by Scott Monk
‘Rebecca!’
‘The one and only,’ she said, waving a beer bottle in the air. ‘Who else would it be?’
‘What do you want?’ he growled.
‘I — I —’ Rebecca paused and gave a drunken grin. ‘I can’t remember,’ she laughed. ‘I came to ask you something but I’ve forgotten. No, wait! I remember. I came to ask you —’
BUUURRRPPP!
Finished, Rebecca cracked up laughing and walked round front of him. She kept laughing until she swayed to one side and Brett was forced to catch her. ‘Here for me again, hey Brett?’
‘C’mon, get off me, would you.’
He pushed the redhead off him but she just crashed back into his shoulder.
‘Whoops-a-daisy!’ she laughed. ‘I don’t think gravity likes me tonight.’
It’s not the only one, Brett thought.
‘Hey!’ she said, sniffing. ‘What’s that smell? Do you have aftershave on tonight, Bretty?’
‘Rebecca.’
‘You do, don’t you? Out to score, huh?’
Brett pushed her off him more forcefully this time. Rebecca stumbled back a few steps before coming to a stop. ‘Da-dah! See, I’m all right. I can stand on my own three — ooops, two — feet.’
She didn’t last long, however. Her knees buckled and fwoomp! she crashed onto the ground. ‘Whoa. Headspin,’ she said, sitting in the dirt and clutching her temples. ‘Help me up, Brett. I don’t feel so well.’
Brett huffed and reached out his hand. Rebecca grabbed it and pulled herself up. ‘Whoops,’ she said, slamming her body into his. ‘Naughty, naughty, Brett. We ain’t going out any more, remember.’
Quickly, Brett stepped away and cut her off before she said anything more. ‘Where’s your boyfriend, Rebecca?’
‘Who?’
‘That guy Joe.’
‘Joe? Joe? Joe?’ she repeated. ‘Oh! Joe! My boyfriend! I remember now. That’s why I came into town. I can’t find him anywhere. I thought he might be here.’
‘Well, I haven’t seen him.’
‘You haven’t? Where is he then?’
‘Where did you see him last?’
‘At the show an hour ago. He said he’d be right back after his — his — oh, whatever it’s called.’
‘Ride?’
‘Yer, ride.’
‘Where did he say he’d meet you?’
‘Here.’
‘Where “here”?’
‘Here.’
‘No, where? Here at this spot, or here at the rodeo?’
‘At the rodeo … I think.’
Brett looked in the direction of the showground and breathed deeply. Rebecca wouldn’t make it back on her own. And nobody was about to take her back. Why did she have to run into him now?
Fighting Rebecca to release the death grip on her beer, Brett set the bottle on the ground. He tucked himself under one of her arms and sighed. Frog would have to wait.
Grunting as he walked, he shifted Rebecca from one side to the other when his shoulder became numb. She was barely conscious now and kept tripping over her own feet or sagging back to the ground, forcing him to pick her up again. After the first few times Brett couldn’t bear it any more. He was angry with Caitlyn’s parents. And now he was angrier he had to play nurse. If Rebecca wanted to rile him any more all she had to do was fall off one more time or say —
‘Brett, I don’t feel so well.’
Urgently, he rolled her off his shoulder and onto the ground next to the pub just in time. Head down, his ex heaved in long throaty hurls. The stink was so bad Brett crossed the road to get away from it. Five minutes later, Rebecca wiped her mouth and brushed back her red hair. Her face was white and her eyes distant. And she reeked.
‘I can’t go any further, Brett,’ she said in a weak voice. ‘I’m staying here.’
‘You can’t stay here,’ he said.
‘I’m tired. I just want to lie down.’
She rested her head on her hands, using the ground as a bed. Brett thought she was kidding but apparently she wasn’t. He had to shake her to stop her falling asleep. ‘Rebecca, wake up.’
‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I’m sick.’
‘No kidding. C’mon. Let’s go.’
‘No.’
‘Rebecca,’ he said, grabbing her hand.
‘No.’
‘Rebecca!’
‘Nooo!’
‘Fine! Stay there. See if I care.’
Brett let go and left her there. He stormed down the street and kicked anything within reach. ‘Great!’ he shouted. ‘Just great!’
His voice echoed throughout the empty streets and a dog barked. He stopped and tried to cool off until he realised that he too had better make it to the rendezvous point. He had to find Frog and get out of here.
Brett walked back along the main street, convinced he wouldn’t find the kid. He’d searched everywhere without even a sighting. But he double-checked once again just to make sure. The kid had to be nearby. Finally, Brett’s bladder got the better of him. He needed a slash. He crossed the road to the toilet block next to the Barwon and was about to walk in when he heard two voices. One was Frog’s.
He peered round a corner.
A tall man with a goatee was unwrapping a piece of foil in front of the kid. Frog was keen on seeing what was inside. The man was smiling and smooth-talking. Robbie was wide-mouthed and naïve.
‘C’mon kid, try some,’ the dealer said. ‘Everybody’s doing it. Y’ain’t chicken are you?’
‘No. No, I’m not,’ Frog said, puffing up his chest. ‘How much is it?’
‘Nothing. The first one’s on the house.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘No catch. You go and try it. If you like it, bring your money with you later, that’s all. Tell your friends too.’
The dealer put the foil in Frog’s hand. ‘What do you say?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s right. You’ll never know until you try it.’
Frog looked down at his hand and the dealer grinned. Brett knew that grin. It was Smiling Joe — Rebecca’s lost boyfriend.
‘Give it back to him, Robbie,’ Brett warned, stepping forward.
Smiling Joe and Frog jumped. But Brett didn’t find it funny. He walked up to the pair, mad. Here was this twenty-five-year-old trying to peddle his lies to a twelve-year-old kid. Nothing was free in this world, especially dope. Once Robbie liked it, he’d be Smiling Joe’s number one customer.
‘Who are you?’ the cowboy asked, his breath, like Rebecca’s, reeking of grog.
‘A friend of the kid,’ Brett answered.
‘So?’
‘I’m here to take him back home.’
‘Unh-uh. You ain’t taking him anywhere. Me and the kid are doing business.’
‘Yer, I can see that. That’s why I’m taking him home.’ Turning to Frog, Brett said, ‘C’mon, we’re out of here.’
Smiling Joe snaked between Brett and the twelve-year-old. ‘Sorry, but the kid’s not going anywhere.’
‘Yes he is.’
‘No, he isn’t.’
Smiling Joe bore his eyes down at Brett and blocked the exit. The cowboy stood over one ninety centimetres. Brett was only one seventy three. The older guy definitely had a height advantage.
‘Hey,’ Brett said, holding up his arms in front of him. ‘I don’t want to get into a fight. Just let me take the kid —’
‘You don’t hear so good, do you? The kid’s going nowhere.’
And to make his point, Smiling Joe pushed Brett.
‘Don’t touch me,’ Brett warned.
Smiling Joe did it again. ‘Why not?’
And again.
‘Because —’
Brett lashed out with his fists and hit both times. Smiling Joe retaliated high and slow. But the cowboy had had too many drinks that night to be a real threat. Brett easily blocked the attack and struck back with three quick blows of his own. Smiling Joe collapsed, c
lutching his stomach.
‘— it hurts!’
‘Whoa!’ Frog said, watching from a corner. ‘You can fight.’
‘Yer, and you’ll be next if you don’t drop that and get out of here.’
Frog ditched the dope as Brett dragged him out of the toilets. The sixteen-year-old was keen on getting out of there before Smiling Joe stood up to challenge him to a rematch. The kid was whingeing his arm hurt but Brett told him if the cowboy caught them then Frog’s puny twelve-year-old body would be hurting a whole lot more. The pair collided with someone waiting for them at the entrance. Brett raised his fists defensively. He forgot Smiling Joe might’ve had some muscle watching his back. But Brett recognised the face.
‘What are you doing here?’
But the guy didn’t have a chance to answer. Suddenly the three of them were caught by a set of headlights.
‘There they are!’ Sam called out from the 4WD. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble, young man,’ he pointed at Frog.
Brett ignored him and pushed Robbie towards the vehicle. ‘Get in,’ he said.
‘Ouch! Don’t!’
‘Get in the car, Frog.’
The kid saw Brett’s face and didn’t have to be told a third time.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sam demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Brett said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Hey, lover boy! You and that brunette named your kids yet?’ one of the guys bottle-feeding calves alongside Brett yelled out.
‘Yer, we saw you score last night and were wondering if she’s got any friends?’ another wiseguy added.
‘She does but they’re all too good for you lot,’ Brett shot back.
They all crowed at that one.
‘Hear that, guys? Dalton gets lucky and thinks he’s too good for the rest of us trash.’
‘Yer, maybe we should trash him.’
‘At least I got lucky, Jamieson. You’re going to be in a retirement home before you do — and that’s only playing bingo!’
Everyone cracked up big-time. Except Jamieson, of course. He got hot and flustered, trying to spit out a comeback, before throwing the milk bottle away and storming off.
‘Going to count how many grey hairs you’ve got, man?’ a smart-mouth shouted.
The remaining guys laughed again until one of them elbowed Brett and urged him to turn round. He did so and felt his stomach flip. It was Sergeant Kenny in his 4WD. No doubt he was here to ask about the night before.
‘Sam,’ Sergeant Kenny nodded, closing the 4WD’s door behind him.
‘Kenny,’ the old man replied. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’d like to have a word with one of your boys if you don’t mind.’
‘Which one?’
The cop glanced past Sam and pointed with his eyes. ‘Brett Dalton.’
‘Why? What’s Brett done?’
‘That’s what I want to find out,’ Sergeant Kenny answered.
The cop and Sam turned towards Brett who tried to remain cool. The guys standing next to him, however, coughed before walking away to a safe distance within earshot. Brett waited until Sam and Sergeant Kenny stopped behind him.
‘Hello, Brett,’ the cop said.
‘G’day.’ Brett let the calf suck the last few drops from the milk bottle.
‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about last night.’
Brett flinched. ‘What about it?’
‘I’m interested in what happened just before we found you.’
‘I was looking for Robbie like you were.’
‘Were you with anyone?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did you meet up with anyone then while you were looking for Robbie?’
‘Yer. An old friend of mine. From Sydney.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘It’s a her.’
‘Okay, what’s her name?’
‘Rebecca.’
‘Rebecca who?’
‘Rebecca Sharpe.’
Sergeant Kenny pulled a pad from his top pocket and flipped it open to check something written down.
‘What’s this all about?’ Brett asked.
‘Anyone else?’
‘No, but that doesn’t answer my —’
‘You sure? It doesn’t have to be a friend. It could be, say, a guy you met on the street.’
‘Well, there was this one guy —’
‘What guy?’
‘Just some guy.’
‘Describe him.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can’t or you won’t?’
Hello! A loaded question. The cop was trying to trap him. But Brett was smarter than that. ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It was dark. I couldn’t see him clearly.’
‘How dark?’
‘What’s this all about, Kenny?’ Sam said, stepping in. About time. By the tone of the conversation, it sounded like Brett needed a lawyer.
The sergeant raised his hat to let the heat escape then lowered it again. ‘One of the rodeo riders says Brett assaulted him last night in the toilets.’
‘What?’ Brett choked.
Sam silenced him with an outstretched hand. ‘When?’
‘Just before we spotted them,’ the sergeant answered. ‘The man claims Brett and Robbie asked him for his wallet. When he wouldn’t give it to them, they assaulted him.’
‘That’s a lie!’
‘Brett.’
‘Well it is, Sam. The guy was hassling Frog and I stopped him.’
‘How did you stop him?’ the sergeant asked.
Brett was about to tell Kenny but caught himself. He had to say this the right way or he could end up in jail for the night.
‘I grabbed Robbie and I guess I pushed the guy out of the way.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yer, I’m sure. Why?’
‘Because the victim’s face has got bruises all over it. It looks like someone punched him.’
‘Well I didn’t do it,’ Brett said. ‘The guy probably picked a fight with someone and lost.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. Anybody.’
The sergeant stared at Brett and waited to see if Brett was going to add anything more. When he didn’t, the cop looked down at his notepad. ‘This Rebecca Sharpe. You said she’s a friend of yours. What kind of friend?’
‘I don’t know. Just a friend.’
‘Have you ever been romantically linked with her?’
‘What kind of question is that?’ Brett asked.
‘Have you?’
Brett looked away and sighed. ‘Yer, but we broke up three weeks ago.’
‘Did you know she’s going out with the guy you assaulted last night?’
‘Look, I didn’t hit any guy last night, all right? I just pushed him out of the way because he was hassling Robbie. Ask Robbie if you don’t believe me.’
‘Don’t worry. I will.’
Which meant Brett was dead. Frog would crack when the cop started asking questions. And without any proof that the cowboy was selling drugs the night before, Brett’s alibi would be useless. He’d be up for assault and his days here at The Farm would be finished. All because he thought he was doing something right.
‘I think you and me should go down to the station and talk some more,’ the sergeant said.
‘Now wait a minute, Kenny —’
‘Sam, I’m sorry, but there’s a man at the station with a busted jaw. I have to find out who’s telling the truth. You can ride to the station with me and be Brett’s legal guardian while I question him —’
‘He didn’t do it,’ a voice said from the stables. Brett, Sam, Sergeant Kenny and all the guys standing nearby twisted their heads to see who had spoken. Josh fully pushed open the stable’s wooden doors and showed himself.
‘And how do you know that?’ Sergeant Kenny asked. The cop was more surprised than Brett.
‘I saw what happened. I found them before you, remember?’
‘But how long had you been t
here?’
‘Long enough.’
‘Okay then, you tell me what happened.’
‘It’s just as Brett said. The guy was hassling Robbie when the guy became violent. Brett defended Robbie by pushing the guy out of the way.’
‘Why did he become violent? Was he provoked?’
‘No, he was drunk. He started picking on Frog and Brett tried to stop it.’
‘How drunk?’
‘Enough to be a problem.’
Kenny hmmed and stared at Josh. Josh’s sincerity must have paid off, however, because the cop believed him.
‘What did this guy look like?’
Josh glanced down at the dirt for a moment then looked straight at the sergeant. ‘I think he was tall and big, with black hair and a goatee. He looked like he was from the rodeo but I’m not sure about that. It was too dark to get a good look at him.’
‘Are you sure about the goatee?’
‘Yes. I don’t know anybody round town with one.’
Sergeant Kenny thought about this for a moment and crossed his arms. ‘Very well then.’ Turning back to Brett, he added, ‘You should’ve told me this last night.’
Brett mumbled, ‘I forgot,’ then looked at his feet.
Sergeant Kenny stared at him a while longer but gave up when Brett wasn’t going to say anything more. He closed his notepad and pocketed it again. ‘Sorry, Sam, to take up your time. I have to follow up these things though as you know.’ He dipped his hat. ‘I’ll see you round.’
Kenny hopped into the 4WD then drove off.
‘C’mon. Inside,’ Sam said, waving his arms about to break up the crowd of rubberneckers. ‘It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.’
The guys reluctantly started filing back through the doors into The House leaving just Brett and Josh outside. They looked at each other, not saying anything; realising they’d lied to a cop. But most importantly they both knew Josh had done something neither of them would have thought possible: he’d saved Brett from being sent to jail.
A bad mood hung in The Boys’ House that night like the forbidden smell of a burning reefer. The whole Farm had been grounded for two weeks because of what had happened at the rodeo. The missing pair — Darren and Paul — had been found breaking into a car by the cops and were being sent back to Sydney in two days to face a magistrate. Three other inmates had been busted drinking coldies behind a horse trailer. And Sam was convinced there had been more to the fight between Brett and Smiling Joe than what he’d heard.