Shadowville: Book One of the Shadoweaters

by Paul Taylor

  Cougars Night Club formed a major part of the social scene in Casino. As a matter of fact it was so major a part that, except for the Cecil Hotel, it was the only part. And the Cecil closed at eleven, even on a Friday night, so the standard call of young adults in Casino was, "Going to Cougars, mate?"

  On any given night you could find it full of kids fresh out of their eighteenth birthday, with a little extra topping of nineteen and twenty year olds. Once they hit twenty-one attendance dropped off pretty steeply and soon all you were left with was the dregs. The perennial partyers, those who'd rather slug down another JD and coke than anything else in life.

  The only time someone Ben's age might run into old friends at the club was at Easter or Christmas, when old escapees came back for the holidays to be with family. Unless it was a flying trip, they usually managed to find time to check out the action at Cougars and see who was still around.

  The standard procedure was to go to the Cecil first and get good and tanked, then leave before the pub closed. It was bad form to be caught still there at closing time and being asked to leave. From there, everyone would gradually make their way down Barker Street, along Centre Street and down to the club. If you got there early, it was free entry before ten p.m., which resulted in a lot of people arriving at half past nine, getting their stamp and having a quick drink before going elsewhere for another hour or two. And never mind the fact that admission was only five dollars.

  Ben didn't care for this method of going out.

  He'd already been to the Cecil last week and seen what they had to offer. And he still had the bandaged ribs and the stitches in his head to remind him what the club had been like.

  At first he thought he might go to one of the other pubs around town, they only had six others, but he decided that would probably lead to him running into more people he didn't like. Or even worse, not seeing anyone, and being one of those pathetic losers, propped up against the bar drowning their sorrows. So he bought a carton of beer and a pizza and set to christening his new house. Ideally he'd have liked to christen it by having sex with Kath in every room but he didn't think that was likely to happen any time soon.

  He was still surprised by how easy it had been to rent the place.

  "I'd like to lease this one, thanks," said Ben, putting the listing back on the receptionist's desk with his choice circled.

  "Okay, not a problem," said Geraldine. "I'll get you to fill this out for starters." She handed him a form and a pen.

  Ben filled out all his personal details on the form, the usual; any pets? Number of people? Employment? Previous residence? He answered them all, No; One; Yes; Sydney; and handed it back to Geraldine.

  "Thank you," she said. "We'll get back to you in a couple of days."

  "Actually," Ben leaned on the counter and she furrowed her brow at him. "I'm having some trouble where I'm staying at the moment and I was wondering if there was any chance I might be able get into the place today?"

  Geraldine shook her big, shaggy head. "No, I'm sorry. It'll take us that long to process your form—"

  "What process?" said Ben. "You send it the owners, they okay it and send it back. How long can that take?"

  "We prefer not to bother owners," said Geraldine.

  "Okay, look," said Ben. "I've got people stalking me at the motel I'm in, all right. Now if there's some kind of fee or anything I could pay to get you to fax this across to the owners now, I'd be more than happy to pay that. I really need to get this place."

  Geraldine stood reluctantly. "I'll see what I can do. Although as I said, we really don't like to bother the owners."

  "Thank you."

  She came back five minutes later trying to stretch a smile across her face, although it was obvious her face wanted to make an expression like she'd just drank rancid milk.

  "I've spoken to Mr Savins, my boss," she said. "And he's advised that this owner is very anxious to lease his property and we should notify him immediately if anyone expresses an interest. So I'm going to give him a call now and fax this across to him."

  "Thank you very much for your help," said Ben in an equally condescending tone. "I'll wait over here."

  He went and sat down and waited while Geraldine rang the owner, spoke to him and then faxed him. About five minutes after she sent the fax, it came back with YES slashed across it in big letters and, Ben presumed, the owner's signature at the bottom.

  Mavis congratulated him on finding a place but was puzzled by his insistence that she not know where he was moving to. Not that it mattered, Ben reckoned she'd know where he'd gone before sunset that day.

  At ten o'clock that night, with the pizza half finished and a six-pack of beer cleaned up, Ben found himself to be under that most usual of afflictions that befall a lone drinker. He was morbidly lonely. Striding the empty rooms and halls of his house like a demon prowling the twisting corridors of hell, Ben fought an inner battle over whether to call Kath.

  "You're an idiot," he muttered. "A fucking idiot."

  He shook his head and spoke with sharp chopping motions of his hands. "Look, you can't call her. What happens if you call her? You ring her up and say 'Hi Kath. I wanted to call you to say I really love you and fuck I'm drunk.' And then what? Neil wants to know who's on the phone and the next time you see Kath is when they view the body at the morgue."

  He fell against the wall in the hallway and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Cradling a stubby of VB in front of him, he stared into its amber depths, willing it to provide the answer.

  "What happens if you call her and Neil answers? What are you gonna do then? Pull up a chair and have a good old chin wag with him? Ask him if his knuckles hurt much when he goes to town on the woman he loves?

  "Supposed to love," he amended.

  "Fuck it," he drained the bottle and pushed it away, sending it rolling across the floor. He hauled himself up to his feet and staggered out into the night.

  The house was too empty. All empty angles and bare walls that didn't quite seem to meet at the corners and vast expanses of gleaming floorboards like a golden brown ocean, glowing with the lights. Ceilings towered overhead, stretching upwards into dark infinity, unreachable. His new house was a massive, multi-chambered heart and he its sole feeling, tumbling lost like a tumbleweed through its depths.

  The open streets beckoned him and now, as he strode across those darkened veins like a colossus, he felt a keening need to be back in the city. To taste the golden nectar of her nights, gorge himself upon a feast of nightclub following nightclub, beautiful women as far as the eye could see, the music pulsing and roaring in your veins like a drug, making you twist and writhe with the pain until you wanted to throw the whole goddamn city to the ground and ride its voluptuous body until you were fucked dry.

  They frowned on that sort of behaviour in Casino.

  As he prowled the streets in search of entertainment, Ben began to feel he was a wild thing. He was the hunter and people were the prey. He'd nail them down and beat the fun from them until they begged for more. Until they clamoured for his attention. Then he would leave them, laying there all gaping holes and sweaty, open-mouthed pores crying out for his sustenance.

  That would show them.

  Eventually he found himself standing across the road from the RSM, slightly hunched, his hands spread away from his body like a gunslinger. His eyes narrowed as he sought to penetrate her gaudy depths.

  "Good lord," he muttered under his breath, watching the buttoned flannels and K-mart clothes sashaying through the club's doors. "Is there anything more pathetic than a small town club?"

  He doubted it. But what was sadder, the RSM club? Or the people who went there?

  Ben crossed the street to the club.

  Inside the main doors the club branched off in two directions, off to the left was the downstairs bar and bistro, and the all-holy pokies. And off to the right was a flight of stairs that led up to the conference rooms-cum-nightclub, Cougars. It was also the venue for sch
ool formals and wedding receptions and if you didn't want to have your reception there, you could get out of town cause there weren't nowhere else.

  Ben wasn't sure if Cougars would be open on a Thursday night but the music reached him as he climbed the stairs, past a poster advertising a Lee Kernaghan concert in two weeks' time, and he shuddered. The song playing was "Love Shack" by the B-52s and he wasn't sure but he thought he could hear people singing along with it. As he crested the stairs, Ben realised they were singing and his mind told him to run for his life.

  Maybe it was a retro night, he told himself. Yeah, came back a sour voice. Every night at Cougars is Retro night.

  This time, Ben was inside and standing at the bar before he found somebody he knew. Mark "Suey" Anderson".

  "Hey, Ben. How you going?" said Suey.

  "Mate, how are you?" said Ben.

  Mark had been a semi-close friend of Ben's at school. One of those guys who hadn't really fit in, but hadn't really been an outcast either. His nickname had sprung from an incident at school when he'd almost killed himself. He'd fallen from a second floor balcony while mucking around outside class and landed flat on his back on the footpath. Miraculously, he hadn't broken anything. When he'd returned to school after a week off he claimed the accident was the result of a dizzy spell. By that time, though, the nickname - short for Suicide Man - had already taken on a life of its own.

  At least it was better than the previous nicknames of Tosspot and Wank-Tank he'd been christened with after an incident at a school camp.

  "Great," said Suey. "Yeah, been really good. How about you? What've you been up to?"

  "I've been living down in Sydney," said Ben. "But it sucked the life from me so I've moved back here for a while."

  "Super!" said Suey. "I just came back from London a few days ago. Oh, you should go there! I'm getting my head together here for a few weeks before I go back and see the rest of Europe."

  "What's that?" said Ben. "Working holiday or something?"

  "Oh God no," said Suey. "I wouldn't work in an iron lung." He put a hand on Ben's arm and leaned in close to him. "I'm filthy rich."

  "Bastard," said Ben with genuine jealousy. "How come? I mean, I knew you had some money, but I didn't think you were so cashed up you didn't need to work anymore."

  "Dead grandmother," he said.

  "Son of a bitch," said Ben. "Trust my grandparents to have died owing money. They couldn't have saved two cents to save their lives. Or mine," he added.

  "What can I say?" Suey shrugged his shoulders. "Money attracts money."

  "Yeah, good. I'm real happy for you."

  "Anyway, listen," Suey put a hand on his shoulder. "I've got, like, a million people to see. And they all want a piece of me, so I'll have to see you around, catch you later."

  After ordering a beer, Ben found a deserted table in a quiet corner of the club with a good view of the dance floor and sat down. He watched the dance floor and waited for the first fly to come into his parlour.

  A couple of guys wandered past, giving him a quizzical look. Ben didn't smile or wave at them and they, in turn, shunned him. They were guys Ben hadn't really gotten on with in High School, not that they'd picked on him or anything, exactly the opposite, in fact, they'd ignored him almost to the point of him feeling non-existent. Which was somehow worse than being actively picked on.

  The crowd broke apart and a lumbering, shambling shape emerged like Moses through the Red Sea, walking towards Ben. He recognised the person at once and his spirits lifted a little. If nothing else, Dwayne was good for a laugh. Dwayne saw Ben and set course for him. He walked with a rolling, side to side gait as if he'd just come in from long months at sea and Ben realised he was literally rolling drunk.

  "Hey, mate. How you going?" said Dwayne. He pulled out a chair opposite Ben and dropped into it, almost falling over in the process. As he struggled to regain his balance, Dwayne grabbed hold of the table, knocking it and spilling Ben's beer.

  "I'm good, thanks," said Ben, looking despairingly at his remaining beer, magically half empty. "How's yourself?"

  Dwayne belched. "Fucking excellent," he said. He leaned in close to Ben, his massive head filling Ben's vision. "See that girl over there?" he pointed to somewhere out in the middle of the dance floor and Ben nodded, holding his breath against the stench of sweat, beer and B.O.. "She wants me bad."

  Ben couldn't help himself. "You're not kidding," he said. "She's checking you out right now. Don't look," he said, grabbing Dwayne's arm as he went to look around. "Oh yeah, she's fanging for it," said Ben. "You should get back out there before she changes her mind, man."

  "Not yet," said Dwayne, leaning nonchalantly back in his chair and almost falling off again. "Gonna let her stew in her own juices for a while." He leaned in close to Ben, close enough to kiss, and Ben leaned away. "I hear you been messing around with Neil's missus!" These last two words came out sounding like "Neelshmsh."

  "I haven't been 'messing around' with anyone," said Ben, a little louder than he needed to. "Who told you that?"

  "Oh, a little birdie," said Dwayne, with a sly grin.

  "Fuck it, Dwayne, cut the shit," snapped Ben, grabbing his arm. "Who's been spreading the fucking rumours?"

  "Hey, settle down," said Dwayne, pulling his arm away. "Nobody told me, all right? I get around, I see things, y'know?"

  "Well, what have you seen?" said Ben, his words cutting through the beat of 'Mambo No. Five'.

  "Well," said Dwayne. "You got beat up by Neil's mates the other week. Word is, Neil's got a major mad-on for you, if you know what I mean?" Dwayne tipped a wink at him.

  "Yeah? So?" said Ben. "That's got nothing to do with me if he's got his panties all in a twist."

  "But," Dwayne held a finger that weaved back and forth in front of Ben. "I seen you at lunch with Kath the other day at Macca's. Maybe Neil's got a reason to be jealous, hey?"

  "So what?" Ben snapped. "You gonna tell him? Is that it? Fill him in on what's going on? Huh?"

  "Of course I ain't gonna tell him," said Dwayne. "I saved you from his mates the other night, didn't I?"

  "That's your job," said Ben.

  "Like fuck," said Dwayne. "I seen them leave after you, so I followed em. Made sure they weren't gonna do anything stupid like beat up one a me mates."

  "Shit, man, what the hell am I s'posed to do?" said Ben. "I can't leave her with that cock-sucker."

  "I know, mate, I know," said Dwayne. "It's hard." He stretched, showing off two massive sweat spots under his arms. "I got dozens a women after me, all with the same problem."

  "Have you heard anything about Kath?" said Ben. "Seen her around or anything?"

  Dwayne shook his head. "Leave it be, mate. Forget about her. You don't want to get on Neil's bad side, trust me."

  "Yeah, well I think I was born on his bad side."

  "I still can't help you though, mate," said Dwayne. "The only one that can do anything is Kath, and until she decides she's ready to get away from that prick there's nothin you can do."

  "Fuck it," said Ben, slamming his fist on the table and making his drink slop over the side of the glass. "I knew I should never a come back to this shit-hole."

  "But you did," said Dwayne quietly, his eyes half glazed and his voice almost lost under the music. "And now there's no gettin away."

  "Listen, I gotta get another beer," said Ben, waggling his newly empty glass. "You want one?"

  "Nah," said Dwayne, looking behind him. "I reckon I've let this honey dangle long enough. It's time to put her out of her misery."

  "All right," said Ben. "Good luck. I'll see you around."

  "You bet," said Dwayne. "And watch out for those bastards from outta town," he muttered as Ben went to walk away from the table.

  Ben stopped. "What do you know about them, Dwayne?"

  Dwayne looked up at him. "Those bastards from outta town? The weirdos?" he said. His eyes shone in the flashing darkness. "They're always gettin about town in these brand new car
s and wearin flash new clothes. They came with the shadows, you know, they brought their own shadows with 'em and now all these kids are goin missin." Dwayne wasn't even looking at Ben now, his head slumped forward and he seemed to be speaking almost to himself. "Everyone reckons it's some pervert, you know. Takin em away and molestin em then killin em," he said. "But they're wrong!" He snapped as if Ben had contradicted him. "These out-of-towners are eating them! They get their energy from them."

  "What do they want though? What the hell are they doing here?"

  Dwayne looked around, blinking his eyes as if he'd just woken up. He looked at Ben and for a moment his face was completely blank like he didn't even recognise Ben.

  "I can't," he shook his head. "I can't tell you, I'm not even supposed to talk about it."

  "What, Dwayne?" persisted Ben. "What can't you talk about?"

  "I can't!" Dwayne pushed his chair back so hard that it toppled over and he almost went flying with it. "I'm not supposed to talk about it!"

  And with that, he turned a wide, unsteady circle and lurched off onto the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.

  "Jesus Christ," muttered Ben. Who was crazier, he wondered. Dwayne for going on about that shit, or Ben for taking him seriously?

  CHAPTER TWENTY