A Misspent Youth

The headlights shined into my eyes as the car approached. It couldn't be. Keeping my eyes down and fixed on the road in front, I prayed the lights would simply drive by...but my luck had run out.

“What's your name?” His voice carried the authority of years of police work.

Sweat trickled down the small of my back as I answered without pause, ”Simon,” A lie...one of many I was about to try and pass off to the man in uniform, who towered over me in the darkness.

”Last name, Simon?”

”Williamson,” Another lie.

”So, Mr Williamson, what are you doing out tonight?” A smirk not unlike Mona Lisa's was just made out in the dim streetlight. Cops...always asking questions.

”Footy training,” The lies began to pile up all around me.

”Get in," the cop ordered. I knew right then I was done.

*******

Divorce has its winners (family court lawyers, magistrates and primary parents) and its losers (anyone else foolish enough to go down that path).

Well, not quite everyone. There are rare occasions when others gain.

My friends and I had an air of entitlement. At least, the ones I knew back in the early 1980s did.

There were four of us...Hobbs, Schrecky, Gorman and me. Without a doubt, we were delinquents, thieves and no-hopers (and if you had asked our teachers and the local police, they would have confirmed that as being so). Everything belonged to us, and unless it was bolted down, it was ours for the taking. I was the oldest and the most respected...the ring leader.

“They've moved out.” Hobbs knew everything that went on in our neighbourhood. A typical gossip, with a very popular older sister, which meant he had access to a lot of information, supplied by the many guys who frequented their home.

I asked Hobbs, ”So, how many bikes are there?”

“Three.” His eyes revealed both excitement and fear, emotions we were all secretly feeling, but were too tough (in our own little minds) to let on about.

”And you're sure nobody lives there?”

”Nobody been there in weeks. Kids have already been in and taken some parts.”

This new piece of information meant we had to move fast. If we were to get those bikes, we had to go in tonight.

*******

The four of us met just after sunset at a pre-arranged spot down the street from the house of the unfortunate divorcing couple. They had likely owned a motorbike shop before the business of selling bikes and marriage had both gone bankrupt. And here we were, four young lads with nothing better to do than steal, smoke weed and cause mayhem wherever we went, about to break in and take some of the last assets of their once-thriving business.

I gave the command, ”OK, let's go.”

The bikes were in a garden shed in the backyard of the house. The previous intruders had already broken the padlock, inadequately placed to stop less determined would-be thieves.

Why they (the aforementioned culprits) had left the bikes behind, I didn't know. But, there they were, two eighty cc motocross bikes and a Bultaco enduro...a bike I immediately decided was to be mine. I would let them squabble over the two eighties, but first, we had to get them out and find somewhere to hide them.

Of course, brains were not in great abundance, and we had no real plan except to get the bikes out and hide them. That was the plan in full.

We were close to an industrial park, and behind that was an old sand mining operation that had long since ceased operations. We knew the area well because in the summer we would swim in the now-flooded waterholes left behind by the mining operation. The particular waterhole we were to hide the bikes near was called 'The Blue Lagoon' because of the striking blue colour of the water. In hindsight, I realise, but at the time, we were ignorant of the fact that at the far end of our beautiful swimming spot, a ramp had been graded down to the water's edge so the effluent trucks could reverse down and pump the raw, near-untreated sewage, that was collected from dunnies on building sites around town, into the water...water we happily swam in every summer.

In my mind's eye, I can still see us all, young kids from around the neighbourhood, jumping off the cliffs on the other side of the waterhole from the ramp, laughing and having the best of times. I like to think it may have built up our immune systems...but probably not.

*******

We arrived with the three bikes at the stash point. The bikes were placed strategically behind some bushes and left until we could return the next day with fuel to attempt to start them.

Once we were satisfied the bikes wouldn't be found by anyone but us, we made our way out of the bush towards the road, which would lead to freedom and our beds. But as fate would have it, as we emerged from behind a factory that bordered the sand mining area, a set of headlights appeared from around a bend in the road. We dove for cover, but it was too late. The car's headlights had illuminated us for the split second it took to give us away. It turned out to be a private security guard doing his rounds of all the factories, and our luck had ran out.

Panicked, we ran back in the direction from which we had come. It was then, behind the factory, that we became separated. I found myself alone, and when I heard barking dogs, I knew the game was up.

"Come out or we'll let the dogs go!" came the order over a loud hailer.

Shit. I knew when to take stock and because I was the smart one, I was already formulating a plan. So, I began to walk towards the sound of walkie-talkies, deep men's voices and lights, which were several meters above the level I was walking on (likely a pad built up in case of possible flooding) to give myself up. I knew they had nothing on us. The factory hadn't been broken into, and unless they happened to stumble onto the bikes, which wasn't likely, especially if they had us all in custody, then they had nothing except trespass to pin on these juvenile delinquents who represented more paperwork than they were worth to any cop. And knowing that the justice system was very much in our favour at that age, it was unlikely we would be charged with any offence.

As I got closer to the commotion above me, all there was between myself and them was a large bushy tree. It became apparent they couldn't see me, and just before I was about to shout to get their attention, I saw a chance to escape.

Over to my left, a barbed-wire fence ran along the boundary between the industrial area and the sand mining precinct. The grass had been mowed in a strip about eight feet wide between the fence and the bush. I assume it was a fire break, but, beyond that, was the road and freedom.

I decided to flee, ducking down low and crawling on my belly towards the fence. I had almost made it and was about to jump over when I saw the silhouette of a man with a dog on a lead approaching about forty meters away. They were coming straight towards me, following the fence line, I suspect, to thwart any attempt of escape by the fugitives, of which I was the main culprit. I froze, still lying prone on the ground, before rolling silently into the long grass on the opposite side of the fence to the cop and his dog.

Laying as still as possible until I sensed they were close, I then took in a deep and silent breath, which I intended to hold as long as I could. They made their way past me, not more than ten feet away, and kept going without noticing the delinquent hiding in the grass on the other side of the fence. As soon as they were gone from sight, I stood, jumped over the fence, and went in the opposite direction to all the lights and cars. I kept to the side of the road and hid behind anything that would shield me from being seen and possibly being caught.

There was only one road into and out of the estate back in those days, and so, I made my way around a ring road and was almost out onto the main road when those lights appeared in my eyes and my friends the local constabulary listened to my lies.

Sitting in the back seat of a police car, you get all sorts of crazy ideas. Escape had eluded me for now, but a smart cookie like me was always looking for an opportunity, and as we pulled up to the place where I had been separated from my friends, the cop who was driving got out and went to talk to the other cops and security guards, who had come in numbers to prevent any attempt at escape.

I began thinking that I could hit the remaining cop over the head and run. But, I had nothing that could hurt this burly grown-up man in uniform, who just happened to have a gun holstered on his side. So, that ended any more thoughts of escape and I resigned myself to the inevitable.

But, luck would favour the brave that night. My friends had stayed hidden and made no attempt to give themselves up, as I had. The police dogs were not going to be evaded again that night, and as the boys told me a few days later when we got together to speak of our exploits, Hobbs, as he and the others were hidden in the thick undergrowth, had whispered to them that he had to sneeze.

"No.” But he did...which brought the cops to their hiding spot, where they were captured and marched out of the bush and up into the lights above them.

Then, to my utter surprise, the cop who had driven me down from my near escape came over to the car, opened the door and said, "OK Mr Williamson...you can go now.”

And as my friends watched on in disbelief, I began the long journey home.