by Alan Duff
The mind was suddenly clear as it next occurred to Jube – (of course!) – that there was the spare-room stuff, plus what Sonny claimed for himself, the stereo and tv and video player, they’d be worth, what, fifteen hundred …? Narrowing thinking eyes at that as it occurred that he’d not even pay back the fifteen hundred – Nope. Too much. Stuff wasn’t worth that. But be worth a good seven, eight hundred, what we could get in a pub for the gear, easy. Make it a grand and divide that by two and means Sonny is only owed a grand, plus a little bit of profit for lending me the bread. But then again, if it was only for a couple of weeks how much profit was Sonny entitled to if he wasn’t doing nothing himself? Jube decided three hundred was a more than fair return.
Then there were the Persian rugs, six of them, that’d be worth at least five hundred apiece, they’re Isfahan, so there’s another three g, and Sonny won’t know how much I got for em. I’d give him three hundred and tell him he was lucky to get that, the ignorant black prick who don’t know nothing about valuable things when he walks right over them in every posh house he’s ever burgled.
So. From a point of bleak worthlessness the figures now added up to beyond Jube bothering to calculate in terms of doubling again when converted to dope and then cash again. For all he knew he’d be a millionaire within a year if the figures kept compounding like that, and nothing was surer that they would. Long as I make the first move. He lit up again, thought about it; tossing up whether to have one more day and night on the bash and tomorrow it’d be on, or do it now. Fuckit. Now, he decided. Not tomorrow – now.
Down the passage he marched to Sonny’s room, hearing this highfalutin music as he approached, and remembering through the haze of drunk and stoned memories of coming home of a night that he’d heard the same issuing from Sonny’s bedroom then. He frowned, wondering if was them video tapes, but shrugged what did it matter? He thought he’d best knock seein as how he was gonna touch the man for fifteen hundred, standing there for a moment as he readjusted his calculations to now include his unemployment benefit savings of a thousand to the scenario, as this weird singing came from other side of the door. A guy. Deep voice. Big voice. Singing churchy crap. What, Sonny’s gone religious? Jube shook his head, grinning, no way. He lifted his hand to knock, noticed the time: 10:43 digital read-out. Well, how bout that? I’m up early, hahaha. Knock-knock.
Sudden movement in there, Jube had a good mind to burst in see what Sonny was up to. The music cut off. Maybe he’s got a woman? The thought stirring Jube’s loins, and so did the picture of the depressed woman, Maria, come back to his mind. (Ahh, she felt so good.) Standing there, caught in his sexuality, his sex-driven mind; seeing pictures, having thoughts, loins stirred to an urgency of need. Heart with a faint kind of longing. Mind feeling murderous even as it felt horny. Twats. All the world’s twats, God, givem to me. Let me have em. Let me look at em the day long as I suck piss and I get sucked and I suck numbers and I suck twats. Give em to me, God. As he swallowed a lump in his throat, and hoped to hell Sonny didn’t have a woman in there it’d tear a man part with jealousy, nless it was a scrubber. Maybe I caught him wanking, hahahaha. I oughta step in right now, I might catch him with it in his hand, hahaha. Nah, I wouldn’t do that to you, Sonny boy. Thinking of the times he’d been caught in the act himself over the years of prison cells, having to share frequently. (Your privacy, your partly frightening privacy, having to share it with another con when it was that you could hardly share it with yaself. Not in terms of facing it you couldn’t. You always had rode with it. But never – never – stepped off a bit to look at it. Couldn’t. I might be –) He knocked hard on the door. Hey, what’s going on in there, bud. HAHAHAHA! The laugh more intended to relax Sonny, put him at ease that he was here as a mate, an old pal.
Hey, my main lil man! Gimme some skin! Gimme some skin! Jube as he grabbed Sonny’s hand from his side and shook it like a long-lost pal. And noting, in the instant, how different Sonny looked, how changed; but thinking it was he himself was hung-over, and unshaved for a few days, unshowered too. So how ya been, man? Running his eyes up and down Sonny’s relatively short height. Telling him, ya look good, bro. I mean good. And meaning it. What, you went and bought a secret youth potion with your bread? Hahahaha. Eh? Eh bro? That what ya did? Appraising Sonny again – and Sonny for his part not exactly spilling over with welcome; with, Good to see you, Jube – seeing that he had another new set of clothes, not fancy but not shit either.
It’s your hair, you had a new hairstyle, right? Sonny nodding, and looking just a little too cocksure for Jube’s liking. Not that there was any denying the man was a handsome little critter, for a Maori, they usually have flatter noses and thick lips, but not this one; and that hairstyle brought his looks out even better, though Jube knew Sonny never saw himself as having looks, he never had, and Jube’d never been able to figure why. Even the hard-arses in the Tavi said Sonny was a handsome little critter, and if the sheilas there still didn’t fall over emselves wanting him, it was only because (Jube knew them so well) they found Sonny disturbing (too fucking bright for em) and that his sensitive side threw that kind of woman off the Sonnys of this world. What would they know, the scrubbers, about looks and sensitivity? Jube of a sudden washed over with empathy for Sonny and not knowing why. You’re looking real good, Son. He ruffled Sonny’s hair, noting how clean it felt, how it shone. Then he took his eyes around the room.
At the set-up of stereo and tv and video recorder and the bed moved to the far wall and the wardrobe out at a funny angle, even had a Persian on the floor. Then the penny dropped: That box a tapes, they have a bluey amongst em? Jube gleam-eyed and expectant. Till Sonny shook his head with a grin and said, I doubt it. Aw, come on, Son, this’s me. Jube. Your old buddy from way back, hahaha. Not a one? Uh? uh? Jube for a moment recognising something of himself in the way he wanted Sonny to confirm the lawyer’s kinky sexual tastes as further revealed. That he wanted Sonny to confirm it, just as he was inside poised to get instantly angry at that confirmation. Except Sonny laughed and invited Jube to take a look for himself, pointing to under his bed. So Jube accepted this and took his mind back to the business he’d come for.
So where ya been, Son? Oh, you know, around. I ain’t seen you, man, cept to pass in the passageway, hahaha. You been keeping alright? Yeah, I have. Not gone religious, have ya, hahaha. Hardly. Glad to hear that, bro, I was getting a bit worried when I heard, you know, at the door, the shit playing. What was it? Oh, nothin much, just something on tape I kinda like. Not church though, was it? No, man, not church – well, it was kind of church but I aint churchy. Hahahaha, that’s good to hear, bro, cos I was getting really worried that you not coming to the Tavi ever since we hit it off, that it’d gone to your head, the bread, maybe even the stir-crazies. Ya know?
I ain’t stir-crazy, Jube. Stir-sick, yeh. But not – Man, I know that now, I can see it. You look alright, in fact like I said you look real good. I, uh, I been missing you, bud, Jube dropping his voice to just the right volume. But Sonny only shrugging; You know, the times we shared and that …? But Sonny just staring; hard to say what he was thinking. I was beginning to think I’d maybe lost ya, like as in moved out, hahaha. That you’d up and run off with your money. Or maybe you’ve spent it, hahaha. Jube’s heart soaring when Sonny shook his head adamantly. No? You haven’t blown it yet? Hahaha. His laugh reading back as nervous even to himself. Me, I spent a bit, tha’s for sure; you know how it is, the Tavi every day and them bludgers into ya for a free beer, a touch-up here, one there, before ya know it you’ve gone through a couple of hundred. Doesn’t last long does it? Not even all that bread we had, hahaha. But that’s what it’s for, eh Son? To blow. Jube talking faster than he normally did, and hardly able to stop himself.
I got a plan, Son. Having to wait even when he was chafing at the bit to run off at the mouth. Dope. Dope, Sonny; that’s where it’s at. But Sonny shaking his head, Told ya man, not my scene. But you go ahead, you got your own bread to buy the stuff, bu
t not for this guy, Jube. Hey, come on, man, you ain’t even heard me out and here you are wiping me. I ain’t wip – Ya are. So let me have my say.
We did the burg together didn’t we? Jube swept an arm around, And this stuff you got set up here, it’s ours ain’t it? Half and half, uh? Sonny nodding at that, and Jube thinking he was getting on top. We got the rugs and the couple of paintings I just remembered in the spare room – oh, minus the one you got on the floor there, hahahaha – the rugs’ll fetch a ton apiece at least. Halves, Sonny. We’re halves in that too. Same as if we get pulled over the burg, we’ll be doing the same sentences, probly in the same cell – HAHAHA! Like we can’t away from each other, eh Son? Slapping Sonny on the shoulder, laughing. Then there’s our bread we both got saved up in bank accounts – ’nless you spent yours, no? Eyeing Sonny carefully. Nope. Ain’t touched it. Same, Sonny. I’m the same: I haven’t been near my dole account. Innit great, Son? Yeah, it is I guess. You guess? Only guess?
Sonny shrugging that way of his. Then telling Jube, You told me those rugs’d score two hundred apiece. Did I? You did. Well I was just being, you know, on the safe side. So we don’t get disappointed, hahaha. But then again, maybe you got your own fence outlets who’ll give us two ton each for em …? Eyeing Sonny with confidence and waiting for Sonny’s eyes to drop to concede the point which he duly did. Right.
So how much ya got left? Jube after drawing in breath and himself to full, hopefully intimidating, height while he did. Oh, you know, enough. Enough how much? Enough, bro. Come on, Son, this is fucking business. I said I don’t want – Business, Sonny Mahia. To double our bread. Well, maybe not double, not for the first few buys but eventually we would. Magine the set of wheels you could buy with a few extra grand in your pocket, Son. I ain’t got a desire to have wheels, man, you know that. Well ya must have sumpin ya want? Not really. What, not any fucking thing? A woman? Sonny with a grin. Jube grinning back, Now that’s the Sonny I know, hahaha. Even though it wasn’t.
Time Jube was through he had fifteen hundred of Sonny’s two thousand remaining of the three and half, and he had Sonny digging out his bankbook to withdraw the accumulated dole payments; chuckling, making cracks, reminding Sonny of the good life that money buys. And while we’re at it we may as well sell the rugs. You don’t want this one in your room, do ya? You do? Okay, have it. It’s yours, bro. Pat-pat-pat in false affection on Sonny’s head. Both of them loading Jube’s car boot with the Persian rugs, the two paintings.
Oh, Jube remembering again, the gear you got set up in your room, that’ll have to go, or …? Playing with Sonny now. So how much is my half, Sonny’d asked, looking like a child afraid of having his most precious possessions taken from him. So Jube went, Oh, make it, what, we’d get easy a grand, twelve hundred for it, so make it six – no, five hundred. You owe me five hundred for my half. I can’t be fairer’n that can I? (Hahahaha.) As they walked, Jube an arm around Sonny’s shoulders in an expansive show of affection that was more a show of superiority.
First the rugs; turnem into cash. Oh, and the paintings. Hahaha, as he drove to a bar where one of the city’s big-time fences drank. Feeling like he was on air, driving on it in this case and walking on it when he strode into the White Heart Tavern up a side street off the waterfront. On air because he had total of two and a half grand from Sonny, his own withdrawn thousand of savings, and the seven Persian rugs he was guaranteed to get five ton apiece for and the paintings, one a McCahon, the other a real old New Zealand scenery job, they’d fetch a grand between em at least.
And just let the fence try the they’re-not-worth-anything trick with Jube: he’d bowl the guy with knowledge. Indepth knowledge, from studying several books when he was doing the sentence before last on rugs from the Middle East and Turkey and Pakistan and even India, and don’t forget China too, specially their silk rugs. Setting his mouth in a cocksure line at the thought of blowing the fence away with pure knowledge. Specialised knowledge. (Hahahaha.)
Jube made a beeline for Percy, the fence, surrounded at a standing table by his watersider mates. Jube with his sleeves rolled up high so Percy could see from the tats he was no undercover trying to set him up. Jube’d anyway met him once before, with a pal who was selling to Percy; Jube didn’t rate him that much from that one meeting.
Percy was fat. But powerfully built. Hard-looking too. His eyes. He could’ve been any one of the wharfies he was drinking with – and was – it wasn’t for his other side activities, which the crim world said made him a handsome living. But Jube wasn’t worried by the man, not his rep, nor his hard-faced demeanour. (I’d stab the cunt he pushed me the wrong way.) Jube thinking he meant that threat.
He proffered his hand: Jube McCall. We met once before, I was with Rocky. Percy stared at the hand. Rocky? Yeah, Rocky. We met in here. (You smart prick, shake my fucking hand.) So? (So? he says?) So I’m introducing myself, bud. And the guy’s mates pausing in their drinking to look at Jube, some with hard eyes. (Fuck em. Think I haven’t seen hard men in my life?)
Alright, so you’ve met me, whatever you said your name is. Anything else? Jube dropped his hand. (You cunt. I’ll remember this.) Was wondering if we could have a word? Looking at the faces fronting him. In private. The fence broke into a grin, an ugly one at that, And why would that be? Jube just had to shrug, he wasn’t expecting this. And Percy (the Pig) running his eyes up and down Jube’s length, then drawling, I’ll say one thing: If you’re an undercover cop, then God help this town’s police force – HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Percy laughing and his pals with him. Had Jube’s face reddening.
Jube shrugged again (I’ll fix him), Suit yaself. You wanna turn your nose up to a good earner, that’s fine by me. He turned and started walking away. (Take that you arsehole.) Smoking inside at Fatboy, who called him back, Hey! Hold up a mo. Jube stopped, took his time in turning around. Place his bunched fists on his jeaned hips, So you wanna talk turkey? Feeling like straight from a movie: heroic. Tough, uncompromising. (Don’t you mess with me, fat muthafucker.) Yeah, why not, Fatboy conceded (wilted, more like it.) He nodded to his pals and they took up glasses and jugs and moved to a table nearby.
So whatcha got, uh …? I didn’t catch your name. Yes ya did, but the name’s Jube. (Beat you every time, ya wanker.) Okay, Jube. So whatcha got for sale? Colour tv? Video recorder? Asking in a mocking tone, as if he’d seen it all before and he was gonna batter Jube down before they even started. Till Jube said through half-lidded eyes, Oh, just a few Persian rugs. Seven. Looked the guy square in the eye, though that was harder to do than normal cos of the fat around em. But Jube knew he had this guy, he knew it.
Persian rugs, eh? Rubbing his fat jaw, then shook his head. Nope. Not interested, bud. (What?!) Jube arched an eyebrow. No market for em, Jube. No market …? Nope. So even if I was interested in the first place, there’d be no point: I can’t move em on. And if, as well, you had receipts to prove purchase, even then I couldn’t look atem. Seeing as how – he paused and his eyes hardened – you and I don’t know each other, even though you say we do. You get me?
Yep, I get you, man. Fine. Fine by me. Jube felt hurt. Not just taken aback, but hurt. Belittled. Done at his own game of being the tough guy. So he turned again. Fine, Percy. That’s just fine by me. Started walking. Again.
Waiting to be called back, except it didn’t come; not a word from Fatboy behind him. So Jube stopped, turned. Fatboy Percy the Pig was staring at him – or straight through him. Jube couldn’t read the guy, not one word on his unspeaking face.
So what would you offer? Nothing, Jube. Come on … Jube started back to Percy, brought to a halt a couple of steps short of the table, not wanting any closer because it would demean him more. Make an offer. Offer’s nothing, pal. Don’t you under – Come on, they’re worth four or five grand apiece, maybe more. Oh? How do you know – I know, buddy. I made a point of studying em. (Take that, arsehole.) Really? Yeh, really. And what university would that’ve been, my friend? No university, pal. So where’d you s
tudy Persian rugs – Persia maybe? Hahahaha.
I got two paintings too. One’s a McCahon. You heard of him, or didn’t they teach you that at your university (try that shit on me.) A McCahon, eh? Hmmm, now you’re talking. (Oh?) Jube was surprised. What do you want for it? I – Well, I was thinking – I thought if you bought the both – I take it both are McCahons? Nope, just the one. Other’s a olden-day thing, mountains and that, in one of them fancy frames. Frame alone’d be worth a couple of hundred. Yeh, sure, Jube, I’m into buying picture frames. There’s a huge market out there – Okay, okay, what’s your offer? What’s your asking? I – Make it a grand for the two paintings and – Nope. Not interested. Eight hundred for the paintings and four ton apiece for the rugs. No. Sorry, Jube, but that’s my final answer.
What, on everything? Everything, Jube. But man, we are talking tens of thousands here and you’re – No market, pal. Who do you know in your world who buys Persian rugs, specially at four hundred apiece and then I’ve gotta turn a profit, so make that, what, a grand a rug and your market’s dried up. If it ever existed. What about rich people then, they must buy Persians? Do they? Sure they do. Then go sell to them, Jube. I – Hey, come on, man, what the fuck is this? Percy shaking his head and clicking his tongue and then sighing, Jube, Jube, Jube.
He drew in a deep breath then out it came. Trouble with you local-yocal tealeafs, son, is you lack what we in the trade call, uh, discernment. You either grab the obvious, like tvs and stereos and video players, even microwaves, but ya don’t think to follow the marketplace trends in these things, to find out that the price of these things, legit, has been going down and down and down; even average worker people’ve got these things nowadays. Yet you guys are still asking prices that were around in the early eighties. And ya wanna know why? The fat swelling of self-assured features thrust itself at Jube. Cos your kind is in and out of the slammer, more in than out, so ya lose touch, son. With reality. With what’s going on in the world. Not a fucking one of yous bothers to find out about the changing world. Percy spat out the emphasis, and Jube was trembling with humiliation and his heart ached to do bodily harm.