Chapter Eight

 

 

Nightfall leaks across the once brilliant blue sky until it’s a heavy black in some parts, and a soft moonlit grey in others. Blocker, Sailor, Tardo, and Rance stand around the grill, beers in hands, chatting in such a comfortable way, it’s as if they’ve always had a friend who is a multi-millionaire.

I’m a multi-millionaire.

The orphan boy without a place to call home for a short while. The teenager who grew up to be the guy least likely to succeed in life—the loser of the pack. The young man who lost the love of his life to the blade of a steel knife. Life was never going to be easy for a nobody like me, and it was evident from the beginning, even more so in high school. That social positioning can really put a target on one’s back. If it wasn’t for these four guys standing not far from me, I probably wouldn’t have stayed in school. I probably wouldn’t have bulked up from the little runt I was, and I probably wouldn’t have survived past the age of eight when these four kids came to my rescue on my way home. Apparently, I had the nicest shoes for the likes of crooked drug dealers that day, and they could fetch at least a blunt to keep their needs satisfied.

Now I’ve finally made it, and I’m guessing poker night will be a regular meeting at mine from now on. No more wrong-side-of-the-tracks sessions for us.

Flipping steaks is the Aussie way to socialise in one’s backyard. Before, we’d complete this ritual in a tight courtyard; now, we have a grassed area bigger than the school that educated us. Who would have believed it? Not me, that’s for sure.

“Fuck off, you tosser. What? You got cement for brains, you dumb shit?” Blocker cusses, loud and proud. He’s a rambunctious guy. What you see is what you get, and if that prick doesn’t like you he’ll make sure you know it. Class clown who enjoys putting a person back in their place. His lack of height has never held Blocker back, because his dominating stance and straight-shooting abilities have always secured him power.

As usual, Blocker’s having no trouble giving Tardo a good serving, and Tardo backs down without a flinch of his muscles.

“Whatever.” He relents.

He’s never one to give lip back; actually, Tardo’s not one to say much at all. Watching Tardo’s broad shoulders slump as his head follows suit has me wondering, firstly, what the hell Blocker is giving him shit about. And secondly, if we would’ve made it through our lives so far without each other.

“Here’s hoping Tank gets us some bloody great pussy with all this money of his. I just want some high-end pussy, dammit.”

That’s Rance, with his disrespectful talk of women. He’s an expressive fellow and an absolute pig. Probably why he doesn’t get serviced as much nowadays in the gentleman area without having to pay for it. He’ll learn one day you need to be respectful if you want a classy bird to suck you off. Rance lacks such a filter—I wonder how many drinks will be splashed in his face before he has an epiphany. Right now, I’d say many more than the hundreds he’s already received.

“I calculate you’re going to turn into a decent human being in about ten years, Rance. The probability of this happening I’ll base off all our current ages ... twenty-six … and the maturity of your mind, give or take a few years. Here’s hoping with time you’ll grow up, fucker.” Sailor is the geek of the group, and he’s also the type of person who astounds you. He holds his liquor like a veteran biker and does calculus like a math whizz. He’s also a romantic git with all his poetry and stuff. How he found his way into our tight circle still baffles me, yet it would be lacking without him.

“Go fuck yourself, Sailor.” Rance lands one hard punch into his narrow chest, and Sailor flips him off in return. Nothing new there.

“Beautiful night for it, lads. Here’s to a brighter future for us all.” Blocker holds his beer out from his body, and the boys follow suit until the sound of clinking glass rings loudly.

“Cheers,” Rance adds, and with a shake of my head, I trot the remaining distance to join the pack.

“There he is, the fucking legend. Frank the fucking Tank,” Rance announces, before reaching into an Esky placed a step from his feet on the ground and retrieving a beer. “Hey, Tank, you’re as rich as that pretty boy Slade now.” He places the beer in his mouth, utilising his teeth to flick off the cap. “Here, Tank. Get this in ya, would ya?” He grins, passing over the cold brew.

“Thanks.”

“No worries. Least I can do since you’re paying for all this crap.” The cheeky smirk following doesn’t go unnoticed, but the amused huff from his nose I choose to ignore.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it, Tank?” Tardo speaks softly.

“Yeah, mate. It is. But—”

“Hey! I’m guessing you’re Alan.” Rance has his back to me when I flick my attention in his direction. “Come join the party.”

Alan is hesitant at first. In fact, he looks as though he’s just seen a ghost.

“You’re right, come on over.” I hope to ease his display of nervousness.

The twitching of his eye and lip give him away. This kid has been through more than enough these past couple of months. He’s bound to be lost and confused.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, swinging his body through the centre of the crutches tucked under his armpits.

“Alan Tumbling, meet Maverick Holden. We all call him Blocker. Ranwick Crawford—”

“Just Rance. Everyone calls me Rance,” Rance butts in, outstretching his hand, which Alan promptly shakes.

“Lucus Tardino … or Tardo, as we refer to him,” I continue. “Finally, this is Sailor Marsh—”

“Nice to meet you Alan.” Sailor offers an enthusiastic wave.

“Okay.” Alan nods. “Nice to meet you all.”

“Likewise.” Sailor is quick in reply.

“These fellows are the boys I’ve grown up with. You’ll see them around a fair bit, okay?”

“Sure.” Alan seems apprehensive. His soft tone and slumped shoulders are a dead giveaway.

“How about I get you a seat, Al? Hell, Blocker, help me get everyone a seat.” Rance places his beer on top of the Esky, and Blocker follows suit. “Be right back.” Rance gives a thumbs-up before the pair of them stride towards the back entrance of the house.

“Sorry, Tank. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting. I kind of needed fresh air, and I heard the chatter—”

“Nothing to be sorry for. This is your home now, Alan—feel free to do as you like.”

Alan shifts his chin towards the ground and bobs his head.

A semi-circle is the chosen set-up as we pull up stumps. Three Eskies full of beer are placed in the centre and act as portable coffee tables, and for Rance, a corner of one becomes his foot stool. In a matter of minutes, we’re settled and conversation is effortless.

“So, Al, Tank tells us you’re going back to school.”

“Yep. Seems like it.” Alan leans back, puffing out his cheeks.

The boys take no time bouncing questions at Alan after this, and he does well in answering them, even the ones about the day of his accident and the eventual loss of his leg to infection.

“Your burger, Tank.” Tardo holds out a disposable plate with a loaded steak burger resting in its centre.

“Thanks.” I’m starving, and this burger looks good. Fine dining from here on out. Real food, real meat, and good company—not much more one can ask for.

The night is full of laughter, and every thirty minutes, one of us does the walk back up to the house just to do a check on Tess, who has so far slept for hours. I didn’t realise how much Tessa would sleep, and I wonder if it’s because she’s worn out from today or if this is a regular occurrence.

On his return, Rance lifts his thumb in the air.

“Tess is all good, yeah? And is Roxie still curled up on her bed with her?” I ask the same question every time.

“Yep. They are both breathing. Hey, you’re getting a nurse to care for the old bitty, right? You can’t do it.”

Honestly, I hadn’t even thought this far ahead. Would Tessa need a nurse? I mean, she didn’t say anything about needing assistance earlier this evening when the boys set up her room for her with the things I had brought over from her apartment.

“Tank. Nurse for Ms Simon.” Rance waves his hand in front of my face, alerting me I hadn’t answered his question.

“Yeah. I might ask if she wants one.”

“Now you’re thinking, numb skull.”

“Hello.” It’s a deep voice coming from within the dark.

“Hi,” I call, standing to my feet.

“Banter. George Banter,” he says, stepping out of the shadows.

I walk towards him.

“I’m your neighbour. Number fourteen. Next door.”

“Nice to meet you.” I outstretch my hand when I close in and stop by his feet.

“You too, son.”

“Crossley. Tank.” Why did I say my name like that?

Banter is casually dressed. Light T-shirt, no collar. Black pants, mid length.

“Would you like a drink Mr Banter?”

“No, son. Don’t want to be an imposition.”

“No. You’re more than welcome.”

“I’ll pass.” He lifts his hand in a half wave, directing it to the boys sitting around the Eskies. “Quiet night?”

“Few drinks in celebration, yeah.”

“Settling in well?”

“So far so good.”

“Let me know if I can help you with anything.” He flicks his eyes to the watch wrapped around his wrist. He shifts from each foot as if he needs to be somewhere.

“I will. Thank you.”

“Walk me out.”

“Sure.” How did he even get into the yard in the first place? I don’t ask, but remain curious.

I soon learn Banter has entered through a gate on the side that has been left open. We walk through shoulder to shoulder.

“So what do you do for work, Mr Crossley?”

“Right now, not much. I’m new to the area. But, I am wanting to open a motorcycle store just on the outskirts of town. There’s this property that would be perfect for what I have in mind. I’m going to see if I can buy the land. It’s a huge piece of land—”

“The one that boarders the west and the east, right? Gillespie Street?”

“That’s the one.” I smile.

Banter seems well informed. He must have been living in Hoffman awhile to be able to locate exactly the land I’m talking about.

“I happen to know the man who owns that property.” He runs his hand through silver hair.

My eyebrows launch to my forehead. “You do?”

“I do. Old friend. How about I tee something up for you. A meeting. A discussion?”

“I’d really appreciate that, Mr Banter.”

“Of course, son, what are neighbours for if they can’t help each other out?”

“Wow. Thanks.” What else can I say? I can’t believe it.

“I’ll give you a call. Let you know the time. What’s your number?”

I’m quick to take the mobile phone Banter retrieves from his pocket and holds out for me. “What would you like me to save the contact under?”

“How about Crossley?” The corners of his lips curl upwards.

“Done. Mr Banter, again, thank you.”

“Have a good night, Mr Crossley.”

Taking the stairs to the upper level, I can’t help replaying the laid-back environment tonight provided. Drinks flowed. Alan fell flat on his arse twice, getting overly cocky in the demonstration of a one-handed and one-legged cartwheel. Shit! The things these lads can convince others to do is uncanny. But the kid had fun. He laughed, he smiled, and it was a whole lot better than the misery that’s been plaguing his expression over the last couple of months. Blocker’s dump truck cigarette trick that turned into the smoke puffing dragon got some more laughs. Casual dinner and great company—as far as I’m concerned, there’s not much else we need in life than this.

As I near the door of the master bedroom, I catch a slither of light shining brightly through the small gap between the door and the frame. I’m certain the door was closed completely and the light switched off when I left the room earlier. Pressing my hand below the doorknob, it opens halfway, and I lighten my footsteps to more of a tiptoe as I make my way through the walk-in closet.

What the fuck?

Blocker stands by the window with the wrench he had this afternoon dangling loosely from his hand.

“What are you doing?” My voice projects rather loudly.

“Shh.” He places his finger against his lips. “Come here.”

I follow his instruction and stop beside him, intrigued by what could be so fascinating outside.

“Mate. Best view from the house, I’d say,” he whispers.

Why is he whispering?

“View is on the other side of the room to where you’re standing off the balcony, you dick. You—” I stop, my sight catching the vision Blocker is referring to through the window overlooking the neighbouring property. Long auburn hair flows down skin shadowed by soft lighting. This skin stretches over a tight rounded arse and continues down long pin legs.

“Hot pink. My favourite colour on a thin-lined G-string.” Blocker is gawking shamelessly, and I find myself drawn to this same floss of material parting in two directions from her slit and moving in separate directions onto either hip bone. “You lucky son-of-a—”

“Mate. What are you doing in here, anyway?”

“Hot neighbour, who gives a flying—”

“Blocker. Give the woman some privacy, will you?” Drawing the shade seems like the appropriate thing to do given the tongue now hanging from the corner of my friend’s mouth.

“You’re a fucker … you know this, right?”

Rolling my eyes, I clip him upside the head.

“Ouch. What did you do that for? I just about bit off my tongue.”

“You’ll survive. Seriously, what is with the wrench?”

Running his free hand along his prickled chin, he smirks. “Some honey named Alicia came around this afternoon. Oh, man, she was a fine piece of arse. Anyway, she said the spa wasn’t working, and they forgot to tell you this morning. Alicia was all flushed when I took my shirt off and told her I’d happily fix it and not to worry about sending a tradesman out. I think I might have a shot with her.” He winks before waving the wrench at my face. “She left me her card, so—”

“But where did you get the wrench from?”

“From a mate. He brought it round.” He rolls his eyes.

“Who?”

“Franco.”

“Your cousin Franco?” I can feel my fists clenching.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want that sleaze in my house.”

“He wasn’t. I ran outside and grabbed it off him.”

“Shit. Just don’t ask him in here, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Well, is it fixed?”

“What?”

“The spa?”

“Yep. Was just about to leave when I heard a noise and peered out your window. I’m glad I looked down and not just outwards … otherwise I would have missed the strip show. Tank, you should have seen her in the dress she had on covering the pink G-banger. I reaped such a reward, let me tell you.”

Shaking my head, I slap Blocker around the ears one more time. He stumbles backwards and reaches for the back of his skull, rubbing the slap away.

“Mr Responsible. Lighten up, will you?”

“Piss off, will you?”

“Fine. I’m going. Thanks, Maverick, for fixing my spa for me.” The sarcasm in his tone makes me laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, you greedy shit.”

“Yeah.” I sigh before we complete the signature handshake we invented in high school.

“Laters.”

“Laters. Hey, lock the front door on the way out?”

“Sure.” He flips me off and exits the room with the wrench in hand.

Temptation glides through my veins. Every part of me says I should leave the shade down and walk away, yet my male caveman instinct demands for it to rise once more. It wins when I lift the shade.

Nothing but pitch-black. Probably for the best. I can’t help wondering, though, what this woman looks like … well, the rest of her, not just the tight arse I saw before.

I don’t have to wait long when flickering candlelight causes my breath to catch in my throat. At first, I can only make out a feminine silhouette standing by what I believe to be a bed. The silhouette reminds me of one of those ladies you see on semi-trailer mud flaps. She has the same hourglass figure, no doubting it.

The lighting brightens further, and it’s then I catch her hands sliding up underneath her hair. This woman is hypnotic, and I can’t peel my eyes away from her bare skin. She’s completely naked but the pink G-String she was wearing when Blocker brought this view to my attention.

When her hands resurface, a necklace dangles from her fingertips. It swings like a pendulum as she stills. Is she watching it move backwards and forward like I am?

Her body rotates, and I will her to keep turning so I can see her face. She doesn’t and halts when the side of her breast is exposed. I have this overpowering want to wrap her in my arms, covering her nakedness. I don’t want anyone else gawking at her. Look away, Tank. I can’t.

She bends at the waist, and one of her nipples stands erect. Is she cold or aroused? The necklace is gone when she shifts her body full frontal to the window and slips her finger between her lips into her mouth. Can she see me?

A shadow appears behind her. Holy shit, does she know someone is walking towards her? She must do, because the soft features of her face are relaxed, almost expectant.

Her fingers brush her neck, scooping up her long flowing hair and tucking it all over one of her shoulders. The shadow becomes clearer behind her, and it’s then I know it’s a tall man, fully clothed in a suit, who is encroaching from behind. Her fingers run down her throat, over her chest, and split in two different directions until they brush over her pointed nipples and rejoin, skirting her torso. Close the blind, Tank. She’s with someone.

He wraps his hands under her arms and cups both of her ample breasts into his hands, and without a second more passing, I pull the string until the blind falls shut. What am I doing?

I’m hard as a rock when I climb into the warm flowing shower, and I try to think about old Tessa in the buff in hope of removing the vision of my hot-as-fuck neighbour from my mind. Something needs to extinguish my impossibly growing erection. This temperature is not working, because her hourglass shape remains far beyond any grotesque vision I try to summon. Whether I open or close my eyelids, she’s there, on display for me in a private show.

Reaching for the tap, I twist it with one complete movement and suck a quick breath as the now freezing water stings my skin below my belly button.

What is her name? I need to learn her name.

After finishing my shower, I wrap the softest towel I have ever used to my skin, whilst looking into the mirror spanning a huge portion of the wall. “Don’t be a perv,” I whisper. She’s taken, and obviously, she doesn’t know you can see her from your window.

Turning sharply, I walk from the bathroom back to the blind and grasp the cord. I must … No, I want … No, I need to see her. I control the temptation, and I don’t allow myself to raise the shade. Instead, I move away and opt for climbing under fresh bedding, letting my hand run the length of my torso until I grasp my again growing erection and replay her every movement in my mind.