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something?’
    ‘Yeah, okay. Meet you at your place in ten.’
    ‘No. I’ll meet you at the BP servo. And better make it twenty.’
    ‘Martin, you promised you would stay at home until your father gets you a phone,’ Marty’s mother yelled as he rolled down the driveway and out the front gate. He raised a hand in a half wave and kept going. Let her send his father after him if she wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time.
    It was only nine o’clock and already it was hot enough to fry rubber. By the time Marty reached the service station his T-shirt was dark with sweat and a dull ache had started behind his eyes.
    Rick stood in the shade near the petrol pumps, sucking on a can of Coke. He drained the last mouthful as Marty skidded to a stop in front of him and tossed the can into a nearby bin. ‘Hey, see that? Went right in.’
    Marty dragged his arm across his dripping face.
    ‘Could’ve saved me some.’
    A metallic blue Commodore boasting every piece of illegal hardware ever invented roared into the servo and screeched to a stop beside the boys. Rap music blared from the car’s interior, drowning out whatever Rick said next. Marty pointed towards the driveway and started moving. Rick, who couldn’t seem to drag his eyes away from the car, blindly followed.
    ‘What did you say?’ Marty said, his ears still thumping.
    ‘I said, Aaron’s olds own a shop, so you can get a drink there.’ Rick threw a parting glance at the Commodore then headed up the footpath.
    Marty grabbed his arm. ‘Hey, hear that?’
    ‘Yeah, how could I miss it. It’s Eminem.’
    ‘No, not that music. Listen.’ Marty turned and scanned the road. A second later a pink and white ice-cream van cruised around the corner, its piercing chimes bleeding into the rap music.
    ‘Geez, it’s him,’ Rick said. ‘You reckon he’ll have a go at us about yesterday?’
    Marty tightened his grip on Rick’s arm. ‘Dunno, but he’s coming this way and I want to get a good look at the guy.’
    ‘What good’s that gonna do?’
    ‘I want to see exactly who we’re dealing with.’ Marty’s scalp prickled. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and stared at the approaching van. Its windscreen was silvered with sunlight, preventing him from seeing inside; if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn the glass was covered in some sort of reflective material. He bit his lip, fingernails digging into Rick’s skin.
    ‘Didn’t you see enough of him yesterday?’ Rick said, shaking his hand off.
    ‘He was wearing a hat and sunglasses, you said. Besides, maybe he hid from us ’cause we know him.’
    Marty squinted, but all he could see was the ice- cream van’s split windscreen shimmering like twin mirrors as it crawled along the road towards them. As they watched, a meaty fist was thrust out of the driver’s side window with the middle finger sticking up.
    Rick’s eyes bulged. ‘Friggin’ freak!’ The van accelerated past.
    Marty spun around. ‘Did you see his face?’
    ‘Yeah. Fat guy. Got one of them goatee beards.’
    ‘Know who he is?’ Rick shook his head.
    The van picked up speed and rounded the next corner.
    ‘I’ll teach him to give me the friggin’ finger.’ Rick took off after the van.
    Marty spun his wheels. ‘Leave it, Rick. What can you do, eh?’
    Rick stopped at the corner and punched the air.
    ‘Geez, that guy really gets under my skin. Know what I mean?’
    Marty nodded. ‘Yeah, I know.’
    ‘Reckon Aaron will want to see us after yesterday?’ Marty said as they crossed the road. There was no sign of the van, but its chimes were still audible.
    ‘Why not? Isn’t our fault the guy’s mental.’
    ‘Yeah, but if I hadn’t slam-jumped him –’
    ‘Well he shouldn’t’ve ignored me! Everyone ignores me and I’m friggin’ sick of it.’ A red stain flowed up Rick’s neck, setting his cheeks on fire. He picked up his pace, arms swinging.
    For a second it seemed like Rick might throw a punch at him. Rick had a