SIX
Zeus
“Hey. Big dog.” Mike slams his palm against the side of the digger’s cab. “What’s up?”
I snap out of the daze I was in and realise that the gang are leaning on the ends of their shovels waiting for me to move another bucket of infill. “Shit. Sorry, bro.”
The fact they still call me Big Dog is a joke. When I started with this crew, my physical size made me stand out like a sore thumb. These days I’m no bigger than the majority of the guys who watch me with interest from their spot out in the heat of the day.
I swing the machinery into action, moving another two loads of grit for the guys to spread into the channels we laid new pipe through yesterday. Mike hangs on the side of the cab in the open doorway as I work, waiting until I’m not focused on the job at hand to push a little harder.
“What’s going on, Zeus? You haven’t been yourself today, mate.”
I slouch back in the vinyl seat and sigh as I look over at the big guy. Mike’s pushing fifty: a huge Maori fella who commands respect from most of the guys on the gang. He’s been with the company the longest, so naturally most of the newer young guys look up to him for guidance while learning the ropes.
We became fast friends after he petitioned for me to keep my job when I almost ended up back inside, always there to mentor me, and in most cases, guide me when I veer off course. I could never find the words to tell the guy how much I appreciate that, especially after losing John.
“Got a bit on my mind,” I explain, hoping he’ll drop it.
“Like what?”
I focus on the guys shovelling. “Today is my sister’s birthday.”
“True, bro.” He nods knowingly.
The question was put to me at smoko not long after I started, why I’d been inside. I’m not ashamed, and so I shared the reason with the guys at the time. It’s no secret that the guy I beat to within an inch of his life took my sister’s.
“How old?” Mike asks.
“She would have been thirty-four today.”
He makes a grunt of acknowledgement, and then drops off the side of the digger. “Finish this one, and then we’ll take a break, yeah?”
“Sure thing, brother.”
He throws a hand up in the air as a kind of wave while he heads back to join the other guys on the shovel. I feel guilty, some days, that I get to sit up here in air-conditioned comfort while they slog it out in the sun, but there’s only three of us with our ticket to do the work in the digger, and two sites currently in operation. Today, I’m the only one on this site who can do the job.
I follow the guys along, moving bucketloads of grit until we reach the end of the channel. Thoughts of Sefina come and go, memories of better times. She’s never far from my mind, but her birthday is always the hardest. Even when she was under that arsehole’s influence, she always managed to get away long enough to share lunch or dinner with me on her birthday. Growing up, it was just two of us a lot of the time when Dad was either drunk or out with his friends and Mum was at one of her two jobs. We were close for siblings, and I can’t deny that she left a hell of a gap in my life the day she left.
I should have killed the fucker, but then I realise that doing so would have given the bastard the easy way out. At least now he has to live out his days knowing what he misses out on—freedom. He has to suffer longer, just not enough.
He could never suffer enough.
I shut off the digger’s engine and climb down from the cab as the guys file under the shade of the portable gazebo we carry from job to job. Some of the gang stretch out on the grass, while others relax in the camp chairs scattered in the small space. I accept a bottle of water from our youngest guy and give him a nod.
Seated on the grass, I pull my phone out and thumb through to the notifications in Facebook. My already melancholic mood sours further when I see no new friend requests. I unblocked Belle on Monday after one too many drinks before bed, figuring that it leaves the lines of communication open should she want to get in touch. I know it’s unrealistic to expect her to have seen what I’ve done. Fuck—I should man up and send her a damn request, but doing so would go against what John wants, and for some fucked up reason I still care what my friend of almost thirty years cares, even if we hardly talk anymore.
“What do you think, mate?”
I look up from my phone, narrowing my gaze on Ed. “Sorry?” He’s one of the newer guys, yet hardly a spring chicken. Weathered skin bunches around eyes that seem to permanently smile.
“I was telling the boys about that new outfit setting up on the other side of the highway. Shot over there yesterday to ask what they’re after, and they said they need operators.”
“The place with the blue logo?” I remember seeing the yard under construction, but didn’t think much of it.
“Yeah. Jackson and Connell.”
“Where are they from?” Mike asks from his spot reclined on his side. “They completely new, or what?”
“Nah.” Ed shakes his head. “Been around for twenty-something years up north, but it’s the first yard down here.”
“You ever held down a job for more than a month?” one of the older guys teases. “All you talk about is how many fucking places you been at.”
Ed scowls at the guy. “If you want to stay on, fine. But why when you can get another six dollars an hour for the same job?”
“Bullshit,” Mike says with a laugh. “You’ve got your figures arse about face, bro.”
“Nope. Go see them.” Ed swings his focus back to me. “I put in a good word about you, if you’re interested.” He turns back to the group. “The guy said they’re looking at sponsoring employees to upskill, too. Get you your tickets, or even help you out if you want to be an owner-driver in the rigs.”
“Sounds too good to be true if you ask me.”
“Amen to that.”
The guys crack up laughing at Ed as he shakes his head at them, yet I stay silent. Working on the diggers is great, you get paid well for the skill, but I’ve watched the tipper trucks come and go for years wondering what that would be like.
“Who did you talk to?”
Ed turns to face me at my question. “The manager. Name was Jerry. Go see him, mate. I reckon you’d be a shoo-in.”
Maybe today isn’t so shit after all?