Color of Blood(101)

“I heard a dog barking,” Dennis said, “like I was in a dream.”

“That was Snippy,” Jimmy said, grinning. “Bit that feller on the neck and wouldn’t let go till he let you go. Good boy, Snippy.”

Dennis turned to look at Snippy in the back seat; he stared back at Dennis, blinked once, and then licked his lips.

“Who’re them fellers?” Jimmy asked. “Owe ’em money? Money’s the root of all evil, mate. So’s alcohol—and women.”

“I wish it was just about money,” Dennis said. “It’s the guys who work at that facility behind the fence. They don’t want me poking around.”

“Why you pokin’ round then?”

“Trying to figure out what they’re doing there,” Dennis said, slowly taking the two walkie-talkies out of his pockets and removing the batteries. “They don’t want anyone within a hundred miles of the place, and they’re willing to do anything to keep people out, though they seem to know who I am.”

“How come they knows it was you?”

“It’s a long story,” Dennis said.

“Whyja want to know what they’re doin’ back there?” Jimmy asked again.

“I think they’re doing something bad. Let’s leave it at that.”

“They’re minin’ uranium, mate,” Jimmy said.

“How do you know that?”

“They mine uranium all round this place. Nothin’ special: big pits, lotsa water.”

“Where do they get water from out here?”

“Aquifer. Way underground.”

“Have you been on the property?”

“Sure, but them fellers bloody crazy, mate. Every mob knows that. Put up a fence. No one puts up a fence out here. You seen any fences?”

“No.”

“Right. So me and me mates just walked in one day. Chased us down like we was a pack a dingoes. Fancy guns. Scared us right good. Ain’t goin’ back in there again.”

“Who are they?”

“Yanks.”

“You sure they’re mining uranium?”

“An’ other stuff. Minin’, processin’: lotsa things, not jus’ uranium. We got all kindsa stuff in the ground. Everybody wants some. Bloody funny, if y’ ask me.”

“Processing?”

“Yeah. First you mine, then you process. They truck it to Port Hedland: think they’re pretty clever, eh?” He grinned.

“What do you mean?”

“Not too much in them big bloody shippin’ containers.”

“How do you know the containers aren’t full?” Dennis asked, rubbing his sore throat.

Jimmy laughed. “Put ’em on trucks, mate. Sound like empty drums when they hit a bump. Out here we see plenty trucks: can tell the full ones.”

“But how do you know the containers are from that plant?”

“One of them big bloody white cars in front, ’nother one behind. It’s like they guardin’ it. Container’s always the same: red, small yellow stripe round the top, like a yeller ribbon. Sent a truck through couple days ago. Same thing.”

“When?

“When what?”

“When did they send a truck through?”

“Maybe two days. Track runs by the settlement. We see everyone drives by.”

Dennis looked out the back window again, but could not see a dust trail.

“Do you think they’re following us?” Dennis asked.

Jimmy stared into the rearview mirror.

“Don’t reckon so.”

“How much farther to the track?”

“A mile.”

Dennis turned again to look out the window, and Snippy growled at him as they locked eyes.

“He really doesn’t like me,” Dennis said.

“Toldja, mate, don’ like whitefellas.”

Neither man spoke for a while. Jimmy kept up a steady but bouncy pace through the rough terrain.

“So if the containers are mostly empty, what do you think is inside them?” Dennis said.

“Maybe nothin’.”

“How about drugs?”

Jimmy frowned and took a quick glance at Dennis. “Drugs?”

“Yeah, what if there are drugs inside those containers? You know, they disguise the drugs to look like mining materials.”

“Where they gettin’ drugs from?”

“I heard they have a small airport there, right? Maybe they’re processing more than just uranium?”

Jimmy contorted his face in concentration and finally shook his head.

“Dunno ’bout that, mate.” The thought seemed to bother Jimmy, and he kept silent for the rest of the ride.

After reaching the track, Jimmy stopped the car and got out, took his walking stick, and opened the back door for Snippy.

“Sure I can’t give you money?” Dennis said.

“Maybe.”

“OK.” Dennis pulled out ten twenty-dollar Australian bills. “Thanks for all your help. I think you saved my life back there, Jimmy.”

“Shouldn’ be goin’ out ’ere with them enemies round, Denny. Bad enough without blokes chasin’ y’.”