by Hercules
TS blushed and nodded.
'Mum!' Metho said, in a frustrated voice. 'Don't you start, now. She may be clever and can take care of herself in a fight an' that, but she's still a girl. She'd be great at the back end, I'll grant you that, but it's a different story on the street. You need respect or the buggers will eat you alive, and ain't no one going to respect a slip of a girl with pink and green hair!'
TS lifted her right leg as if she was going to kick someone and both Skip and Tits instinctively took up defensive positions. She smiled sweetly at Metho and then used her foot to brush the hair out of her eyes. 'My mum says hello and that she misses you. She'd like you to visit one day soon.'
'You tell your mum I'd love to, deary, but I can't really get out much these days. She's more'n welcome to come visit me here. The snacks aren't as good, but the whisky is better,' a smirking Vera said, and then turned to Metho. 'I hear things haven't been going well for you boys of late,' she continued, 'and the fact that you've bought your friends to visit your dear old mum would suggest I'm right.'
'I dunno, Mum,' Metho said, 'these new buggers that have moved into Rosetown aren't buying, and there doesn't seem to be a way to get rid of 'em.'
'Now, now, Gordon, you mustn't get so down in the mouth. I'm sure that you and the lads will figure something out, especially now that you have Tiny here to help you with the thinking. Maybe you need to be a bit more assertive?'
'Yeah, maybe,' Metho said, sounding anything but confident. 'Has that new shipment of your medicine come in yet?'
'It's under the coffee table in the lounge room, dear. You and your friends enjoy as much as you want. They sent me far more than I need again,' Vera said and her eyes sparkled. 'I'm off to have a bit of a lie down.'
The loungeroom was a small affair, but there was ample seating for everyone once all the bullfrogs had been evicted from the various armchairs dotted about the place. Metho began busying himself with a large box he'd removed from under the coffee table while Skip fielded a call from one of the lieutenants in the field. The news was not good.
'Well?' Metho asked when an ashen faced Skip ended the call. 'That was Dago. He and his boys copped the same as us. Not even his missus with a skin full of beer could slow the buggers down.'
'See? I told you but you wouldn't listen,' Metho said. 'These aspirational fuckers couldn't give a fuck what we do. They already know what it's like here and they don't care.'
'Not caring is one thing, but ignoring piss flowing down your face?' Little Spaz said. 'Who the hell can ignore something like that?'
'I dunno, but I better report it to the Man,' Metho said, and extricated his telephone from the unspeakable depths of his pants pocket.
A crowded few minutes passed as Metho and Skip communicated with various members of their evil empire.
'The Man wants us to keep doing wot we is doing,' Metho said. 'Which is bullshit.'
'We is all fucked,' Skip added. 'Same story everywhere.'
Metho let out a world-weary sigh. 'I dunno about you blokes, but I could use a bit of relaxing, and I has just the thing.' He opened the box he'd pulled from under the table and extracted a strange pen shaped object and a recently unwrapped package of wax.
What is it?' Tits asked, always ready for a new experience.
'Medicinal marijuana,' Metho said, and leered. 'For some reason, me Mum always gets more than she needs.'
'What are we waiting for?' Skip said. 'Let's smoke it!'
'Well, you don't really smoke this stuff,' Metho said.
'Oh,' Skip said, and his voice betrayed his disappointment. 'Do we eat it or something, only I'm still full from the snacks and beer and that.'
'No, we vape it,' Metho said, and flourished the metal tube. Settle down folks and get ready to get happy.'
(iv)
While the Crew sought comfort and succour in the waxy residue of healing herbs, a group of strange beings congregated in a dark and musty room deep beneath the earth. It wasn't the secret cavern in which the mushrooms grew, but it was just as secret and no less impressive because of all the electronic gadgetry lining the walls. However, without their space suits the squat beings weren't nearly as intimidating. Their speech was high pitched and quick, and accompanied by quick movements of their furry little arms, twitching of their cute little noses, and grooming of their fuzzy little ears. If a human had been here to observe—a council inspector, for example, trying to find a way out of this underground alien warren and back to the human world on the surface—he would have observed the first speaker say:
'Eeiiuouee' *nose twitch* *left ear flick forward then back* 'iieeeiieaee', which means 'Did that fucking idiot human really piss on my head?'
Of course, translation would have been the last thing on the inspector's mind because he would have been far too busy reeling at the sight of a dozen or so giant rodents, wearing shiny metal harnesses, chatting amongst themselves in an underground room that looked like a Star Wars set, and that reeked of lavender and musk.
What our inspector would not have known is that these strange beasts were not rodents at all, but marsupials. A species of Quokka, to be exact, related to our own Earth-bound Quokkas in the same way that the inspector is related to a baboon or to a hipster. And they were here on Earth for a specific reason: mushrooms.
Heavily controlled throughout the galaxy because of their ability to let intergalactic beings have a good time, mushrooms were highly sought after and very, very expensive. The fact that mushrooms were largely ignored by the human populace of Earth indicated to the galaxy in general that humans were a primitive species who were too dumb to understand the value of the fungus that grew everywhere on their home planet.
The inspector would probably have been even more terrified had he known that the Galactic Government had shut down the Earth as a Galactic destination to protect the delicate environment that let so many mushrooms flourish, and that they operated a limited and secret mushroom harvesting operation for what they claimed were medicinal and research purposes only. This was not that operation. This was the other mushroom harvesting operation. The one run by criminal Quokkas from outer space.
Chapter 3
The tension in the room at Vera's had drained away and been replaced by a strawberry scented cloud of vapour.
'I dunno,' said a relaxed Skip. 'I mean, it's easier on the throat for sure, and me lungs ain't screaming like if this was smoke, but it doesn't feel right. An' does it have to be strawberry? I mean, it's like it was specially flavoured for kiddies who want to get high.'
'Feels a'right to me,' Tits said and passed the vaporiser to TS.
Metho grunted in agreement. He was fast approaching a state where verbal communication was something that other people did.
The television was on and the Crew had arranged themselves in an arc around it, using various stuffed bullfrogs as cushions. A talking head on the screen was chastising the world for the damage humanity had done to their home planet.
'You know, I reckon they dun it wrong. Instead of coming out an' saying "boogey boogey, the climate's coming to get ya",' Skip said. 'I reckon they should have said there was no such thing as climate change. Deny it completely. An' every time some science geek or whatever, says there is climate change, send some blokes in dark glasses to tell 'em to shut up.'
'Boogey Boogey? Really? Who the hell says that? An' what the fuck are you talking about anyway?' Metho said, after a moment's concentration to remind himself how speaking worked.
'You know, how all these climate change deniers keep saying the scientists is talking bullshit about it getting hotter an' that. Of course people are gunna be sus if you tell 'em right to their face. It's like the chem trails an' that, that they always deny but people believe are true. They should have denied climate change as well. Then all those fuckers wot believe in chem trails would believe in climate change as well.'
'It's pretty fucked up, though, the weather changin' an' that,' Tits said, his face going from euphoric to a ma
sk of misery. 'It's like how business has gone shit. Maybe what's happening to us now is a sign that we is doing it all wrong? You know, how the planet is telling everyone that we is fucking things up? Maybe business being bad is a sign that we is doing it all wrong? I mean, do we really want to be drug dealers? It's illegal an' that. I dunno if that is what I should be doing. Do you like being a drug dealer, Metho? Cos I reckon being the bad guys is shit.'
'Of course I like bein' a drug dealer you fuckwit, wot sort of a question is that? An' you should shut up about good an' bad. What the fuck else you gunna do? The only other jobs around here for people like us is stacking shelves or cleaning dunnies, and that's not the sort of work you live your life doing, know what I mean?'
'It's a choice, mate, a choice,' Tit's said, getting as animated as the processed herbs would allow. 'My old man didn't do illegal shit like I do. He made his own business. And my uncles. And Skip's old man is a parking inspector. Why can't we do like our parents?'
'Things is different now, which is why your uncles have become as bent as you an' me. Everyone had a job when I was a kid, and they had real jobs then, not all this service industries bullshit. I remember my dad used to work at the toy factory, and then the company moved the whole fucken' thing to fucken Thailand. And then he worked making shoes, but they shot off as well. It was almost like all the factory owners was offended they had to pay the people that worked for 'em,' Metho said, and reclined further on his fluffy, tri-colour bullfrog. 'For us, there's either wot we is doing now, or we can take a pay cut and wait tables or clean toilets.'
With a monumental effort of will, Metho shook off the dampening effects of the semi-legal smog and leaned forward. 'Listen mate, there's fucken dignity in drug dealin, you un'erstand? People has respect for ya. They want something you got, so they's polite. How do you reckon those fuckers who own the supermarkets treat their shelf-stackers? With dignity and respect? My fucken arse, mate. They sneer at 'em, or be all condescending and politically correct an' that. As far as those fuckers are concerned, their employees are just worms with arms and legs.'
'Oh come on,' Little Spaz said, 'you can't blame businesses for doing the right thing by their shareholders. It's their duty to maximise profits. And anyway, there's plenty of opportunity in the labour market for people with get up and go.'
Metho barked a laugh and accepted the vaporiser from TS. 'Look at you, all holier than thou an' that. You and your sister has had a good life, and why do you think that is? Your old man was a cleaner when I first met him. He never told you about that, did he? I was there when all this started. An' I can tell you things is better now than they was then. You think you would have had as good a life if your dad was still a cleaner? Not likely.'
'It's all pointless in the end,' Skip said, muscling into the conversation with what he thought was a pertinent point. 'Whether you stack shelves, clean toilets, or sell recreational chemicals for a living, you end up spending your whole life workin', and for what?'
'My Yaya told me it was all part of God's plan,' Tits said. 'You work all your life so you can be happy after you is dead.'
Skip pondered this as he waited for Metho to pass him the vaporiser. 'That doesn't make sense, mate,' he said after a moment's thought. 'How can you be happy after you're dead? You gotta be happy here and now, while you can enjoy it.'
'And you're happy now, are you?' Metho asked, after he had exhaled a cloud of strawberry scented fog.
'I s'pose so,' Skip said, then sighed. 'Yeah,' he said, and paused. 'Maybe,' then another pause and a sigh. 'Nah. Not really. No.'
'This happiness bullshit is all bullshit,' Metho said, with feeling. 'I don't know anyone who is happy. Not a single one. As far as I can tell, eight out of ten fuckers are miserable and the other two are idiots. The idiots are happy, I'll grant you that. It's like the only way to happiness is to be a fucken idiot.'
'I is happy right now,' Tits said, 'thanks to medicinal marijuana.'
'There you go then, you're happy now cos the dope makes you an idiot. What about when you're straight?'
'I have a drink,' Tits said.
'That's right, which also makes you an idiot. See?' Metho said, his voice triumphant, 'happiness through idiocy.'
'To be fair, he doesn't have far to go,' Skip said, and looked longingly at the vaporiser.
'Your one to talk,' Metho said and passed on the shiny stick of happiness. 'The only time we see a smile on your face is when you is bent. When you're straight, you're either miserable cos you split up with Steph, or you're miserable cos you got back with Steph.'
It was a testament to the depth of Skips feeling about his erratic relationship with his long term semi-paramour that he was able to break through the numbing effects of the semi-illegal herb and snap at Metho. 'Fuck you,' he said.
'He's right, you know,' Tits said. 'You is always complaining about Steph, irregardless of whether you is together or not.'
'Whatever,' Skip said, 'and irregardless is not a word.'
'Yes it is! I seen it on television.'
'Look, love is hard,' Skip said, 'an' I love Steph. She is the One.'
Metho did another laugh-snort 'Big, fat, hairy deal. I met the One. In fact, I met about half a dozen of 'em. They was all nice when I met 'em, and they were all psycho's when I left 'em. I s'pose I just drive women crazy. What's weird is that each one was the worst.'
'You has no soul, you old fucker,' Skip said, after exhaling a thick cloud of vapour. 'And how can every one of 'em be the worst?'
'Well, when I think about each of 'em on their own, right, I realise that she was the worst relationship I was ever in. Until I think about another one, and then I realise that she was the worst relationship I'd ever had.'
Skip took a moment to work this out. 'Doesn't that make you feel bad?'
'Nah, not really. I just don't think about them.'
'No, you idiot, I meant that you won't have anyone to share your old age with,' Skip said. 'If you don't meet the One, who are you gunna share your old age with?'
'Do you think my mum needed someone like my dad to share her old age with?' Metho said. 'Him dying was the best thing that ever happened to her.'
'I remember that. You threw a party at the Belgradia,' Tits said
'Cos I was glad the fucker was gone. Once he lost his job at the shoe factory, he became a drunken monster and impossible to live with. It was a blessing he spent more time in jail than at home.'
'Still, he was your old man.'
'Yeah, but I hated him. An' me brother hated him. An' Mum hated him. He was just bad, through an' through.'
'You shouldn't speak ill of the dead.'
Metho burst out laughing. 'Why not? Best time to do it, I reckon. And anyway, I bet there are lots of families like us. Where some mad fucker dies and it's a good thing for all the family. They just put on a bullshit sad face in public but inside they is relieved as hell.'
'All this philosophising is interesting, and a window into the darkness of your collective minds,' Little Spaz said, 'but we must turn our attention to the problem at hand. I think you're right, Metho, pursuing my father's strategy is a recipe for failure. We have to come up with something new.'
'You know what's wrong with Poppy's plan,' TS said, 'it's too local. What we need to do is let all of Australia know that Rosetown is a bad place to live, not just a handful of idiots who have already made up their minds they want to be here.'
Silence fell and all eyes turned to Metho, who stared at TS. 'Wot would you suggest, then?' he asked.
'We need to do like Vera said and be more assertive,' TS said, with a criminal smile on her face. 'Do something that will make everyone take notice. Something that will get us on every television set, on every news feed, and that will keep the bloggers blogging for weeks to come.' She paused for dramatic effect. 'We need to kidnap an auctioneer and hold him for ransom.'
(ii)
The plan hatched by the Crew was so simple that it even seemed viable the following day, when
the fog of medicinal marijuana had cleared. They would kidnap an auctioneer, take him to an empty warehouse on the outskirts of Melbourne, and then broadcast to the world that they wanted a million dollars or, as Metho put it, 'the fucka wot sold the Belgradia is fucked'.
'The ransom is all but irrelevant,' TS said as the Crew sipped Turkish coffee at Socrates'n'Friends, 'we just want every news outlet everywhere to carry the video.'
'Video? Where we gunna get video?' Metho asked.
'Basset can do it, and then upload it onto the dark web.'
'Basset? Who's Basset?'
TS looked surprised. 'My brother,' she said and pointed at Little Spaz, who blushed.
'Nice,' Metho said, as Tits and Skip grinned at Little Spaz. 'First donuts, now video and dark webs. Is there anything you can't do, Basset my boy?'
'Pick my work mates,' Little Spaz said, his face red to the ears.
'Wot sort of a name is Basset?' Skip asked.
'It means small, and I got it because I was small when I was born.'
'So we should really call you Small Spaz then, hey? What a turn up. We should change TS's name to Smaller Spaz cos she's your little sister,' Skip said.
'Why? I like my name. Nothing wrong with Tiny,' TS said.
Skip faltered for a moment. 'So, what, Tiny is your actual name?'
TS nodded. 'Yep'.
Skip swallowed. TS was a little too volatile to mock, even casually. 'Really?' was all he could think of saying that would express his surprise while simultaneously not pushing the boundaries of her temper.
'Anyway,' TS continued, 'what we do is steal a couple of cars...'
In the first car, driven by Skip, would be the snatchers—namely Metho and Tits. They would be followed by a second car driven by TS with Small Spaz—the Crew had unanimously voted to change his official unofficial name—hanging out the window and recording the entire event on a fancy digital camera he'd gotten for Christmas the year before.