The Glass Kingdom

by Chris Flynn

  Woke up in the hospital with some rough-as-guts motherfucker I’d never clocked before sittin’ by my bedside, keepin’ guard sort of thing. Official story was I’d had an accident on the show, got my ankle crushed in one of the rides. No mention of a psychotic former soldier wielding a club hammer from Bunnings.

  Kept me on the ward a couple days ’fore they sent me back to the Kingdom on a crutch. Nervous-lookin’ doc said I’d have to keep the cast on for a month, maybe more, but even then the bone would never knit anythin’ like it was before. I’d have a limp the rest of my days an’ wouldn’t be runnin’ the hunnerd metres for Straya after all. An’ he didn’t think I’d ever be able to wear sneakers again. Not enough support, he says. Too painful if I rolled the ankle. Dumb motherfucker obv ain’t never heard of hi-tops. Plenty of choice out there for b-ballers an’ limpin’ cripples like myself. Gonna hit me up Rebel Sport soon as I crack this plaster biatch open.

  Music career be on hold for the time bein’, I guess, probs TV show pitches too. Doc said I had to be religious with the meds, so there goes my flow. Hepped up on painkillers now, so I’s gettin’ weird dreams an’ I can’t really think straight most of the time. Pretty zonked, for reals. Just ’bout all I can handle is sittin’ here in Target Ball, makin’ up stories ’bout what happened to my foot when the clems ask, takin’ their money an’ not even botherin’ with no ballyhoo to draw ’em in. Tweakers come round as always, a steady stream of balding, toothless assholes seekin’ the legendary blue koala. Everyone’s a winner, ain’t that the truth.

  Been like that for a week or two now, kinda lost track if I’s truthful. Ain’t no real artifice to it no more, neither. Everybody on the Kingdom knows what sort of business goes down here. They turns a blind eye. Most of ’em just ignore me. They don’t want to get involved, an’ I don’t blame ’em. Once in a while someone comes round though, to say alakazam an’ maybe bring me a coffee or a sandwich so’s they don’t have to watch me strugglin’ down the alley on my crutch, a reminder to everyone on the show ’bout the price of admission. Ain’t even worth statin’ what the penalty’d be next time I stray. Not that I could anyways. Be months afore I can walk unassisted an’ the doc says I may not be able to drive again without some pain, so I’s stayin’ put an’ everybody knows it, Ben most of all.

  Runnin’ the blue-koala line without hardly any interference at all now. Tally up the poke at the end of the night an’ hand it over, get my re-up in the mornin’ and repeat. Now that I’s hobbled, Ben trusts me to get the job done. Well, it ain’t strictly that he trusts me, more that he knows he owns me, mind, body an’ soul. Sad, ain’t it? How the mighty Mekong Delta has fallen. Can’t really go much lower neither. Course, if there’s a way, I’ll probs find it. I ain’t nothin’ if not reliable in that there department.

  Kingdom been all over the joint since Nambour. Flittin’ around the state, settin’ up here an’ there, fillin’ showgrounds an’ bringin’ entertainment to the sweaty QLD masses. S’been all a blur to me. I’s back to sleepin’ on a camp bed in the stall an’ pissin’ in a bucket in the corner. Can’t really roam much further.

  Amazin’ what you can get used to, though. Tried to do me a full tour of the showgrounds here in Toowoomba yesterday mornin’ ’fore we opened for business. Don’t want the one good leg I gots left to waste away. S’weird, I kinda got more friends on the show now than I ever did before. Probs they just feels sorry for my ass.

  Got me a few tips from Boris the strongman. Most I ever spoke to the dude. He dropped the Russian super-soldier experiment act an’ showed me a weights routine to help my rehabilitation. Gotta build my upper-body strength, he reckons, take the weight off that foot. Sho’ nuff that’s some good advice, an’ I sure ’preciated him bein’ straight with me. He even gave me a couple small dumbbells so’s I can do curls while I’m sittin’ round in the stall sweatin’ my ass off all day.

  My diet been healthier too since the, uh, accident. Delia from Shark Bites been bringin’ me soup an’ the odd stir fry. Makes a change from all the deep-fried shit I been wolfin’ these past months an’ I’s feelin’ a little less zonked every day. I suppose this is what the clems call normal. ’Bout as close to it as I gets, anyways.

  Still, it don’t raise the spirits much visitin’ with the old carnies that been on the Kingdom most of their lives. Boris got hounded out of the bodybuilder circuit ’cos he was queer, an’ he got that sadness on his clock for all to see. Then there’s Voltan, what calls hisself the Master of Electricity. Old coot wears a purple leotard with a V cut out the chest. Grey hairs stickin’ out the gap match the eyebrows standin’ ninety degrees out from his face ’cos of all the shocks he took to the dome. Also, motherfucker wears a cape, an’ no shoes. He be carryin’ some sad story too, ’bout a wife an’ daughter got burned up in the bushfires years back.

  The Doc’s another one like him. Gotta be ’bout eighty years old an’ still ridin’ the Wall of Death on his old Norton, pet ferret stickin’ out his pants. Word is once that little critter buys the farm the Doc’s gonna fuck up one of his stunts on purpose an’ go out in a ball of fire. Way things are goin’ I’ll probs be still here when it happens, the oldest fucken ice dealer in town.

  Suppose that’s my future, right there in them dusty trailers. If I don’t do time for slingin’ meth, I’ll end up as some eccentric old coot with a novelty act, a flea circus maybes, or offerin’ to put the clems in touch with dead relatives. Step right up, folks, come see the man who’s been slingin’ ice since before you were a twinkle in yo’ momma’s eye. Mekong Delta, medium and spirit guide, off his clock with meds an’ madness, limpin’ around the Kingdom sometime in the year twenty thirty-four, not even able to remember how I got there. A crystal casualty, a relic, spoutin’ some arcane hip-hop flow from the days of yore. Roll up, roll up, laydeez an’ gentlemen, my swag be trill, fo’ shiz, an’ that’s the triple truth.

  Yo, this must be her now, boss. Shit, you can’t really mistake that growl, huh?

  I warned her about Fords, but she wouldn’t listen.

  Oh, come on, you got to admit that’s a classic. What year is it—sixty-seven?

  Sixty-four. Fuck knows how many times it’s been rebuilt.

  Don’t matter though, right? S’just a show car. Ain’t like she’s gonna race it or nothin’.

  What’s the betting something goes wrong with it within, say, six weeks?

  You’s the expert, boss. I just like how it sounds. Mus-tang. Pretty dope, though I can’t say much for the colour. What is that, yellow? Orange? Kinda makes my eyeballs bleed.

  You’ll get no arguments from me. She wanted pink, but I couldn’t find one. The good news is, the Datsun’s yours now. Funny how that worked out.

  ’Preciate that, dawg, but the docs say I can’t drive.

  Isn’t that cast due to come off soon?

  Couple more days, they said. Yo, is it Steph’s birthday or somethin’? Thought she was a Virgo.

  Yeah, nah, it’s just a perk. Too much cash building up, she said we had to get rid of some.

  Hey, if you’s handin’ out gifts, I always fancied me a jet ski.

  What the fuck would you do with a jet ski, Mikey?

  Travel round Australia. Y’know, in the water, like.

  Yeah, I got that. For why?

  Dunno. Just to see the coastline from a different perspective. Can’t be many guys done it.

  Uh-huh. And when were you planning on doing this?

  Yeah, about that. Don’t suppose this job comes with twenty days’ annual leave?

  Nah, and there’s no fucken super, right.

  What about when we’re up north this winter? Couldn’t I take a couple of weeks off then, go see my moms?

  We’ll see. Don’t get your hopes up.

  Shit, look at them crowdin’ round her. I’d be worried ’bout all the attention a ride like that attracts, I was you.

  Like I never thought of that.

  An’ if you don’t mind me sayin’, has Steph pu
t on weight? She be lookin’ a little, uhh, what’s a polite way of puttin’ this—a little more voluptuous?

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  A’ight, don’t get your back up, I’s just sayin’ she looks a little rotund to me. She been hitting the fried dimmies pretty hard of late, or what?

  What fucken business is it of yours if she has?

  None. None of my beeswax. Forget I said it. Let’s move on to the next topic ’fore I ain’t got no legs left to stand on.

  This may come as a surprise, but I’m probably going to have to promote you.

  Fo’ reals? Wait, don’t tell me. Regional sales manager, right? You want me to hit the road an’ hawk the product, drum up some new custom, go cold callin’.

  That’s about it, actually.

  Bullshit.

  It’s basically what you were doing anyway after you stole Steph’s car that time. Going through small towns, talking to locals, creating demand.

  Yeah, but that was different, homes. I was on the lam an’ just tryin’ to offload my supply, turn a quick buck.

  I’m about to lay my hands on a considerable amount of crystal and I want to move it as quickly as possible. You can help me with that.

  S’pose I could, but seriously? You’d trust me to do that after all the, uh, misunderstandings ’tween us?

  Oh, I wouldn’t send you out alone, Mikey. I know you’d never come back. You’d have a partner, someone with explicit instructions for how to proceed in the event of you doing another fucken runner. Or should I say stumble.

  No need to rub my nose in it. An’ when would this wonderful rural adventure begin?

  This winter.

  What about my holidays?

  I said not to get your hopes up about that.

  Yeah, yeah, thanks a fucken bunch. It sounds just dandy, drivin’ round Queensland with some dirty fucken greaser as my conjoined twin, gettin’ teens hooked on ice.

  Thug life. Isn’t that what you always wanted?

  Didn’t figure it would be quite so glamorous.

  Quit whining. You could’ve died several times already this year. You want today’s re-up or not?

  Sure thing, but look, why don’t you go for a spin with the lady of the house first, see if y’all can overcome your prejudice concernin’ the Ford Motor Company. Maybes once you is behind the wheel you’ll be converted by the convertible, you feel me? I can hold the fort here. I got your six.

  And you won’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, no dumb moves?

  Scout’s honour…Yo, Steph, ride be trill, girl. Props. I’s just tellin’ your nearest an’ dearest here that you two lovebirds oughta head on out for a romantic drive round the hills or somethin’.

  It’s getting this one into the passenger seat of a Ford that’s the problem.

  Nah, look, I’ll go with you. Just let me bring some tools, so we’re prepared for the inevitable.

  Really? You want to take her out?

  So long as I don’t have to drive.

  Oh don’t worry, nobody’s driving this but me.

  Glass House Mountains ain’t far. Heard there’s a good lookout, an’ it is a weekday so maybes you two’ll find a nice private spot for some sweeeet lo-vin’ action, knowhumsayin’?

  Are we leaving this in charge?

  I was thinking about it.

  Do we trust it now?

  No, but he’s not going anywhere. The alternator on the Datsun’s still fucked and it’s a long walk to Brisbane.

  Even longer with a limp. All right, let’s go before we get caught up with something.

  Remember what I said, Mikey. No fucking around.

  Five by five, you is in the pipe. Y’all have a good time now, y’hear?

  That’s right, motherfucker, you take off for a drive in your girlfriend’s fancy ride an’ hope nobody from Five-O’s got eyes on you, dawg. A fun day out for all the family—nothin’ to see here, officers, just a couple o’ small-time carnies with so much chedda they’s rollin’ in a pristine vintage Mustang that musta cost thirty grand.

  An’ did you clock that bling around Steph’s neck? Damn, least someone been enjoyin’ the fruits of my labours but it probs ain’t too smart advertisin’ her newfound wealth like that, am I right? Woman be hatin’ on me ever since I snatched the Datch an’ I wouldn’t be the faintest bit surprised if it was her sicced the dogs on me an’ told ’em to bring me back minus one foot. She been warmin’ to the bidness like a brown snake out sunbathin’ on the bitumen. Ben be the power playa but Steph, well, she fast becomin’ the numbers operator. Got it all totted up on her fucken MacBook, spreadsheets an’ everything. God damn Excel witch, that one, keepin’ the accounts nice an’ clean. Ain’t five cents don’t go unaccounted for.

  Worst part of it is, she don’t even refer to me by name. Fact she can’t even bring herself to say ‘him’ or ‘the kid’ or ‘asshole’ or nothin’. Just calls me it or this with a look on her face like she done just stepped in somethin’ real unpleasant. How much did it make today? What time is it opening the stall? It puts the fucken lotion in the basket. I’s just some Gollum-type motherfucker to her an’ that’s why I gots to keep sweet with Corporal Wallace, Shabu Division. Seems he’s the lesser of two weevils.

  Least I got the day to myself for a change. Kingdom ain’t open till tonight an’ less’n any tweakers comes lookin’ to score I’s free to enjoy the sights and sounds of glorious outer Toowoomba. Be still my beatin’ heart. Not exactly in the best shape for strollin’ round the shops seekin’ bargains an’ I don’t got no chedda anyways. Steph’s got me on a choke chain far as that goes. Tugs it every night till I coughs up every dollar of what I made, slingin’ crystal and throwin’ hoops. Ain’t got five bucks to my name. All’s I can do is go lookin’ for teenagers an’ try to scrounge a ciggie from them, maybes a hit from a Slurpee if I’s lucky.

  Way them clouds is formin’ today I doubt they’ll be gone long anyways. Ben’s probs thinkin’ he’ll get some action for agreein’ to ride in her tan Mustang, damn if it don’t look the colour of diarrhoea, not that I’d ever say nothin’. If it was me an’ my girl I’d find us one of those dirt roads leadin’ off into the forest, park under a tree in the shade and break out the blanket, spread that mofo out on the grass down by a quiet little creek. Kinda honey I’d be with’d probs strip down to her skin right there, knowin’ there was nobody around an’ not givin’ much of a fuck anyways if there was.

  Maybes we’d wade into the creek an’ get shocked by how cold the water was on our asses when we sat down. Come out shiverin’ even though it be thirty somethin’ degrees an’ throw ourselves down on that blanket to let the sun dry us off. She’d get me to rub sunscreen into her back then an’ hup the ass would go in the air all ready an’ willin’ an’ waitin’ for me to do what I gots to do.

  Maybes a couple wallabies would come out the trees while we was doin’ it an’ turn their heads sideways to watch. That would make us laugh an’ she’d turn around then so I got the full-frontal effect. Man, I’d Yogi Bear that pic-a-nic basket. We’d just be workin’ up a sweat when it’d start to rain but that wouldn’t stop us, just the two of us out there in the wild like animals, like…hold up, whisky tango foxtrot motherfucker, I just felt drops. Yeah, here it comes, fo’ reals. Here comes the deluge.

  The Kingdom be eerie now there ain’t hardly nobody left. Twelve hours of constant stingin’ rain. Been a cray night, hardly got no sleep ’cos I was stumblin’ around in the dark like everybody else, tryin’ to protect what rides we could from the water ’fore all the hands done cleared out. The Ferris wheel an’ carousel ain’t never seen so much rain an’ they is already old, so if the damp gets in it’s curtains. Corrosion, you feel me? Maybes we don’t notice it straightaway but next summer when there’s a dozen kiddies on the big wheel an’ one of the struts snaps an’ the whole thing comes tumblin’ down? Fucken nightmare. We’d all be out of a job, not to mention havin’ the blood of some maimed half pints on our hands.

&nb
sp; Weren’t no time to dismantle the big rides, so they’s gettin’ left behind till all this blows over. Plenty of places to hole up, though, an’ wait for my chance. Ben an’ Steph took off an hour ago, didn’t even notice me lurkin’ behind. ’Spose they thought I’d hitch a ride with somebody else, that I wouldn’t have the balls to run again. Been hidin’ out in one of the portaloos ever since, tryin’ to formulate a plan. Fucken stinks in here.

  Or maybe it’s just me. Not exactly dressed for inclement weather. This old Dockers shirt seen better days. Stuck with me, though. Been tore up the side, sewed back together, had my blood on it more times than I can count, souvlaki an’ sauce stains come and gone—yessiree, you gots to hand it to Freo, we don’t never quit even if the rain is lashin’ down an’ we is tired an’ beat an’ carryin’ a bad injury. Still got somethin’ left in the tank, enough for one last foray forward to try an’ kick the winning goal.

  Made me an executive decision to crack open that plaster cast on my foot ’cos it was slowin’ me down so bad. Probs too early but the damn thing was gettin’ in the way. Foot didn’t look that bad when I saw it. Still swole an’ black-lookin’, but at least I was able to give it a good old scratchin’ an’ a wash. Wrapped ’er up in a clean bandage an’ even managed to get one of my Nikes on, though I had to make some alterations that damn near broke my heart. Cut the heel section out completely so I’s wearin’ it kinda like a slip-on. Ain’t gonna win no design award but leastways I can walk normal, in a manner of speakin’. Still got the crutch to keep the weight off it, but I do feel relieved seein’ it out that fucken plaster.

  Rain be poundin’ down real hard now on the roof of my less-than-salubrious temporary accommodations. Can’t hardly hear myself think all up in here. Needs me a bit of luck, but surely I must be due my annual quota. Ain’t caught a break all summer. Just gotta wait it out here for a bit longer till I’m in the clear, then hoof it.