“You still a she-virgin, Jimbo?” asked Waz.
Jimbo nodded. “So is Fitzy. More than half of us still are, Waz. Like I said, it ain’t that easy.”
Waz laughed. “You bunch a sad cunts. Why don’t you come to the City? Heaps of women there, probably fifty-fifty.”
“Fifty-fifty?” Jimbo shook his head. “That sounds like bullshit to me.”
“No bullshit.” Waz slapped his gut. “I’ve slept with four different women, even had a girlfriend for a few months.”
“For free?” Fitzy’s soft brown eyes widened in disbelief.
“Ya gotta pay for them when ya go out and stuff, but, yeah, pretty much for free. Cheaper than going to a House anyways.”
“Why didn’t you marry her?” asked Jimbo.
Waz leant over the table, trying to be conspiratorial above the music. The band was covering an old The New Eagles song called ‘Oops, I did it Again.’
“You boys might think I’m hotshit being the only truck driver an all to make it from Shepp, but there’s a whole lot of people with better paying jobs in the City. The women can pick and choose, boys. It’s not natural, but that’s the City for ya.”
“Fuck the City, man.” Jimbo gulped a mouthful of tequila, enjoying the sear in his throat. “We might live in the country but we ain’t hicks. What the fuck are we going to do in the City? We can’t drive like you.”
“Yeah,” said Dave. “Who the fuck can afford to run a motor out here? It’s bicycle or horse, Wazza.”
“I can drive.” Fitzy tapped his pudgy fingers on the table.
“Whatever,” Jimbo said. “It’s fucken expensive there and almost as hard to get a job as it is to get a woman.”
“I can drive,” said Fitzy.
“A lot of guys come back from the City broke and broken,” said Jimbo. “I seen it. You were just lucky, Waz.”
Waz leant back into the cracked leather and wiped the sweat from his broken nose. “Lucky.” He poured the last drops of tequila into the empty glasses on the table. “Someone’s gotta be lucky, Jimbo.”
“Not me, Wazza. Too risky going to the City. I’ll do it the way me Old Man did.” Jimbo looked around the table, challenging them all to a dispute. “Like all our fathers did.”
“I can drive, Waz,” said Fitzy. “Maybe you could put in a word for me.”
Wazza removed his red truckers cap and ran his hand through his greased black hair to wipe back the sweat. “Sure, Fitzy, I’ll put in a word. You gotta get the next bottle though, but no more of that shitty Shepp brew. Something from the City, something potent! Later on I got a real good surprise for you sad sorry fucks.”
~ * ~
Jimbo grabbed the full shot glass from the cigarette-burned cistern, and used the contents to rinse his mouth, before spitting into the toilet bowl. Might have been a good thing Niki ain’t here tonight. Wouldn’t want to try to kiss her tasting like Keats. The knife twisted into his guts again. Why did she have to go to the City? I hate that fucken place.
Keats was cleaning himself off in the basin when Jimbo emerged from the toilet cubicle. “Brian’s coming back on the train with his bride on Tuesdee. Ya going down?”
“Yeah.” The reek of ammonia and stale piss clung to the walls. Jimbo cupped his hands under a dripping tap and splashed his face with the cool water. “You?”
“For sure. Can’t wait to see what she looks like.” Keats zipped his jeans up. “I’m on the first week’s watch too.”
“Really? How’d you score that?”
“Working nights over the silly season, eh? Leaves the days free so I can help keep an eye on her when Brian’s at work.” Keats strapped body armour around his groin. “You work with him, don’t ya?”
“Yeah. Do you know how much he paid?”
“Standard price, mate. Ten grand. Rumour is it’ll be going up but.”
Jimbo stared at his reflection in the smeared mirror. His eyes were already bloodshot and he looked pale despite his tan. “How’d that prick save ten grand working at the cannery? I’ve been there as long as him and I’ve only saved four.”
“Ya could always get an Abo. About half the price out near the desert fences. Reckon they got just as many girls as boys. Heard you can just take ‘em if ya want ‘em too. Get ya self a free wife.”
“You fucken kidding me, Keats? What the hell I want a black for a wife?” Jimbo slicked water through his thinning blonde hair. “Yeah, nah, need ten grand. I’ll be thirty-two by then.”
“No one in their twenties round here has that sort a cash, mate.” Keats laughed as he left the toilets. “And Brian didn’t either. Came into a bit a inheritance, the lucky cunt.”
~ * ~
The four of them, Jimbo, Wazza, Fitzy and Dave, staggered out of The Aussie, arm in arm, into the balmy night shouting old footy songs. The girls had gone home long ago with their Cartel escorts. Fists were just starting to be thrown inside the pub.
“Ready for that surprise, boys?” asked Wazza. “Yeah? Cool, let’s go see Kylie.”
“Kylie’. Jimbo’s brain swum with booze. The stars bright above blurred. “Who’s Kylie?”
“His truck,” said Fitzy. “Can I have a drive, Wazza?”
“Don’t be fucken stupid.” Wazza staggered towards St Georges Road near the railway crossing. “Ya can have a go though.”
“A go?”
“Yeah, of the surprise.” Wazza laughed. “You boys are gunna shit your pants.”
Kylie was parked at the back of the abandoned Red Rooster parking lot. Jimbo couldn’t make out much of the vintage hulk in the starlight, but Fitzy was already at the cab, running his hands over the insect-coated grill and the Mack badge. He got to his knees and looked under the truck.
“She’s a twenty-four wheeler,” Fitzy cooed. “Come on, Wazza, let me sit in the cab.”
“Surprise is round the back, boys.” Wazza led them round to the doors of the trailer. “Gunna have to charge ya fifty bucks a head though. And if any a youse cunts breathe a word about to this to anyone ...”
“Fifty bucks?” said Jimbo. “To look in the back a ya truck? Fuck off!”
Wazza unlocked the doors and threw back the bolts. “It’s a quarter a the price, boys. Just for youse.”
He pulled open the doors and dropped the ramp as cool air smothered their bodies. Cartons of cigarettes were packed into the trailer between bags of fertilizer and hard plastic cases of medical supplies.
“Gimme a hand with these.” Waz walked up the ramp towards the cigarettes.
Dave scratched at his beard, shaking his head. “We grow our own, Waz. Don’t want that City shit. Ya gotta be mad to think we’ll pay fifty bucks for that.”
“Yeah, fuck that, Waz,” said Jimbo. “For that sort of cash you better be selling petrol or something.”
Wazza pulled down several cartons and slid them down the ramp. “The surprise is hidden at the back. Give us a hand, boys.”
Reluctantly, Jimbo and Dave pulled down cartons. Fitzy was still rubbing himself over the bonnet of the truck. They quickly cleared a space which led to a small open area that stank of fear, piss and stale sex.
A naked woman lay bound on a thin stained mattress. Her mouth was taped and her brown eyes stared wildly between bedraggled shoulder-length hair. She tried to wriggle into the far corner of the trailer, squealing as she did so.
“Holy fucken hell!” Jimbo’s jaw dropped. Apart from the porno files in his Old Man’s archive, this was the first time he’d seen a woman naked. His eyes were drawn to her small breasts, the nipples erect in the air-cooled interior. He wondered if Niki’s looked like these. “Where’d you get her?”
Dave stood gawping, tugging at his beard. “Is this ya wife, Wazza? I didn’t know you got married.”
“Nah, mate, picked her up on the highway just outside the City borders.” Wazza chuckled to himself. “She’s a Runner.”
“A Runner?” Dave scrounged together several ten dollar notes from his pockets.
&nb
sp; “From the Houses. Usually steal a whole lot of cash from the House and do a runner. Trying to get back to their hometowns, I s’pose. Most of them don’t get past the border, but this one did. Must a fucked her way out.” Wazza chuckled again and scratched at his beer gut. “Told her I’d help her out.”
“Ya gunna keep her?” asked Jimbo. He counted through his change but he only had fifteen dollars left. Fuck. Maybe Dave can lend me some cash.
“If the Cartels found out I had one of their women I’d be a dead man. After I’ve swapped cargo at Mildura, I’m gunna drop her back at the City and pick up the one-and-a-half grand reward.” He licked his lips. “But I’d be stupid not to have a little fun myself, eh?”
“Fucken oath.” Dave handed over a bundle of dirty notes, a wide dopey grin splitting his beard. “So how’s it work?”
“You can untie her legs but don’t take the tape off her mouth - she bites.” Wazza looked at Jimbo. “Ten minutes each. And only one at a time - we’re not animals.”
Outside, Fitzy started yelling. “Hey, guys, there’s headlights coming!”
Wazza stuffed the bills into his jeans pocket. The booze behind his face lifted. “What?” He ran to the trailer doors.
“It’s a car!” Fitzy called. “Can you believe it? A fucken car!”
“Get outta the truck.” Wazza waved his arms frantically. “Hurry the fuck up. Anyone got a car still running in Shepp?”
“Nah, the mayor’s got one, but the headlights are busted out. Don’t think he’s got no gas either. Beet crops failed last year cos a the drought.” Jimbo clambered down the ramp as it started to retract into the truck.
Dave lingered, staring at the woman.
“Move it, cunt!” Wazza’s voice cracked as he yelled. “Stall them, Fitzy!”
Dave leapt from the trailer. Wazza and Jimbo slammed the doors shut. Wazza slid the bolts in as headlights lit up the rear of the trailer and the cartons spread over the ground. A diesel engine throbbed behind the glare, the only noise in a night now fallen still.
Doors clicked open and two figures emerged to stand silhouetted in the lights.
“You boys ready to do these cunts?” Wazza whispered.
Jimbo and Dave both nodded, the booze kicking embers into flames. Jimbo didn’t need much more encouragement, the busted bike, Niki and now these fags interrupting his chance to fuck a woman.
“We’re looking for Warren Wilson.” The voice was male and toneless. It seemed to come from behind the headlight, from the car itself.
Jimbo strode forward, fists clenched. “Which one of youse cunts want to kno -”
A flash burnt the night, echoing on the back of his eyeballs. Jimbo struck the concrete. Muscles cramped and his arms and legs spasmed. He bit down on his tongue. Blood filled his mouth and he choked. Ozone soaked into his nostrils. Can’t ... fucken ... breathe ... out...
“He’s the one you want,” screamed Dave, pointing at Wazza. “We got nothing to do with this.”
Wazza swung a fist at Dave. “Shaddup, ya cunt.”
Bolts of electricity arced through the air. Wazza and Dave hit the ground, limbs jerking and twisting. Men in dark suits walked towards the trailer. One of them bent towards Jimbo. His eyes were sheened metal, his scalp shaved. The man placed his fingers on Jimbo’s throat. Something bit into his skin.
“Unregistered.” The man moved to Wazza and repeated the procedure. “This one is Warren Wilson.” His voice was clipped.
“Castrate him,” said the toneless voice from the car.
The man turned Wazza onto his back then knelt on his chest.
The other man opened the doors of the trailer. “She’s in here.” He climbed up into the truck and disappeared from sight.
The headlights glinted off a sharp blade that appeared in the kneeling man’s hand. A high-pitched keening fluted from Wazza’s throat. The knife sliced through the groin of the jeans.
Jimbo’s body ceased spasming and he sucked the night air into his lungs. Fuck no fuck no fuck no ... can’t... move ...
Wazza’s eyes bulged around his broken nose. A tear streaked through the grime and down his stubble.
“Please ...” Wazza managed to plead. “No ...”
The man ripped away the flap of jeans. The knife flashed again. Wazza screamed and blood spurted into the air. The man stood, dropped something wet and fleshy to the ground, then wiped his knife on Wazza’s chest.
The other emerged from the back of the trailer with the woman over his shoulder. They got back into the car, the engine growled, and they drove off into the darkness.
Fitzy scrambled out of the shadows, his face a damp rag of tears. He knelt next to Wazza. A dark pool had formed beneath him.
“Where’s ya keys?” Fitzy groped through Wazza’s blood-soaked pockets. “Shit, he’s passed out.”
Jimbo managed to pull himself off the ground. The muscles in his body screamed as needles lanced every pore.
“We gotta get him to the doctor.” Fitzy pulled out a handful of stained bills and a thick ring of keys. “You two get him into the cab. I’ll drive.”
“Fuck,” said Jimbo. “So much for Christmas.”
~ * ~
The Shepparton crowd gathered expectantly under the bright heat of the midday sun for the monthly City train, the first for the new year. Shepp was considered the end of the Valley line, in more ways than one, and traders from the remote dusty towns out in the desert bowl had poured into town on their own trains - camels. The camels, horses and carts filled the old parking lot with neighs, grunts, whinnies and dung. Flies buzzed incessantly, a constant drone above the excited murmurings of the crowd. Several of the younger teenagers had braved the hot shining steel tracks and put their ears to it trying to gauge the train’s distance while others placed bets on its arrival.
“Odds are three to two it’s within one minute of estimated arrival,” said Dave, as he and Fitzy sauntered back from the bookmaker. “That’s good odds.”
“And four to one, Brian’s new wife is an Asian.” Fitzy wiped the sweat beading on his forehead with a pudgy hand. “Them’s crazy odds, no way Bri woulda spent all that cash on a slaphead. Ya not putting on a bet, Jimbo?”
For Jimbo, the usual excitement of the oncoming train had been replaced by a tense knot in his stomach. “Nah, boys. I’m saving up.”
He glanced over to where Niki stood with the rest of his extended family; her father - his Uncle Frank, a younger stronger version of Jimbo’s Old Man, though his skin showed signs of the cancer speckle and his gut had started to sag; Frank’s wife Lana, her eye-liner smeared with tears, a strained lip-stick smile on her face as she hugged her massive breasts against her daughter - Jimbo used to fantasize about being lost between those two melons when he, and Lana, had been much younger - Lana was slowly churning into fat in her middle years; sickly Uncle Cam with his pale skin and thinning black hair stood with his arm around barren Aunty Joan, his Aussie-Chino wife - Jimbo remembered the Old Man flying into a rage when he learned his baby brother had married an Asian, reckoned they couldn’t have kids because white man’s sperm didn’t mix with yellow chinky eggs; Grandpa and Nan White, huddled in the shade in their wheelchairs, probably still reeking of whiskey and cigarettes; his mother, Melinda, frail and stooped in her pale blue blouse, one hand patting Lana reassuringly on the shoulder, the other hand squeezing Niki’s elbow; Jimbo’s cousins Derek, Barney, Scottie, Jack and Rhys, all gangly tough and awkward in their late teens.
And Niki, beautiful Niki, tall and slender, her blonde hair cut shoulder length, tight blue denim hugging her hips, kissing cheeks and hugging and laughing and crying ...
And then she was kissing him on the cheek, her lips warm and soft against his skin.
“Glad you came to see me off,” Niki said. “Oops.” She rubbed the lipstick off his cheek with her finger and smiled.
“Yeah, well, you know. Brian’s on the Marriage Carriage. Came down to see him too, not just you. The Old Man sends his regards.” Ji
mbo nodded his head towards Uncle Frank. “You know ...”
“Of course.” Niki nodded slowly, her eyes searching his. “James, you can come and visit me, you know?”
Jimbo shrugged, the knot in his stomach twisting into his bowels. He wanted to grab her by the hand, carry her from the station and down to the muddy banks of the Murray River where they’d played as kids, beg her not to go, to stay and marry him, raise a son, and everything else he dreamed about late at night in his sticky sheets. But all he could manage was, “Don’t much like the City. You’ll come back for holidays, eh?” He wanted to squeeze her neck hard with his calloused hands, choke the City out and make her beg to stay.
The Year's Best Australian SF & Fantasy - vol 05 Page 16