K Road

by Ted Dawe

  He watched, dumbstruck, as Sonny jumped up onto the bonnet and kicked hard at the windscreen. For a few kicks it held out and then there was a soft pop and the whole screen turned to crystals.

  Jazz looked up and down the street nervously. This wasn’t what he’d come out for. There were people wandering up and down, but no-one seemed to be taking any notice of Sonny going mad in the alley.

  Next Sonny jumped up and down on the bonnet, then the roof and then paused to kick in the back window with one mammoth boot-crunching stomp. He stopped for a moment, both fists high above his head, as though standing over some slain monster, before he leapt lightly to the ground.

  When he came back, Jazz could see there was sweat on his forehead and his eyes were wide with excitement.

  ‘That felt sooo good, man! Man that felt good.’

  ‘Payback huh?’

  ‘Been waiting a long time to do that, eh.’

  ‘You sure it’s the right truck?’

  ‘I know it’s the right truck. Thought he could park here. Thought it was over. It’s never over till I say it’s over.’

  Jazz didn’t like it. Not a good start to the night. ‘He’s goin’ to be so pissed.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘Will he know it’s you?’

  ‘Hope so. Bring it on I reckon.’

  Sonny squared his shoulders and stuck out his jaw like he was shaping up for a fight right there. They walked quickly along K. Road, Sonny doing basketball lay-ups on all the hanging shop signs all along the way. He was so charged up. He was dangerous.

  At the back of the Sheraton there were dump bins and a sort of service bay for the big trucks to bring in stuff. There was this little guard house and a barrier pole but the guard house was empty and the pole down. Everything was shut up for the night.

  Jazz scoped around. ‘How are you going to get your mate?’

  Sonny waved around the phone ‘Text him.’

  They both squatted down in the little garden that ran around the bottom of the building. Jazz could smell the bark piled up around their feet. Messages went back and forth on Sonny’s phone, each one signalled by this corny Batman tune. Then they stopped.

  ‘What’s happening now?’

  ‘He’s going to open the back door for us as soon as he can slip away.’

  ‘Good guy.’

  ‘It’ll cost me man, don’t you worry.’

  ‘Ever been in here before?’ Jazz asked.

  ‘Yep. Raided it once. We was slipping into the rooms as the housemaids were moving up and down the hallways changing the sheets. Cool fun. Like hide and seek.’

  Jazz looked at Sonny. He could picture him as a big kid.

  ‘Get much?’

  Sonny shook his head. ‘A wallet and a shitload of soaps and shampoos. Oh, I got this big white bathrobe too. Still got it somewhere. There he is!’

  He pointed over next to the loading bay. A door had opened slightly.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He’s gone. But that’s where we get in.’

  They ran across the floodlit area, aware that the cameras could easily be picking them up. Chance they took. They paused outside the door.

  ‘Ready?’

  Jazz nodded.

  Sonny flung the door wide, and they shot inside like detectives busting into a building full of bad guys. They found themselves in the laundry which was in noisy full swing. Two women were folding towels at the far end, so they moved quickly through some doors that came out into the middle of a long corridor. For a moment they both froze, not knowing where to go. Either way seemed a possibility. Then Sonny took off as if he remembered exactly.

  There were endless numbered doors along the hallway; on the floor outside some of the rooms there were trays that held dirty dishes. They turned a corner and up ahead there was a guy pushing a trolley. Sonny put his fingers to his lips and pointed to the lifts. They walked up quickly. Jazz was certain the guy would turn around, then there would be a shitload of new problems to deal with.

  As they reached the lift the man pushing the trolley stopped to pick up a tray. Jazz caught a glimpse of himself and Sonny in the mirror. They didn’t look like house guests, that was for real. Sonny pulled open a door which led to the fire stairs and they both darted in. They paused inside the door, panting and grinning.

  ‘What level?’

  ‘Six, let’s go.’

  The stairways were a refuge after their exposure in the hall.

  ‘Careful, man, this is where the hotel D usually hangs out. Looking for stairdancers like us.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s this Fijian dude called Sitiveni. You wouldn’t want to cross him. He used to play on the wing for the Chiefs.’

  ‘I’ll just have to wrong foot him with my wicked side step.’

  Sonny giggled. ‘Yeah, right!’

  They paused by the sixth floor doorway. Sonny held two fists up next to his face, index fingers pressed against his cheek like pretend pistols.

  ‘What room number?’

  ‘Six-six-five.’

  ‘Ah, six-six-five, the neighbour of the beast?’

  Sonny strode into the hall without replying. He was confident now they were nearly there. Six-six-five was at the very end of the hallway. There was a window next to it looking out over the city. Jazz glanced out, distracted by the beauty of what lay before him. The Sky Tower and tall buildings were all lit up, and in the distance cars threaded their way over the harbour bridge. It was a big view from up here. They’d been living too close to the ground. From this height, you felt like a god.

  The door opened. It was Gigi. She was wearing just a long T-shirt and looked pretty mussed up. Her hair, which had once been stacked up with clips and clasps, now stuck out at the side. Her eye make-up, usually so carefully applied, was smudged. They paused. She put her hand on her hip and said in one of those fake Dolly Parton accents, ‘You’all comin’ in or you happy jus’ to hold up th’ wall?’

  Inside the room was a huge bed, and a big TV playing a porno quietly. The remains of a meal were on the table next to the big window.

  ‘Where’s y’ john?’ Sonny asked.

  ‘He’s in the john,’ said Gigi, giggling at her own cleverness.

  There was a leather jacket draped over a chair that immediately drew Sonny’s eye, but before he could move towards it there was the sound of a toilet flushing and a man emerged from the bathroom.

  He was drying his hands and was only half-dressed: wore a shiny purple shirt and striped boxer shorts. His body had the puffy look of someone who liked good food. Jazz also noticed his long, grey pony-tail, which was tied tightly back, and his little beard and moustache. He was a man who put a lot of care into his grooming.

  ‘Ah! You must be the floor show. Gigi and I were getting bored. The porn in this country isn’t hard core enough. It doesn’t do it for me.’ He had this Aussie accent. Every sentence went up at the end.

  He stepped forward hand in front of him. ‘I’m Macko. And you are?’ he said to Sonny.

  ‘I’m Sonny, this is Jazz.’

  He wrung both their hands in turn. His handshake was brutally strong.

  ‘Well, I said to Gigi here, we need drugs, we need entertainment. She says the Sheraton doesn’t do these things. So she said she would out-source them. I said darlin’ you’re an angel straight from heaven, didn’t I, Gi?’ Then he exploded into laughter.

  Jazz and Sonny exchanged a puzzled look, guessing ‘you had to be there’.

  ‘Loosen up boys, this isn’t a funeral. We’re here to have fun. Like something from the minibar?’ He squatted in front of the tiny fridge and pulled out a number of small bottles of wine. ‘Pinot Gris? Gewürzt? Hey how about a nice Malbec? That excite your palate?’

  ‘Got a beer?’ Sonny asked

  ‘Sure,’ said Macko. ‘Give that man a beer!’ He flicked a can across the room at him. Sonny plucked it out of the air right in front of Jazz’s face. He had the reflexes o
f a fighter.

  ‘What about you, Hendrix?’

  ‘Same.’

  Jazz didn’t quite manage to get a grip on the can that was thrown to him, so when he opened it, a jet of spray shot up the wall.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ said Macko. ‘You young guys! Can’t hold ya piss.’ He thought this was really funny.

  Gigi, who wasn’t offered anything, climbed back into the bed in a huff and began watching the TV.

  ‘Gi tells me you’re a guitar legend. Says I should check you out. Eh, Gi?’

  She didn’t respond. ‘What’s the matter, Gigi?’

  She ignored him and continued to watch the two figures going at it hard on the TV. He crawled across the wide bed to where she lay with a snotty look on her face. ‘Don’t go like that. What’s the matter?’ His voice was soft and whiney.

  She turned to him ‘Don’t I get one? You’ve finished with me now? I’m paid off?’

  ‘What? A drink?’ He roared with laughter. ‘Talk about touchy! Talk about unassertive! Why didn’t you jus’ ask for one? You can drink the whole bar dry as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘A lady shouldn’t have to ask.’

  ‘A lady shouldn’t have to ask,’ he mimicked. ‘You’re a treasure, mate! Should be buried!’ and he gave her a big kiss right on her sulky mouth.

  He climbed off the bed and went back to the fridge. ‘Now, since I’m just the waiter here, what’ll it be?’

  ‘Champagne.’

  ‘Of course! What else? Champagne it is.’ He took out a mini champagne bottle and with practised ease, popped the cork. Sonny, who was glued to the porn show, sat up with a startled jerk.

  ‘It’s all right mate, it’s not a gun.’ He passed the little bottle to Gigi who snatched it and looked away.

  ‘OK you two. You’re not here to watch the TV, and believe me I’ve seen better porn at a Bible class holiday camp. You’re my room service. So let’s see what you got.’ He had their attention again. ‘Now how about you, big boy, you got some coke?’

  Sonny pulled out his little glass pipe.

  ‘Oh it’s P. How down scale. Figures, I guess. Well, as Aussie Crawl used to say let’s Light up! Light up! Light up! You know that song?’

  Jazz shook his head.

  ‘Jeez! What sort of musical education do they give you here on the Shaky Isles?’

  Sonny moved over and sat at the table so he could assemble his stuff and get the pipe ready. He picked up a piece of half eaten chicken off the abandoned plate and began to gnaw away at it.

  Macko looked at him and turned to Jazz. ‘You hungry, Hendrix? Maybe you’d like dinner first.’

  Jazz ignored him and pulled out Diablo.

  ‘Shit, look at that. What an axe. Gimme a look.’

  Jazz passed it to him and he examined it carefully.

  ‘Spanish huh? That is the business.’ He put it across his knee and prepared to play. ‘It’s a while since I’ve done this. Since I’ve been with Triple K, I’ve made my mouth do the talking. Listen to this.’ He picked out a break. ‘Know that one?’

  Jazz shook his head.

  ‘No? Ah well, kids today! Anything more than three weeks old is ancient history.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘That was The Rejex’s big number one, but it was a year or two ago, I’ll grant you that. Probably don’t play it over here. Kiwis are so jealous of Aussie talent.’

  He picked out something different, the theme music of a TV show. ‘You’ve heard of the programme “You Must be Dreaming”?’

  Yeah. It was one of those Australian talent shows.

  ‘I’ve been on that show three seasons now, so believe me I do know what I’m doing. I’ve heard a whole heap of guitar slingers.’

  ‘So you used to be in the business?’ Jazz felt that the other man was waiting for the question.

  ‘The music trade? You could say that. Heard of a band called The Rejex? They did “Makin’ it With You” and “A Cool Change Gotta Come”. “Cool Change” was an anthem. Triple plat’num. It owned the charts for weeks. Bigger than your Split Enz, man. We pushed INXS out of the top slot.’ He stopped for a moment, gleam in his eye. ‘INXS. Now they were a band. I knew Michael Hutchence. Good guy. The biggest thing since Mick Jagger.’ He stared at Jazz. ‘I take it you’ve heard of Mick Jagger. A group called the Rolling Stones?’ His voice was high-pitched and sarcastic.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. My dad used to play them.’

  ‘Good! Some common ground! Me and your dad!’

  There was the sound of sirens outside the window. First a solitary note, then two more joining in. A cats’ chorus. Macko peered out the window. ‘It’s a hot time in the old town tonight.’

  Jazz walked over and took the guitar from him. ‘I know lots of music but I don’t know who wrote it. Not interested I guess.’

  Macko clapped his hands together like he meant business. ‘Hey, Sonny. Let’s lift this party a notch. Get things happenin’.’

  ‘I had some coke…’ said Sonny, as if answering a question. ‘Gigi knows where that went.’ They both glanced at her but she was engrossed in the TV.

  ‘I was all excited. Doesn’t matter now. P’s good.’

  Sonny carefully shook a measured spot into the glass pipe and passed it to Macko with the lighter. He played the flame around the bowl and inhaled deeply. Then he sat back, arms limply at his side.

  ‘Eh, that’s good.’

  Sonny reached over and pulled the pipe and lighter from his loose fingers. He made a hit for Gigi who took a long, slow drag, her eyes never leaving the TV. When Sonny got the pipe back, he offered it to Jazz, who shook his head.

  ‘I want to stay straight.’

  Macko lifted a hand. ‘Well, let’s hear ya. Gigi tells me you can play that thing.’

  ‘What sort of stuff do you want to hear?’

  ‘Anything.’

  Jazz sat on the edge of the bed and began to play a standard bracket. Something fast. Something slow and soulful. That Spanish one. A piece by Hendrix of course, not that it sounded like much on acoustic.

  Macko stretched out on the chair with his feet on the bed. He pulled faces at the others, played air guitar, yawned, and then finally said, ‘Do ya sing too?’

  ‘I sing,’ said Jazz. His voice had an edge to it.

  ‘Then do it man, that ol’ Spanish guitar doesn’t sound much without a song.’

  ‘Play “Redemption Song”, man!’ Sonny was lying on the bed next to Gigi, looking wasted.

  It was the song Jazz loved above all others, so he didn’t play it too often. He liked to save it. He worked his way through, picking out the phrases as if they were all precious. As he finished up, Macko sang along loudly with him.

  Gigi broke off watching the TV to announce, ‘Your voice sucks, man. You should leave the music to Jazz.’

  ‘I’m not warmed up. Here, give it to me. I’ll play you real music.’

  Jazz passed it back to him reluctantly.

  ‘How about this one. It’s hot in Melbourne at the moment.’ He began to strum loudly, to sing loudly too.

  Sonny pulled a face and put his fingers in his ears but Macko just played louder, his face reddening with the effort.

  When he finished he said, ‘Here’s this classic song by the Little River Band. I love this one.’

  He seemed determined to get the respect he had coming to him, but the more he played the more the others focused on the porn endlessly plugging away on the TV.

  When he finished he threw the guitar down. ‘You guys wouldn’t know good music if it bit you on the bum. It’s my job. I know.’

  Gigi turned to him, a bored look on her face, lids heavy with P. ‘Face it, darling, your voice is not a pretty thing.’ She did a fair imitation of the Aussie accent.

  ‘Oh yeah? Well I’ll tell you this for nothing. Your boy wouldn’t pass round one of “You Must be Dreaming”. He is just a copyist. A covers man. No originality. Doesn’t bring anything new to a song.’
>
  ‘Our boy’s cool. You just don’t know music, man,’ said Sonny, sounding distant and bored.

  ‘That so?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Why don’t you fuck off then.’

  ‘What?’ Sonny at last turned from the TV to stare at him. Jazz could see a bit of danger flickering around his face.

  ‘You heard.’

  Sonny looked back at the TV and settled into the bed again. ‘It’s OK. Might just stay here for a while, eh. Don’t feel like moving.’

  ‘You two are going now. Close the door behind ya.’ Macko was waiting with his hands on his hips.

  Jazz packed his guitar away and prepared to leave. He was worried about Roxy anyway. There was nothing here for him.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ said Sonny. That was the end of it.

  ‘I just have to pick up this phone. Security will get you. You’re leaving all right.’

  Gigi looked around anxiously.

  Sonny’s face slowly began to change. It was like an ancient impulse gradually working its way to the surface. ‘You can give us a hun’red bucks. Pay for my P and his music.’

  Macko laughed out loud. He plucked up the handpiece of the phone and put his other hand on the side of his stomach, as though he was getting the stitch. ‘That’s rich. Me, pay you. It should be the other way around, man. You pay me.’ He bent down to dial and then straightened up. ‘Fair go mate. You’re a classic. Hundred bucks.’ He paused mid-dial. ‘Look, leave now and we’ll call it quits. Otherwise … otherwise I’ll get that big coconut from security to throw you out, and let me tell you, you’ll bounce.’ He stood there in his striped boxer shorts waiting for a response.

  ‘Hun’red bucks, man,’ said Sonny, watching the TV. Jazz made to go.

  ‘I’d go, mate,’ said Macko, turning to Jazz. ‘You’ve got the idea. Don’t call me, I’ll call you as they say in show biz.’ He turned to Sonny. ‘Ya cheque’s in the post.’

  Jazz stopped at the door and turned to see Sonny spring off the bed and yank the handset out of Macko’s hand. In one action he had the butterfly knife out and open. He grinned as he cut through the cable and tossed the handpiece on the bed.