Light speed in the Australian outback
Senior Constable Cassidy was unhappy. I knew this because he was shouting at me. Droplets of spittle were hitting the drivers’ side window. Also, he was sweating profusely, rivers of perspiration running down his face and mingling with the froth spilling out of his mouth. I hadn’t wound the window down when he pulled me over because the electrics in the Mercedes were shot. The windows, air conditioning and cruise control had all died somewhere between Seymour and Grong Grong (great name, crap town). Actually, the trip had gone badly from the start. My travelling companion was two minutes late checking in to his Jetstar flight from Tasmania, and of course they showed no mercy. All our beer money went on a full-fare replacement ticket Then the Mercedes (affectionately known as the Land Yacht) broke down in the industrial badlands west of Footscray; no place to be stranded without heavy firearms. It took hours to coax it back to life. The plan was simple. Leave Me