by Chris Flynn
Steph gunned the Datsun back up the embankment, its rear wheels spinning momentarily on the grass. The driver was sitting up by then, hugging his legs, wisely holding his tongue. It was only when I turned to leave that he spoke.
‘Mate, it’s about thirty ks back into town. That’s a long fucken walk.’
I halted and drummed my fingers against my thigh.
‘So?’
‘Well, give us a lift?’
I stepped back to where he was crouched and proffered my hand. He clutched my wrist, and as he rose I slapped him across the mouth with my free hand—so hard that it stung my palm. He let go of me and fell back to where he was sitting before, clutching his face.
Steph was waiting for me back on the road. I gave her the iPod from the ute and told her to stay in front of me just in case the Datsun carked it. She glanced at the bloke lying in the paddock and frowned at me, but said nothing.
‘What? He asked for a lift. Can you believe that?’
‘Oh.’ She shook her head and grinned. ‘I thought maybe he wanted his three hundred bucks back.’
‘I’m not running a fucken charity.’
‘I know, but, we did get the car back, baby, and my jacket.’ She shrugged good-naturedly and raised an eyebrow.
‘You’re a soft touch.’ I was annoyed by the situation but she was right, we had struck lucky. Although it was doubtful that this old Bill fellow would have the slightest idea where Mikey had gone, the morning had, on the whole, worked out better than anticipated. Now all I had to do was find the little prick, get my money back and explain to him why it was such a bad idea to cross me.
I rummaged around in the glove box until I found my wallet, counted six fifty-dollar notes from the roll and set off back down the embankment.
When he saw me coming the poor bastard scrabbled back in terror, one hand raised as a shield. He stopped when he spotted the pineapples. I threw them at him one after the other but decided to hold back on the last one. I slipped it into my jeans instead.
‘Depreciation,’ I told him. We left him there to count his losses.
Bill Sherman turned out to be a lot more useful than I’d anticipated. Not only did he tell me that Mikey had traded in the Datsun for a Commodore, securing the deal with a chunk of my money, but he also knew which way the bastard was headed. He even made me and Steph a cup of tea. I threw him a hundred bucks for the tip.
Bill told me that Mikey had gone out to Freddy McNamara’s place to buy a shitload of meth. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. Just asked Bill if he knew anyone selling crank in the area and was directed straight to Freddy’s farm.
This set off plenty of alarm bells. Freddy was one of mine, running a lab out on his property inland from Nowra. Outside of Freddy and his crew, no one was supposed to know about the fucken place except for me. Someone had been flapping their lips, enough for a craggy old mechanic two towns over to hear about it.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I hadn’t heard squat from Freddy, no phone calls, nothing. If Mikey had been out there looking to score, I should’ve known about it straightaway. The situation could have been wrapped up in no time. Instead, Freddy must have done a private deal and kept schtum. Fucken tweakers. You just can’t get good staff these days. This was why I needed a reliable kid running the Target Ball stand—so I could attend to business properly.
Though it was hot I had the window down on the ute, my elbow resting on the doorframe. I flexed my hand and splayed my fingers open to catch the breeze as I barrelled down yet another country road. The bush round here all looks the same after a while but it’s still pretty enough, if you’re into that sort of thing. Endless fields, that indistinct heat shimmer at the horizon, all the foliage dry and yellow in contrast to the bitumen slicing right through it. Seeing it always made me imagine what it must have been like before the roads and railways came. I wondered what the nineteenth-century version of meth would have been—opium? That grew in fields, though at least you could process it in cities. The problem with meth is the almighty stench. You’ve got no other option but to go bush with your labs, but that’s the beauty of it. No one ever goes there without a good reason.
The paddocks began to thin out as the road neared the outskirts of Freddy’s property. It was a nice spot. A copse of gums teeming with birds lay to the east. A drove of horses thundered down over the hill, thirty or forty in number, their flanks glistening in the morning heat, a plume of dust wafting in their wake. They wheeled as one, like a flock of birds, following the lead horse, slowing to a canter as they came over to watch my approach. I slowed down to get a look at them but the roar of the engine dropping a gear spooked them. They whinnied and galloped away from the fence, back towards the middle of the paddock for safety, the big stallion out front shaking his mane.
The end of the driveway was marked by an old mailbox shaped like Ned Kelly’s helmet. Some joker had put a few bullets through it, probably so they could say they’d shot him. I pulled up on the gravel next to it and let the engine idle. The gate was wide open and I could tell from the grass growing through the bottom rung that it hadn’t been closed for some time. Yet another security issue I’d have to mention to Freddy. I cracked my knuckles in preparation for a chat.
Dust rose in my wake as I drove up the driveway. A dilapidated farmhouse came into view over the rise a hundred metres farther along, the building dwarfed by a huge shed in the yard. A metal chimney protruded from its roof. Straightaway, I could smell the distinctive bittersweet ammonia odour of a cook in progress. I gagged and had to pinch my nose. I sounded the horn to make sure nobody panicked at the sight of a strange car coming up to the property.
As I parked, three men emerged from the main house. One skinny bloke was dressed in ripped jeans and a dirty singlet. He held a pump-action shottie, its barrel pointed to the sky. The second man was much fatter and resembled a retired bikie. He was wearing leathers and sporting a long, bushy white beard, despite being bald on top. A pit bull strained at the leash he’d wrapped around his wrist, slobber dripping from its snarling jaws, eyes bulging.
These two walking clichés moved aside as their boss came out. He wore a leather vest over his stringy torso and his mottled skin was covered in faded tattoos. His hair was slick, jet black like the goatee he stroked thoughtfully as he frowned at my shiny ute. I stepped out of the car and waved in a friendly fashion that I knew would freak him right the fuck out.
Freddy, to his credit, retained his composure, though he looked a lot paler than a moment before. The bloke with the shotgun lowered the barrel to the deck and swore quietly. The one with the dog turned to Freddy for guidance. Clearly they remembered my last visit.
Freddy stepped down off the verandah to meet me, offering his hand. I shook it.
‘Mate, I haven’t seen you in—what—must be almost a year now? Fucken lovely set of wheels. V8, yeah?’
I shook my head.
‘Righto. How’s Steph going, then? You and her tied the knot yet?’
‘Nah. She sends her regards,’ I said quietly, sniffing and pinching my septum.
‘Does she? Nice girl, that one. Ah look, come on inside, away from this fucken stink. You sort of get used to it after a while and forget how bad it is. You remember the boys?’
I nodded acknowledgement. Freddy waved the two men away. The one carrying the shotgun plonked himself down in a swing chair, resting the gun across his lap. I noticed it was still casually pointed in my general direction, but that was all right. Better to be cautious in this business. The dog lunged forward and snapped at my legs. I had to take a step back. Freddy was furious, spittle foaming at the corner of his lips.
‘Bring that fucken mutt to heel, Johnno, for fuck sake.’
‘Sorry, Freddy,’ the heavy man mumbled, dragging the pit bull away. He tied it up to the Hill’s Hoist that rotated slowly in the slight breeze. Half a dozen small T-shirts hung stiffly on the line. Freddy had two boys. I’d hoped they would be away, in school maybe. Then I remem
bered it was summer holidays.
As we entered the house Freddy adopted a more serious air. I had my shirt open at the neck, for effect, and he was staring.
‘How’s the burns, mate? Still giving you gyp?’
‘They’d be fine if everyone didn’t feel compelled to point them out to me all the time.’
‘Oh yeah, sorry, sorry about that. It’s just, well…’
An awkward moment passed while I waited for Freddy to do or say something. Blokes like him are all the same. All you have to do is stand there and glare at them, no talk, no questions. Eventually they’ll spill their guts of their own accord.
Freddy’s eyes were darting all over the shop as his tiny brain tried to work an angle that could get him out of the shit. ‘Come out the back, meet the missus and kids,’ he proposed, all pally.
‘Lead on.’
The back of the house opened onto a surprisingly clean swimming pool. The two boys frolicked in the water, splashing each other and doing laps. They were both wearing plastic clothes pegs on their noses. Their tanned, rake-thin mother lay poolside on a white plastic lounger. She was wearing blue bikini bottoms and a pair of Dolce & Gabbana dinner-plate sunglasses, undoubtedly fake. She peered at us over her sunnies, pulling them down her sharp nose with a bony forefinger. Her features were pinched, ribcage visible, small breasts wrinkled before their time.
‘Put your titties away, Ange. We’ve a visitor, for fuck sake.’
She scrabbled to snatch up her bikini top, fastening it quickly around her chest. She smiled weakly and I saw then she was pretty far gone down the glass highway. She looked like an extra from a Romero film.
‘I’ll get the tea on,’ she said, coughing and gathering up her stuff. ‘Keep an eye on the boys, Freddy. Watch they don’t drown each other.’
Freddy nodded grimly. ‘Yeah. Bring some biscuits out too, Ange. The good ones, not them cheap Tim Tam knockoffs.’ He gestured to a white plastic chair that matched the lounger. I took a seat, stretching my legs out and squinting against the sun. Freddy sat down on the other side of the flimsy table. We watched his kids splash around for a bit before I noticed a life-size Thomas the Tank Engine smiling creepily at me from the paddock behind the pool. Its paint was faded and peeling, and it was listing at an odd angle. I craned my neck for a better look. There was a ten-foot-tall plastic T. rex on its side in the dirt next to it.
‘Where’d you get those?’
‘Ah, the kids wanted them. Flood-damaged bits of some old theme park down in Victoria. Paid a hundred bucks each for them.’
‘A bargain.’
‘So, how’s business? Must be good if you’re driving around in a beast like that.’
‘I was going to ask you the same thing, Freddy.’
He scrunched up his face and spoke slowly. ‘What do ya mean? I work for you, Ben. You’re the king round here. The glass is all yours.’
‘All of it?’
‘Of course, yeah.’
I nodded and stretched out a crick in my neck. ‘Right. It is all mine, isn’t it?’
He was about to respond but I stopped him by wagging my finger. ‘I pay you to manufacture the product and I deal with distribution. This is a production facility. No crystal is actually sold from here because, well, it’s not yours to sell, is it? Maybe the odd Adidas employee flogs a pair of sneakers out the back of the factory now and then, but the worst that can happen to them if they get caught is they lose their job. You know how the Taliban punished thieves in Afghanistan? This is before we arrived to civilise the place, of course. Amputation of the hands. Barbaric. You can see where they’re coming from, though. An effective deterrent.’
‘Now hold on a minute, Ben, I didn’t know who he was. He rocked up here looking to buy seven grand’s worth of ice and said he was working for you…’
‘So he used my name. It didn’t occur to you to call me and verify that?’
‘Well, no. I mean, I probably should have but he seemed legit and he said it was your money, not his. I figured you was busy and just sent someone for a re-up.’
‘It was my money, Freddy. He stole it from me.’
‘I didn’t know that, mate—how could I?’
‘And how did he know to come here? You got an ad in the local paper? Flyers with your number on ’em stuck to lampposts in Nowra?’
‘I don’t know. I thought you sent him, for fuck sake.’
Ange padded back out through the screen door, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits. She beat a hasty retreat. I picked up one of the biscuits, dunked it in my tea and began sucking the chocolate off it.
‘Not bad. But unless these are the fanciest fucken biscuits money can buy, I believe you owe me seven large, Freddy.’
‘Sure, sure. I’ve got it for you. Well, not all of it, but I’ll have it for you in a day or two.’
I laughed quietly and shook my head, popping the rest of the biscuit in my mouth and swallowing.
‘Now that I think about it, you actually owe me fourteen thou, since you gave away seven grand’s worth of my glass.’
‘Yeah. Suppose that’s right enough. I can’t really get that back for you, though.’
‘I know Freddy, I know.’ I took another biscuit and dipped it in the tea. ‘These are pretty fancy. Ange has good taste in bickies.’ I waved to his kids as I sipped the tea. Earl Grey, it was. Really hit the spot. ‘That’s why I’ll be content to take the seven grand in cash and the other seven out of your useless fucken hide.’
I set the mug down on the tray and rose to walk to the edge of the pool. I crouched down by the water and the kids swam over to me.
‘Listen, you boys better go inside and dry off. That’s enough swimming for now.’
The lads exchanged a puzzled look, then to his credit the older one said, ‘Fuck off, mister, you’re not my da.’ That tickled me, it really did.
‘Ah well, have it your way. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Freddy was out of his chair by then, unsure whether he should run or stand his ground. He probably didn’t really believe I’d give him a hiding right there in front of his kids. He was frantically trying to work out how much physical damage equated to seven thousand bucks, and if he could afford it. He tried to fight me off and backed into the plastic table and chairs, sending them flying. One of the chairs skittered away and slid into the pool. The kids were frozen in the water, their mouths hanging open in shock. Thomas the Tank Engine looked on impassively, stupid grin still plastered across his face as he watched me slap the not-so-Fat Controller around.
Ange came running just as I was administering some blows to Freddy’s kidneys. She was squealing for me to let him go and for a second I thought I was going to have to whack her one too, which I really didn’t want to do. I have principles. Fortunately the two blokes in Freddy’s crew also made an appearance. The big one threw his hands up in the air and turned away, shaking his head. The other bloke in the singlet had his shottie at the ready. Fair play to him, he met my eye as I angled Freddy’s body between us just in case, his neck in the crook of my arm. He surprised me then by making a real smart move. Ange was making a beeline for me, her thongs flapping against the concrete, painted fingernails at the ready. Casual as you like the young bloke stepped up sharply and grabbed her by the arm. She cursed him and tried to break free so he flung her onto the grass and turned the shotgun on her.
‘Stay there, Ange,’ he said coolly, ‘the boss is in a meeting.’
Shit, I was so impressed I let Freddy go after only a thousand bucks’ worth of a hiding. He couldn’t take much more than that anyway. He sprawled forward and almost fell in the pool, collapsing in an unruly heap by the water’s edge. I nodded to the bloke with the shotgun and he lowered it, allowing Ange to crawl to her husband.
‘Remind me of your name,’ I said to the young guy.
‘It’s Patrick. Patrick Gray, from Nowra.’
‘Your friends call you Paddy?’
&nb
sp; ‘Not within earshot, if they know what’s good for them.’
How could I not like him? If I hadn’t needed someone I could at least half trust there on the farm keeping an eye on things, I would’ve had him running the Target Ball stand that very night. I flipped Freddy over with the toe of my boot and crouched down beside him.
‘You have two days to get that seven grand, Freddy McNamara, otherwise Patrick Gray here’s going to take your hands off with a hacksaw. And once you do get it, you’re to give it directly to him.’ I looked up at my latest recruit. ‘You keep that money, Patrick. That’s your retainer, and there’ll be more where that came from. Call me if you think anything here’s not running as smoothly as it should be.’
‘Yes, Mr Wallace.’
The plastic chair clattered out of the pool behind me. Freddy’s two sons climbed out after it, pulling up their sodden swim trunks, all thin, gangly limbs, flattened hair and scared eyes. It was a scorcher of a day, but they were both shivering.
It’s easy to go insane working at the Kingdom without something else to do. Steph and I were so desperate for a distraction from the daily grind that we even paid Cactus World in Gilgandra a visit. The fucken place was closed for a holiday, so we had to settle for a glimpse of some bloke’s extensive collection of cacti through a wire fence. It was devastating, in a funny sort of way. Clearly we needed to get out more.
‘How many of the “big” things have you seen?’ Steph asked me as we climbed reluctantly back into the ute.
‘Not that many,’ I told her, thinking about it. ‘The Big Worm, the Big Yabby and the Big Merino are the only ones I remember.’
‘Oh yeah, that big sheep’s a popular one.’
‘You must have seen loads.’ Steph had travelled right around Australia when she was younger and even more of a hippie.