The Legend of Kevin the Plumber

by Scot Gardner

  Aggie and Gel’s mum had flown to Norway to visit her family leaving the twins at the van, and it had quickly turned into the smallest under-age nightclub/brothel/drug depot in the Southern Hemisphere. Their dad’s tinny sat under tarps beside the van and Fear Addition (at volume eleven) leaked from the windows as I arrived.

  I knocked but no-one answered. I let myself in and was greeted by the aroma of stale socks and fresh mull. Aggie was sitting at the table cutting up weed with a pair of scissors. There was a breakfast bowl on the table, full to spilling. He shit his pants when I slapped his shoulder. He turned the music down and punched me in the thigh. A corker.

  ‘Don’t you know how to knock?’

  I slumped in the seat opposite him and smiled. ‘Where’s Gel?’

  Aggie nodded at the door that closed off his mum’s bedroom from the rest of the van. I heard a girl giggle over the music and I shook my head.

  ‘Have a chug, Gaz?’

  ‘Wouldn’t say no.’ I pinched at the fresh cut grass, sniffed it and sighed. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘Stupid question. Plumber.’

  Yeah, maybe a stupid question, I thought. Ash is the mull queen of Mullet Head with a miraculous, never-ending supply of top-class shit. And she also has a generous bum crack that has earned her the name Plumber behind her back. After a big night, her voice goes croaky so she sounds like a bloke.

  If I didn’t ask the occasional stupid question, we just wouldn’t talk at all.

  Gel and his woman smelled the offerings and crawled out from the bedroom. I hadn’t met the girl before but I’d seen her around. I’d never noticed her tits flopping around under one of Gel’s Mambo t-shirts before. I’d never noticed the crusty stuff in her hair before, either.

  We shared three cones and I was well on the way. Aggie turned the music off and the telly on. Aggie and Gel and the girl stared at the box. I must have been staring at the girl.

  ‘Oh, Andrea, this is my mate Gary. Would you root him? Put him out of his misery? He’s still a virgin.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ the girl shouted, and laughed. ‘I’d rather root my dog.’

  We all laughed then and I wished I had some of Gel’s magic. I wished girls ran away from home to root me. I wished girls would look at me and smile or something.

  Aggie gave me a look. A sorry-my-brother-is-such-an-arsehole look. Yeah, they are twins; it’s just that sometimes I doubt they had the same mother.

  My stomach rumbled and I hit the pantry. Nothing. Well, there were Vita Brits but no milk or butter or anything, and there was a jar of anchovies in olive oil and a bottle of sauce with black bits around the lid. I had eight dollars in my pocket. Aggie offered to walk with me to the kiosk.

  The lights were off. One of the biggest bummers of living in a shitty little boghole like Mullet Head is that after ten o’clock you have to drive fifteen k’s to the next town — Christmas Bay — to get a packet of chips. We had no wheels so we ended up at my place. The lights were off there, too, but the back door was open. Well, I hoped it was. Mum may have been pissed off enough to lock me out. We’d cracked the shits at each other before, hundreds of times, but she’d never flipped before. Never tried to gouge my eyes out. I was reaching for the door handle when a white lump on the mat started moving. The skin on my neck crawled and I swore and kicked at it. Reflex. It yelped. I mean she yelped. Trixie.

  Aggie laughed under his breath. ‘She’s the right colour, mate.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, as I pushed and the door swung open. ‘Trixie the night football.’

  We melted cheese on toast until the loaf of bread ran out and Mario came into the kitchen in his boxer shorts.

  ‘Have you noticed what time it is, Gaz?’

  It was half past one. ‘Sorry, Muz. We were being as quiet as.’

  ‘Quiet as a herd of fucken stoned elephants.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’d better get going,’ Aggie said, and closed the door behind him.

  Mario stood there with his hands on the back of the kitchen chair. I put the knife in the sink — quietly — and the cheese in the fridge. I wiped the bench and Mario was still standing there.

  ‘This can’t go on, Gaz. Your mum’s going spare.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s all right. Got a bit of a sore head and that but she’ll go to work tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and Mario stiffened.

  ‘Yes, of course. She loves her work. She’s proud of what she does. She loves helping people look their best. She won’t toss it in because her son is tossing his life away.’

  My hands fell to the back of the chair opposite Mario and I stood there like his mirror.

  ‘I’m not tossing my life away.’

  ‘Bullshit, Gary. To pass school, you’ve got to at least turn up. Then you’ve got to do the work. If you want a decent job then you’ve got to do the work now.’

  ‘I’m sick of school.’

  Mario looked at me, his hair falling forward and framing his face. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Get a job, and then you won’t have to go to school. You can work in a factory for the rest of your days. Good idea.’

  ‘I’m not working in a factory.’

  ‘Then what? What do you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Then go to school until you work out what you want to do.’

  ‘I’ve worked out what I want to do.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  I could feel the skin shaking on my bones. I was pumped up and ready to bolt for the door if Mario psyched out like Mum.

  ‘I want to . . . not go to school.’

  Mario squeezed the kitchen chair. He sighed. He smiled. ‘Smart arse.’

  I breathed and shifted feet.

  ‘Then tomorrow you’re coming with me. We’re going to call on a few of my mates. In fact we’re going to keep calling on my mates until we find work for you. Can you handle that?’

  My shoulders jumped.

  ‘Come on, Gaz, make a choice. Yes or no. Can you handle that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He reached across the table and slapped my dreads. ‘Good. Get to bed, you little prick.’

  Mario makes me gag sometimes. He’s so friggin nice. To everybody. He tries so hard to be my dad even though he knows I already have an old man. My dad might have left when I was little but he’s never worked on an oilrig. Never had to.

  I’d find a job. I’d do the work. I’d take whatever Mario got me and save up my bickies and go and live with Dad in Queensland. Bit hard to be rich and famous working on an oilrig. And driving a friggin Commodore.

  Three

  The shitbox wouldn’t start. Mario had pulled me out of bed and stood there in my bedroom until I was dressed. It wasn’t properly light. Mum and Sharon were still in bed and the Commodore wouldn’t start. It’d crank all right but it wouldn’t fire. The bonnet was up and I’d switched the radio on. I was almost asleep again when I heard Mario shouting.

  ‘Gaz? Can you hear me? Crank her over.’

  I scrambled into the driver’s seat. The engine whirred and spluttered into life but died soon after.

  ‘Again,’ Mario said. This time she snarled and I revved the bags out of her.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Mario shouted. He slammed the bonnet and was at the driver’s door. He waved me into the passenger’s seat.

  I dated myself on the gearstick clambering across to my seat. The engine lumped and burped and farted as we pulled onto the road then ran smooth across the bridge and all the way to the new estate at Christmas Bay. The sun torched the dunes as we pulled up beside a hulking truck and trailer. The digger machine that had been on the trailer was scratching away at the sandy dirt making a flat spot for some rich bastard’s new mansion. Mario told me to stay in the car and went to talk to the bloke driving the digger. That’d be all right, I thought. Working on a digger. Making out that you were a dinosaurus, crunching your way through trees and dirt and ol
d houses if you wanted. No bastard could stop you. Drive the beast to the pub after work and if any prick got smart you could trash their car. I could be a digger driver, easily. But the driver bloke was talking to Mario and shaking his head. He pointed through the door of his machine and Mario looked over his shoulder. They shook hands and Mario jogged back to the car.

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Not yet. Keep looking. We’re going to the smoking plant near the jetty. Col reckons there might be a bit of work going there.’

  The smoking plant stank like bong water. Rotten fish boiled in bong water. I closed the windows in the car and turned the radio up. Mario was gone for fifteen minutes.

  ‘Bit of a nibble,’ he said. ‘I left your name and number.’

  ‘I’m not working in that stinkhole.’

  Mario looked at me and his lips seemed to vanish inside his mouth. One nostril flared.

  His voice was a low growl. ‘If you want to be picky, Gary, you can get out of the car now and walk down to school. Do your HSC or VCE or whatever they call it. Pick your bloody subjects at uni then decide which supermarket you want to work in.’

  I crossed my arms and looked at the smoke chugging from the chimney on the big shed. There was a sign in the window that said ‘Smoked eel for sale. Wholesale prices. Public welcome.’ Disgusting.

  We were driving again. It was eight seventeen and I started to wonder if Mario was wasting his time. If it turned out to be a shit job then I just wouldn’t front. I’d stay home and go on the dole until something decent turned up.

  Or just stay on the dole.

  We pulled up in a gravel car park beside an enormous shed in the industrial estate. The sign hanging from the gate read ‘P & KL Wasser P/L. Industrial and Domestic Plumbers.’

  Plumber? Not bloody likely. Playing with other people’s shit all day? Stuff that for a joke.

  ‘You’re coming in this time. I want you to meet my mate Phil. Tuck your shirt in.’

  I left my shirt out and followed Mario into the office that was tacked on the side of the huge shed. There was a girl behind the desk. She was wearing jeans and a singlet top. Her hair was blonde and wet. Her bra strap was lacy and purple. She beamed at Mario.

  ‘G’day, Pip,’ Mario said.

  ‘Hey, Muzza! Haven’t seen you for ages. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Same stuff. Still working offshore. How are things going?’

  She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Busy as a juggler with crabs. As usual. Plenty of work on.’

  Mario pointed at me. ‘This is my boy, Gary. Gaz, this is Pip, the brains behind this great business.’

  The girl scoffed and leaned over her desk to shake my hand. She crushed my fingers. I yelped with surprise. I sounded like Trixie. My neck and cheeks got hot. Pip apologised and looked at her hand. I poked my fingers into my pocket and someone in the shed behind the office laughed. It echoed around the metal walls until it sounded like a flock of bass kookaburras.

  ‘Is Phil in, Pip?’ Mario asked.

  ‘Yep. Just a sec. I’ll page him on the intercom,’ she said, and stepped back from her desk. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. ‘Oi Phil!’

  ‘Yes, love?’ came a voice from the depths of nowhere.

  ‘Muzza’s here. Got a minute?’

  A man appeared at the door of the shed. ‘G’day, Muzza!’

  They shook hands.

  ‘This is my young bloke, Gary. Gaz, this is Phil Wasser.’

  The bloke’s big hand swallowed my palm and my fingers and — it felt like — half my arm. He grabbed on but he didn’t hurt me.

  ‘Good to meet you, Gary. What can I do for you guys?’

  ‘Well,’ Mario said, and looked at the door of the office. ‘It’s about the young bloke . . . ’

  Phil put his giant hand in the middle of my back and led me towards his office. ‘Let’s just slip in here, ay?’

  He closed the door behind us.

  ‘The young bloke needs some work, I was wondering if . . . ’

  ‘Can you handle a shovel, Gary?’

  Handle a shovel? Not exactly high-tech. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Dave, one of my labourers, is going on holidays next week. I can’t guarantee anything permanent, but if it works out you’d get four weeks at least.’

  Mario was beaming. ‘What do you reckon?’

  Pushing a shovel? Every day for four weeks? I couldn’t be stuffed. My shoulders crept forward and Mario slapped me on the back.

  ‘Come on, Gaz, show a bit of enthusiasm. Some work, mate. That’s what we were looking for.’

  ‘Yeah, cool,’ I said. ‘Fanks, Mr Wasser. Fanks heaps.’

  He shook my hand again. ‘No problems, Gary. Call me Phil.’

  He asked if we had any overalls and said that I’d start on the second of March. My guts were bubbling like I needed a crap and no words made it past my lips. I couldn’t tell you if I was excited or scared. Probably both.

  Mario said we had overalls at home. ‘Second of March is next Tuesday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah. Monday is a rostered day off. Half the crew doesn’t come in that Monday.’

  We left Phil’s office as quickly as we’d entered.

  That’s it? That was all there was to getting a job?

  ‘Any paperwork to fill in?’ Mario asked.

  Phil screwed up his nose. ‘We’ll worry about that when Gary starts.’

  Mario and Phil shook hands again and a sound like a gunshot made me jump. Laughter echoed from the depths of the shed.

  ‘Oi!’ Phil shouted. ‘Settle down, you blokes.’

  An incredible hulk of a man with sandy-coloured curls ducked through the doorway and placed some paperwork on Pip’s desk. She thanked him and he grumbled a reply. He had a thick reddy brown beard that muffled his words and a scowl that had permanently creased his face.

  ‘What’s going on in there, Kevin?’ Phil asked.

  The big bloke shrugged. ‘Just Homer in fine form.’

  ‘Kick him in the arse for me, will you?’

  Kevin snorted but his lips didn’t smile. I felt the concrete shake as he ducked back through the door into the shed.

  I closed the door, put my seatbelt on and crossed my arms. Mario started the engine.

  He cackled. ‘That’s how easy it is, Gaz. The door’s open.’

  He twisted in his seat to face me. He cupped his hands full of air and emptied them onto my lap. ‘It’s up to you now. You work your bum off while you’re there and they’ll give you more work. Guaranteed. You’ll probably get a job out of it.’

  Yeah, and who’d want a job like that? Shovelling shit with a pack of circus freaks. Get the money together. That’s all I needed to do. Just a few hundred dollars to get me to Queensland and Dad would find me a decent job. I’ll probably end up an actor, I thought, or a stuntman like Dad. Every rags to riches story needs to start off with a raggy job.

  I spent the day in the garage with Muz, watching him fluff around with the VK. It had been years since I’d been in Muz’s shed and I’d forgotten how neat it was. I grabbed tools for him and tried to get what he wanted before he asked.

  ‘Will I be shovelling shit all day?’

  ‘Don’t know, Gaz. I doubt it. Plumbers do heaps of different stuff.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh, all the new houses and that, connect up the water . . . and the sewerage. Put all the taps and stuff in, baths, sinks, gutters. Roofs. Gas. They connect the gas to the houses. I don’t think it’ll be shovelling shit all day but that will be part of it.’

  ‘Bewdy.’

  A ute pulled into the driveway at two thirty. Todd’s Glass and Glazing. I cleared a path through the shit on my bedroom floor so he could get to the busted window. I thought about offering to pay for the glass but the thought was as close as I got. Muz gave him sixty-five dollars from his wallet. He thanked the bloke and watched the ute back out of the drive. Then he was looking at me.

  ‘What?’


  He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  Mum was smiling through clenched teeth when Mario told her I’d found a job.

  ‘Starts on Tuesday,’ he said.

  Mum’s eyebrows clawed up her forehead. She stared at me for a long time.

  ‘Well done,’ she said.

  ‘Mario did all the work. It’s only for a month. I’ll find something in . . . I’ll find something else after that.’

  Mum’s mouth puckered and she slumped into a kitchen chair. She lit up a smoke and I went into my room.

  I put my headphones on and blasted into the Battery Lickers live album. I was singing away to track three — ‘Chain Bang’ — when I felt a hand on my leg.

  I jumped and sat up, pulled my headphones off.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ Mum said. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘You didn’t scare me, just . . . ’

  She looked at the mess on my floor. ‘Sorry about last night.’

  I nodded. ‘How’s your head?’ I asked.

  She smiled. ‘Okay. Yours?’

  ‘No probs.’ I rapped on my skull with my knuckles. ‘Cast iron.’

  Mum knocked on her own head and wheezed a laugh. ‘Yes, well you must have got it from somewhere.’

  I smiled and she sat on the edge of my bed.

  ‘Amazing that you found work so quickly. Fantastic.’

  ‘Muz,’ I said, and paused the CD.

  Mum nodded.

  ‘Do I . . . should I go to school?’

  ‘What, for the rest of the week?’

  I looked at her, tried to read her face. She stared at the floor.

  She sighed. ‘Whatever. You choose. You’ll have to get your stuff from your locker at some stage. All those bloody new books. And if the work dries up you’ll have to go back, so don’t do anything stupid.’

  Mario was standing in the doorway with Sharon under his arm.

  My sister smiled. ‘Working dude now, huh?’