection stopped and another pulled up behind us and everything went quiet.
    I kept us down below the level of the shattered windscreen for a few seconds. I heard steps coming towards from behind and the sound of the cars at the intersection moving off. I lifted my head and let go Harkness’s arm.
    â€˜Youse okay? What happened?’
    It was the driver from behind who’d stopped like a good citizen. I opened the door and stepped out. ‘We’re okay. Thanks.’
    â€˜Jesus, you’re bleeding.’
    I lifted my hand to my face and felt the cuts. I turned back to Harkness, who was sitting up straight with all the colour drained from his face. ‘Just some nicks,’ I said to the samaritan. ‘Must’ve been a stone.’
    â€˜Yeah, them old windscreens shatter likebuggery. Well, if you’re all right …’
    â€˜Thanks for stopping.’ I turned back to Harkness. He was bleeding from cuts to his left ear and the side of his face. ‘Pick the glass away carefully, bit by bit. Don’t brush it.’
    He did as I said and I did the same. Tiny cubes of glass lay all over the seat and floor. I opened the door and he got out and leaned against the car, sucking in deep breaths. ‘That was no fucking stone.’
    I reached into the back for a rag and brushed glass from the seat. ‘No. Someone took a shot at us. Two shots. From over in the bush.’
    â€˜Shit. At me or you?’
    â€˜I can’t think of anyone who’d want to kill me just at the moment.’
    Colour was coming back into his face. I found a crumpled pack of tissues in the glove box and gave him a couple. We dabbed at our cuts while cars passed with their occupants looking at us curiously.
    â€˜You heard the shot and pulled me down,’ Harkness said. He pushed back the hair that had flopped into his eyes and shoved the bloodied tissues into the pocket of his jacket.
    â€˜Reflex action,’ I said. ‘Let’s find a garage and see if we can get the windscreen replaced.’
    We got into the car and I reversed onto the road. The second