by Paul Haines
She had brown eyes and a small sharp nose. The cheekbones were high and the jaw firm. Not quite up to Niki's standards, but comparable to Brian's wife. Sixty percent was pretty good, especially if the rest was European. You couldn't really tell the wogs apart from the Aussies these days, anyway.
'The most Australian one, this one?'
Santos nodded.
Jimbo looked at Dave. 'Leave the room for a bit, mate.'
'What for?'
'Just do it, will ya?'
'What ... oh, right. Come on, man, I won't look.'
'Just for a bit. Now fuck off.'
When Dave had left the room, Jimbo said to Santos, 'Show me her body.'
#
'This is it, man, this is the mall!' Dave grinned and folded the map away.
Jimbo nodded, staring up at the buildings dwarfing the crowded strip. A few slivers of sunlight managed to break through the shadows, and a muscled busker took advantage of the natural spotlight juggling a whirl of blades while he stripped off his clothing.
'Fuck the hibernation, Jimbo, this is gunna be shit hot!' Dave pressed into the throng, trying to get closer to the juggler. 'Look at this cunt! He's gunna cut himself bad.'
The noise of the street rose in Jimbo's ears, confusing him. Somewhere the clanging of a bell signalled a tram trying to push through the crowd as it made its way up the mall. Jimbo had always thought the smell of the cannery spoiling in the heat of summer had been bad, but the mall pressed its body hard into his nostrils, a body of dirty sweat and sweet decay and sun-cooked piss and stale, fumed air. Somebody pushed past him, causing him to totter and reach out to steady himself on someone else. That someone else turned and glared while hissing a 'don't touch me'. Jimbo could just make out Dave's head—and frantically pushed his way towards him. It's just like The Aussie on a Christmas or New Year's Eve, like on Cup Day, like on any fucken Friday night when the wind blows too hot. This is nothing. This is nothing. Jimbo wished he was back in the seclusion of the Bridal Services' complex, back with their baggage, back with the chance to wait out the month in the hibernation chambers. One fucken sleep, and I'd be back on that train. With ma wife. One sleep.
Dave turned, laughing, eyes sparkling. He waved his hand for Jimbo to come closer. 'Ya should see the size of this guy's cock!'
The noise of the surrounding crowd grew, catcalls and piercing whistles. People began to clap, at first slowly, increasing to a fast staccato of flesh slapped on flesh.
Jimbo pushed his way next to Dave who was clapping and laughing. The juggler stood naked except for white socks and black shoes. Sweat glistened on his skin as the blades whirled faster and faster. Scars crisscrossed his chest. The juggler thrust his hips in time to the clapping of the crowd, his dick flapping back and forth with the movement. Coins tossed from the crowd jangled at his feet.
'How does this end?' Jimbo shouted into Dave's ear.
The juggler grinned from ear to ear, his eyes studying the blades spinning around him through the air. Faster and faster. Sweat. Thrust. Crowd. Roar.
An apple flew from the midst of the crowd, smacking against the juggler's head. The blades tumbled down, slicing, glittering in the shaft of sunlight. Somebody laughed. Screamed. The crowd surged around them. The clanging of the tram bell, loud and sharp. Fists swung, the apple-thrower going down. The juggler launched himself into the crowd, screaming obscenities, struggling towards the apple-thrower. A siren wailed, a bright hot noise stabbing through the mall.
'Let's get the fuck out of here.' Jimbo grabbed Dave by the arm and dragged him towards the edge of the mob.
Dave, breathless, eyes shining, followed. 'Fuck the hibernation, Jimbo! This is great!'
#
Jimbo opened his daypack and retrieved the cake tin Aunty Lana had given him.
'What am I gunna do with this?'
'Don't arkse me,' said Dave.
They sat on the concrete steps outside the old Victorian parliament. Bars caged broken windows, and a slab of steel covered the doors. Sprayed on the door were the words: Stop live exports! Someone had written Stop the flesh trade first next to it. From their vantage point, Bourke Street stretched west, the throng weaving around the heavy trams that crisscrossed at the intersections.
'Ya gunna open it?' asked Dave.
Jimbo fingered the tin, its touch bringing back memories of sneaking out of bed and creeping into Aunty Lana's pantry with Niki. Anzac biscuits, caramel squares, banana cake, back when the bananas used to grow up north.
'She ain't here, Jimbo. Ya gunna leave it with those cunts at her work? No fucken way she'd get it, man.'
'Nah, man, I promised.' Jimbo opened the tin. The smell of baked golden syrup Anzacs wafted out.
'They smell good!' A tall, skinny guy with caved in cheeks and a mass of corkscrew hair sat nearby. A ragged daypack rested at the feet of his boots—Blunnies, just like mine, Jimbo thought—and he wore a chambray shirt with faded jeans. 'You boys been here long?'
Jimbo closed the biscuit tin. 'Maybe twenty minutes. What's it to you?'
The skinny guy laughed. 'Nah, that's not what I meant. How long have you been in the City? I been here two weeks now. Looking for work. And lemme tell ya, I'm having a cunt of a time finding anything that's paying.'
Jimbo and Dave both smiled.
'Ya not from here either?' said Dave.
'Fuck no! Just here to earn some cash. Send it home to the folks. They're getting on now, and there's fuck all work back home. That's out east past Gippsland way. What line a work you guys in? I'm a chippie. Well, not got a trade or nothing, but I know how to do it all. Me old man was a chippie until he fucked his back. What did ya say you guys were? Hey, my name's Bop.' He reached out a hand. 'Nice to meet some others a bit more like me, ya know what I mean?'
They all shook hands and made introductions.
This cunt's alright. He's jus like us.
'We're not looking for work, Bop,' Dave said. 'Up here doing a bit a shopping.'
Bop's eyebrows arched. 'Really?'
Dave tapped the side of his nose and winked. 'Ooh yeah! Bigtime.' He elbowed Jimbo in the ribs. 'Eh, Jimbo?'
'I got no fucken idea what yer talking about, boys.' Bop ran his fingers through the corkscrews in his hair. 'What, drugs? Biotech or something?'
Dave elbowed Jimbo again. Jimbo swatted back. 'Fuck off, Dave.' Then to Bop, 'Here to get me a wife. Top shelf.'
Bop shook his head. 'Ya fucken kidding me? You got enough cash for a wife?' He picked at the scuffed leather on his boots. 'Man, I guess it's a hell of a lot better up in Shepp than out my way.'
'Not for all of us,' said Dave.
'That's cos ya spent all yer money on fucken whores!' said Jimbo.
Dave and Bop exchanged nods, both grinning like idiots. 'Nothing finer.'
'Too right. Now speaking a pussy.' Bop indicated two women, a little older than Jimbo, sitting nearby on the steps below. 'Ya wasting ya money on a wife. Those two have been checking us out. Hey, ladies!'
One, a blonde, with a low-cut top and a short skirt, smiled and leant forward, her cleavage spilling flesh. The other, a short dark woman with long black hair and tights, pointed at the biscuits. 'Could we have one?'
'Sure.' Dave slapped the concrete next to him. 'Pull up a seat.'
The blonde reached into the tin and pulled out a biscuit. 'My mum used to make these when I was little.'
Jimbo yanked his eyes from her tits. There was regrowth in her hair. Her legs were long. 'My aunty made 'em.'
She flashed him a smile, then sat on the steps next to his feet. 'I'm Charlie, that's Sara.' She nibbled on the biscuit, her brown eyes widening. 'Yum!'
Sara leant on Dave's shoulder as she grabbed a biscuit, then sat. 'First time in town?'
Dave laughed. 'That obvious?'
'Where you guys from?' asked Charlie.
'Shepp.' Jimbo offered Dave a biscuit, and then bit into his own. He hardly tasted it. Charlie stared into his eyes, smiling. He fumbled the tin closed,
then back into the pack. 'He's from out Gippsland.'
'Country boys, eh?' Charlie winked at Bop. 'You know what they say about country boys, Sara?'
Sara giggled and put an arm around Dave's shoulders. 'I've heard.'
'What do they say?' said Dave.
'Hey, tell you what. You guys fancy buying us a drink we'll tell you.'
'Sure,' said Jimbo. 'Where ya wanna go?'
Charlie rested a hand on his knee, all slender fingers and black nail polish, and nodded towards Bourke Street. 'Somewhere a bit quieter than that. I know a place where we can talk, get to know each other. Maybe have some fun.'
She stood, offering Jimbo her hand. He took it, relishing the touch of warm skin on skin, surprised by her strength as she pulled him to his feet.
'This way.' Sara led the way down the steps, dragging Dave after her. Dave grinned at Jimbo, then trotted along behind her.
'Hey! What about me?' Bop grabbed his pack, almost spilling its contents in his haste.
'I'm sure we can arrange something.' Charlie winked at him then squeezed Jimbo's hand. 'Come on, country boys.' She sneezed. 'Sorry. Hayfever season. Driving me nuts. Nothing a good drink won't fix though.'
Maybe the City ain't so bad after all. Just like what Wazza said. You gotta buy 'em drinks n shit, but you ain't paying for the pussy. For the first time that day, Jimbo smiled, really smiled.
#
The gutters stank of rotting cabbage and there were too many slopes, but there were fewer people in the backstreets of Chinatown. And with Charlie holding his hand Jimbo could handle that.
'I dunno about this part of town,' said Bop. And then quietly at Jimbo, 'Ya better not be carrying all that cash for ya wife purchase.'
'Shut up, man!' Jimbo drew a line across his throat, then nodded his head towards the girls. 'They don't need to know about that.'
'But ya money—'
'I'm not that fucken stupid.'
'Almost there,' said Sara.
'Ya remember which way we came, Jimbo?' Dave asked.
'Maybe.' Jimbo hadn't a clue, he'd got lost shortly after the red ducks strung up in the shop window about a block back.
'Yeah, maybe,' Bop agreed, shaking his head.
'We'll stick you in a cab,' said Sara.
Charlie giggled. 'But only if you're unlucky.' She squeezed his hand again. 'You might not need a cab.'
They ascended a narrow staircase, the wooden boards groaning under their weight as they climbed several flights to emerge in a large, low-lit room. Colourful cushions littered the floor around low tables, and a balcony overlooked the cityscape. A couple of surly guys at the bar glanced up as they entered, then resumed chatting with the muscled bartender.
The girls led them to a table on the balcony and Sara waved at the bartender. Dogs ran between bicycles below, and a roost of chickens squawked from a balcony above.
'What do you guys want to drink?' Sara asked.
'I thought we were buying.' Dave chuckled, getting out his wallet, as he sat down next to her.
Sara lifted his hand to her lips. 'You're too kind.'
'Nah, look, I'll get the first round in,' Bop said. 'Whaddya want?'
The girls ordered cocktails, while the boys ordered beer. Bop went up to the bar, leant on his elbows and was soon in discussion with one of the surly guys. He came back and sat down next to Charlie, who sat opposite Jimbo.
'How cool is that?' said Bop, after the drinks were placed on the table. 'Don't have to pay until we're finished. We got a tab already and they don't even know us.'
Jimbo nodded, taking a swig of the cold draught. It hit the back of his throat like he hoped he'd be hitting the back of Charlie's throat later on. Wet and fast. Her nose maybe has a bit a wog in it, but she's fucken built for action. His cock stirred in his jeans. And once we get rid of this Bop cunt, I won't have to fight any blokes off.
'So what brings you boys to town?' Charlie kicked off her heels, and put her legs up on the seat next to Jimbo. Her thigh disappeared into the hem of white knickers. Her toenails were painted black, too. A thick glossy black that caught the afternoon sun. Bop's eyebrows arched and he looked away embarrassed, as if he couldn't believe this was happening.
'Jimbo's getting a wife,' said Dave. 'I'm his best man.'
Jimbo glared at Dave. 'Nah, I'm fucken not.'
Charlie glanced at Sara, then teased Jimbo with her foot. 'It's okay, you're not married yet. We can still have a bit of fun.'
'I was just bullshittin.' Dave swallowed a mouthful of beer and grimaced. 'We're month-trippers, just checkin the City out n that. Bop here's looking for work.'
Bop nodded, puffing up his chest for a second, but the women didn't seem to notice.
Charlie eased her leg over Jimbo's, and slid her toes towards his balls. 'You boys must be loaded to buy a wife.'
Jimbo inched his bum towards her foot. His cock throbbed as it stiffened. She could see it, he was sure. 'Nah, just month-trippers.'
'Even so,' Charlie kneaded his cock beneath his jeans with her toes, 'that costs a bit of money. You boys rich country boys?' She licked the salt from the rim of her glass. 'You going to treat us like ladies?'
'Sure,' said Jimbo between breaths. Who'd've thought it was this fucken easy! Wazza, the old cunt, no wonder he loved it here. Probably why Fitzy had dropped off the radar, too.
Sara stood, Dave's hand sliding down her thigh, and grabbed her bag. 'Back in a minute.'
'Hey, where ya going?' asked Dave.
She leant over, whispered in his ear, then kissed him on the cheek.
'Oh, sorry. See you in a sec.' Dave grinned, then downed the rest of his pint.
Charlie waved towards the bar, her foot resting against Jimbo's balls, and more drinks appeared. She sneezed again. Her sole pushed briefly against his cock. 'Bloody hayfever,' she said.
'So whatta you girls do for a crust?' Dave asked.
Charlie smiled. 'Marketing. Advertising. That sort of thing.'
Jimbo pressed her foot to his groin, slowly massaging her toes with one hand, as he drank with the other.
'Wow. Good pay?'
'Some days, Dave.' Charlie never took her eyes away from Jimbo's. She winked, her painted lashes falling and rising. 'And today's payday.'
Still holding her foot, Jimbo unzipped his fly. She dived her toes briefly in, then pulled away. 'Better check on Sara.' She slipped on her heels and headed towards the toilets.
'How fucken good is this? We're gunna get laid!'
'I dunno, man.' Bop stared at the froth in his glass. 'Looks like you two are in, but I'm feeling like I'm gunna end up fucking ma own hand.'
They laughed, nestling back into their chairs, soaking up the afternoon as they dragged on their pints. Except for Bop, who perched on the edge of his seat, tearing up a beermat and casting glances towards the guys at the bar.
Jimbo punched Dave hard on the upper arm.
'Ow, what's that for?'
'Fucken telling them I'm gunna buy a wife! For one, it tells them, I dunno, that I'm not in for some action or something, and two, that we got a lot of money to spend. And month-trippers don't help the second one much either.'
They sat in silence, sipping beer.
'What's taking them so long?'
'That's chicks,' said Bop.
Jimbo stared towards the bar. The three men were watching them. The barman came over and put a piece of paper on the table. He sat down heavily opposite Jimbo, where Charlie had been sitting.
'Thank you, gentlemen.' His voice sounded like thick rope soaked in sheep dip until it had swollen too large for his throat.
Dave picked up the paper. 'What's this? Five thousand dollars? I think you've made a mistake, mate.'
'That's the bill, gentlemen. I suggest you pay.'
The two men at the bar heaved themselves off their seats and sauntered towards the toilets. 'Back in a sec, Turk.'
'We're with a couple of ladies, mate,' said Jimbo. 'When they come back, I'm sure we can sort th
is out.'
Turk stretched and rotated his neck, vertebrae cracked. 'You can pay now or we can make you pay now, country boys.'
'Ya fucken having us on!' Dave laughed, looking from side to side at Jimbo and Bop for support. Bop shifted towards the edge of the seat away from them.
Turk stroked Dave's face. 'I don't think so.'
Dave, his cheeks flushed, stared sullenly at Jimbo, then at the cocktail glasses.
'We know you have money,' said Turk. 'I don't think we're being too greedy here.' He stroked his chin. 'What's the going rate on the market these days for a wife, Cartel approved or not. Let's say not. Ten grand? We could take it all, but you're my first customers for the week, and you'll bring me luck. Five grand, gentlemen.'
'How does 'get fucked' sound?' Jimbo eased open his pack, his fingers sliding in until they hit the hard plastic sheath.
'It sounds like this.' Turk pulled a handgun from within his jacket and pointed the muzzle inches from Jimbo's forehead. 'Leave the bag alone, unless it's cash you'll be paying.' He grinned. Each incisor gleamed gold.
There was a scream from the toilets. Jimbo and Dave looked up in alarm. Turk didn't budge. Bop seemed all but invisible. If there's gonna be a fight, I don't think we can rely on this one.
The men emerged from the toilets, dragging the girls by the hair. They forced them into the seat opposite the boys. Turk, still pointing the gun in Jimbo's face, put his free arm around Charlie's shoulders. She shuddered.
'You like this one, yes?' Turk pressed the gun to the side of her head. 'I suggest you pay the bill.'
One of the heavies put a hand-held terminal on the table in front of Jimbo.
'We accept all forms of payment. Cash, card, electronic.'
'I don't have that sort of mon—'
'Let's cut the bullshit, shall we? You're in the market for a wife. We know this.'
Jimbo looked at Bop, sitting there, edging away. That stupid cunt told them up at the bar! He stared back into Turk's hazel-swirled eyes. 'You wouldn't fucken dare.'