by Paul Haines
She winced as he walked inside. 'Oh, ya poor thing. Let me help ya clean this up.'
'A shower will be fine, Mum. I'm catching up with Fitzy and Dave down The Aussie.' He slipped a twenty from his pay and pressed it into his mother's hand. 'Get yaself something nice, eh?'
'Thanks, love.' She limped over to the fridge. 'Can I fix ya something to eat before ya go out?'
'Mel! Where's me beer?' the Old Man grunted from the lounge.
'No thanks, Mum, I'm running late as it is.'
'Hey!' the Old Man called again. 'Is that you, boy?'
'Yeah.' Jimbo peeled a fifty from his pay and put it next to the breadboard on the kitchen bench. 'Ya money's in here. I'm catching up with a few of the boys down the pub. I'm late.'
'Get ya lazy arse in here, boy. I got something to tell ya.'
Jimbo grabbed a beer from the fridge and went into the lounge. Even though the blinds were shut, the room felt stifling. The brick house was designed to keep the heat in during winter. In the summer you could cook meat on the walls. An old fan rocked from side to side as it blew hot air around the room. The Old Man sat in his rocker watching old TV files on the screen. It bathed him in enough light so the skin cancer crusting his nose and cheeks cast shadows on the rest of his face.
Jimbo tossed the beer at him. 'What?'
The Old Man caught the beer then paused his show. He was watching that old show about four women living in a city called New York and the lovers they kept having every week. Lovers, not husbands. Why the Old Man wasted his final years watching crap like that, Jimbo didn't know.
The Old Man cast an eye over Jimbo's scrapes. 'Yer late.' With a grunt, he opened his beer. 'Doin' a bit a overtime, eh?'
'Someone's gotta pay the bills.'
'Yep.' The Old Man raised the bottle to his mouth and gulped. Beer trickled through the cracks in the corner of his mouth, down his chin, and onto his bare gut. His grey chest hair glistened in the glow of the screen. 'Aaahhh. That's what sons are for, boyo. Don't ya forget it. Daughters are no good cos they just fuck off, eh? End up giving their money to the wrong family. Like ya cousin.'
'What?' said Jimbo.
His mother shuffled beside him and gently squeezed his elbow.
The Old Man took another swig. 'Nicole's scored some fancy job in the City. Bet ya horses ya won't be seeing her again. She'll meet some high-flyer, get married and that'll be the end of it, if you arkse me.' He pointed a scabbed finger at the screen and chuckled. 'Just like those bitches, eh, Melinda?'
It felt like a knife to the gut. Not Niki. Any of the other girls could leave for the City, but not Niki. Jimbo stared at his mother, looking for a lie in the lines of her face, but found only sympathy in her faded blue eyes.
'Why didn't you tell me?' he said to her.
'I'm sorry, James. I didn't want to spoil your night,' she said softly.
'She was never going to be yours, boyo,' said the Old Man. 'Ya Uncle Frank hates my guts. Reckons I fucked that slut he married and we know that ain't true, don't we, Mel?' The Old Man glared at his wife, challenging her. 'And anyways, Nicole's too good-lookin' and far too fucken smart for the likes a you.'
The Old Man chuckled again, his finger picking at the crust of a scab on his nose, and resumed watching the file.
#
The Aussie was packed. Sweat beaded on the inside of the windows, cigarette smoke choked the air, bodies jostled and pressed against each other in the battle for the bar, and the drum and guitar band shook the walls with a cover of the old Noll and Barnes classic 'Dancing in the Streets'. There were even girls on the dance floor.
Jimbo stood at the front of the queue of blokes outside. Keats and Mason, this evening's bouncers, were armed with baseball bats and wore lightweight body armour.
'Hey, Keats,' said Jimbo. 'How many girls here, ya reckon?'
Keats screwed up his face and tapped the end of the bat into the broken pavement. 'I dunno. Thirty?'
Jimbo nodded. 'Pretty good odds tonight, eh? About one in ten.'
'I reckon.' Keats scratched at the raw scar splitting the stubble on his head. 'Ya cuz's in tonight, mate.'
'I know. S'posed to be meeting up with her. Ya gunna let me in?'
'We're full, mate. Gotta wait for some cunt to get thrown out. Shouldn't take long but. Some outta-towners in tonight. Lotsa cash for the ladies. They'll piss off the local boys for sure.'
'How long's the wait?'
'Maybe an hour. Maybe more.' Keats looked up from the cracked pavement and gave Jimbo a slight nod.
'How much?' Jimbo asked.
Keats grinned, his mouth full of gapped stubby teeth. 'A tenner or a blowie.' He struck the baseball bat against the cement. 'Up to you.'
A fucken tenner? When did the price go up so much? Jimbo fingered the thin roll of notes in his pocket. 'Sure. When do you want it?'
'Still recovering from the last one. Heh, good ole Gaz, love his work. Meet you in the bogs about nine. You can do me then.'
'No worries, mate.' Jimbo strode into the crowd festering inside the pub. At least Keats never took long to come.
#
Fitzy slammed down a shot of tequila, grimaced and wiped his fat lips with the back of his hand. 'Ya missed her, Jimbo. She left maybe an hour and a half ago.'
'Shit.' Jimbo stared at his empty glass. Booze burned in his belly, its heat not yet reaching his brain. A bicycle wheel on a twisted bike frame spun crookedly in the base of the glass.
They'd scored a cubicle near the toilets. Crammed around a chipped laminated table, they sat on cracked leather seats that gushed springs and stuffing. Beer glistened on the table surface under the fluoro lights and ash overflowed from the upturned tray. Jimbo drew an arrow through it.
'Wanted to tell ya herself 'bout the job.' Dave wiped the last dregs of his shot from his scraggly red beard.
'Hey, boys!' a voice boomed in Jimbo's ear. A tray holding a fresh bottle of homemade tequila plonked onto the table. 'Let's get pissed!'
Six-foot-three of gangly legs and beer gut grinned at them from a heavily stubbled face. A few strands of shiny black hair had snuck from beneath the red trucker's cap on his head. The broken nose bridging the twinkling blue eyes were easily identifiable though.
'Fucken hell! Wazza Wilson, you old cunt.' Jimbo rose from his chair and clapped his arms around him. 'Ya ran me off the road this arvo. Haven't seen ya in years. What the hell are ya doing back in Shepp?'
'It's Christmas, boys. Thought I'd pop in on the folks on my run to Mildura. Deliver the cash to me Old Man in person.' Wazza eased himself into the cubicle and began pouring shots. 'That Keats is a big ugly-looking bastard these days. Had the nerve to ask for a blowjob to get in here. That cunt needs to get himself a woman.'
'Not that easy, Waz,' said Jimbo.
'There's a bit a pussy in here.' Waz swigged from the bottle and indicated the dance floor. 'Fucken hell. Look at Sledge!'
Sledge, a heavy-set guy rumoured to have got and kept his job because no-one could beat him in a fight—fist or knife—sat at the bar flashing cash and booze around while a girl perched on each knee. He was also the foreman down at the cannery and most of the boys weren't likely to go him for fear of losing their jobs.
'Yeah, half of the pussy comes from the House. Too expensive for us young blokes.'
'Shepp's got a House now? A formal House?' Waz asked.
'Yeah, the Cartel moved in a couple a years ago. Shut down the brothels real quick.'
'How much a go?' asked Waz.
'Two hundred.' Dave had a smirk on his face.
'That's not too bad.'
'It's over two weeks' wages!' said Jimbo. 'We can't fucken afford that, Waz. Maybe you can with ya City job an all that. We sure as fuck can't!'
Dave laughed. 'What ya saving for, Jimbo?'
Jimbo gave him the finger. 'You'll never get married, cunt.'
'And you'll never get laid, she-virgin!'
'Hole's a hole, mate. I want more than that. I want a wif
e.'
'Don't we all,' said Dave. 'There ain't enough to go around and I don't wanna die saving for one and never had no pussy.'
'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 were 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 trucker's 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 yaself a free wife.'
'You fucken kidding me, Keats? What the hell I want a black for a wife?' Jimbo slicked water through his thinning blond 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 swam 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 grille 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 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 fertiliser 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.
'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 h
is 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 eyes 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.