Big Ball of Cranky
That’s what Reggie called me, in disgust, after I lost three hands of poker at the kitchen table and did my block at him. That was at nine, and I was killing time before going to the club. Reggie departed for the CBD corners, and Steph – making a rare evening appearance in the kitchen – told me to take my tanty outside because some people in the house were trying to work. Then I told her to shut up, and then we insulted each other some more until it was more than I could stand, so I hauled myself up and left.
Now it’s nearly eleven and I don’t know if being in Flamingos is making it better. Beer has taken the edge off, but I still feel restless. Barry’s gone to do some job so it’s just me and Ando and Snowie making small talk, confirming what I’ve always thought: that there’s a limit to how much you can hang shit on each other, and talk footy and fucking before it starts to sound like fingernails on a blackboard. I’m hoping Leon will call me for a delivery – something, anything – before I lose my mind.
I’m trying not to dwell on the conversation with Amie at the river this arvo. I’m damned if I know what made me so maudlin, and I wish I could take it back, every bloody word. Nobody needs to know it, nobody needs to hear it, especially not her. She’s got enough going on. And I can’t fucking believe Dad fronted her at the hospital. I’ve been battling the urge to jump in the Pitbull, drive back to Five Mile, and slug him on her behalf. Here’s one for the black-haired chick on the desk. That’d be disastrous, but it’s what I feel like doing.
So I guess I’m riled. And the thought of Amie leaving Mildura is bringing me down. Which it shouldn’t, cos I don’t want her this close to the action. But…I like seeing her in person. I like knowing she’s around. It’s selfish but I can’t seem to help it.
‘Hey, check it out,’ Ando says. ‘Curried wogs.’
A very bad feeling makes me look up, follow the line of his eyes, and suddenly…
My first thought is Oh shit. Following hard on its heels is my second thought, that this is really not my night. And then I think Oh shit again.
Because I can see Amie.
She’s standing at the bar with two other girls: an Italian-looking chick and another girl who’s most likely Indian. Amie’s got her hair twisted up and eyeliner on, and chunky-heeled boots, and some kind of sparkly purple top which she may be wearing as a dress. She looks so fucking amazing I want to get up and go over to her immediately.
But I want to do that anyway because of the absolute goddamn panic that churns inside me as soon as I spot her. She smiles at her mates, does a quick scan of the place. I can tell by the way her gaze lingers on me, for the briefest second, that she’s realised I’m here.
Snowie guffaws at Ando’s joke, then smiles at the girls huddled by the bar. His eyes narrow with a predatory glint.
‘I know that chick.’ He leans towards me. ‘Harris, d’you know that chick? The Paki chick in the purple dress – what’s her name? Copper’s daughter.’
I can’t let my face give anything away. I slow my breathing, keep my eyes down. A burning sensation starts somewhere in the back of my throat, like the beer is repeating on me.
I force myself to sound off-hand. ‘Yeah. The sarge’s kid. I’ve seen her around.’
‘You know her?’
‘I’ve seen her. She works at the hospital.’ I take a long swallow of my drink, set it down. ‘Don’t know her personally.’
‘She’s cute, for a Paki.’ Snowie nods contemplatively. ‘I could just about take a bite of that.’
‘Great tits,’ Ando agrees.
The desire to lunge across and slam both their faces into the tabletop comes upon me so suddenly, so violently, I’m almost blinded by it.
Snowie lifts his chin at the girls. ‘I should have a crack, whaddya reckon? Blow some smoke up the sarge’s arse, eh, if I got a taste of his baby girl!’
I have to breathe a couple of times before I trust myself to unclench my fists.
‘Nah, mate. Not worth it.’ My voice sounds like I’ve been dragged across barbed wire by the throat. ‘But if you really want the sarge breathing down your neck every time you leave Mildura, hey, go for your life.’
Snowie makes a face. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
I gulp beer like I’m dying, finish my bottle.
‘Fuckin’ thirst, mate!’ Ando stands for the next round. ‘Anybody else want one?’
‘Yeah, me.’ But Snowie’s still looking at the girls. ‘Y’know what I reckon? I reckon I’m gonna ask her to dance.’
And I’m gonna do something I’ll regret, any minute now.
I stand up abruptly. ‘Fuck off, Snow. You always take the hot chicks and leave us the dregs.’ I produce a large fake smile. ‘Let’s ask her. You and me – see which one she picks, eh? Ladies’ choice.’
He tries to chuff his way out of it, but when Ando starts hassling him he gives in. So it’s the two of us who walk up to Amie and the girls, Snowie slithering to a halt in front of them. I squeeze in beside him just as Amie turns around with her beer.
‘Ladies.’ Snowie leers. ‘Nice night for it.’
‘If you reckon,’ the Italian girl says, passing another bottle off to her friend.
‘Hey, we were just having a conversation, me and my mate,’ Snowie says, skewering Amie with his next glance. ‘We were saying we thought you were an Ouyen girl. Is that right, you from over that way?’
‘Um, yeah, over that way,’ Amie says stiltedly before glancing at me. ‘Uh, hi… Yeah, I’m not really from Ouyen. But I know a few people along that strip.’
‘You’d know my dad, then,’ Snowie goes on. ‘Col Geraldson, at the Five Flags.’
‘Oh, yeah, right.’ Amie makes a forced smile. I don’t think she’s putting this on. ‘Yeah, I guess. Oh, yeah, so you’re Snowie. Right, great.’
‘Thought you might be up for a bit of a dance, then,’ Snowie says, waggling his eyebrows. ‘Take a turn on the floor, yeah?’
Which makes it sound as if he’s gonna waltz with her, and I know that’s not what he’s got in mind. Not unless waltzing involves copping a feel at the same time.
‘Or you might like to dance with me,’ I suggest, giving Snowie an obvious nudge. ‘You’re hogging the mic, mate, give it a rest. D’you wanna have a dance with me?’
I turn a desperately neutral face towards Amie, and she takes the hint straightaway.
‘Oh. Um, yeah. Sure. I’ll have a dance, um…’
‘Harris,’ I supply.
‘Harris! Right!’ Amie says, and this girl deserves a fucking Academy award. ‘Sure. Shall we…’
She offloads her beer with her friend, the other Indian girl, and leads forward to the dance floor. I give Snowie a smirk as I follow her, just to maintain the illusion, then me and Amie are jostled together by the press of bodies, and we can talk.
I start with, ‘Do you know where the hell you are?’ and she starts with, ‘Shit, I didn’t know you were gonna be here!’ and both of us are sort of whispering and glaring while trying not to look too suss.
In this situation, though, my panic wins out. ‘Amie, you’ve got to get the fuck out of here.’
‘Don’t you think I bloody know that!’ she hisses. ‘Shit, Bee wanted to come out with me after jaago –’
‘D’you know how close I just came to clobbering Snowie when he spotted you?’ I cup her elbow. ‘I nearly had a fucking heart attack.’
Amie turns us both, keeping up the pretence of dancing. ‘I’m sorry. Shit. This is bad. Robbie dragged us all here and now we’ve bought drinks –’
‘You need to go.’ I push myself towards her. ‘Like, right now. Take your mates. Snowie knows you’re the sarge’s daughter, it’s not safe –’
‘How the hell am I gonna do that?’
‘Easy.’ I press in close as I can, close enough so it’s obviously not just a consequence of being thrust forward by the crowd. God, she smells incredible.
Amie’s voice goes breathy. ‘Harris –’
‘This is how you’re gonna do it,’ I say. ‘First, I’m gonna do this.’
I snake a hand around her waist, settle it just above her tailbone, and rub it slowly back and forth. The purple fabric of her dress makes smooth bunches under my palm, and the friction makes my eyes shut of their own accord. Then – god help me – I slide my hand down lower.
Lower.
Amie stiffens against me. I lean my face down so my mouth is nestled under her ear. ‘Now you’re gonna look shocked.’
Amie pulls up short. ‘You want me to look shocked?’
‘Yep.’ I glance at her expression. ‘That’s pretty close. Now you’re going to push me back, and slap my face.’
‘What?’
‘That’s the perfect look. Do it now. Slap me hard as you can.’
Amie looks aghast. ‘Then what?’
‘Then you stomp over to your mates, grab them by the arm, and drag them self-righteously the hell outta here. You got it? So do it.’
Amie rears back, her eyes horrified, but she does it. She winds up and open-hands me, right across the cheek. It bloody hurts. My head whips, Amie gasps, then I feel her barging away.
I give it a few seconds, stagger off the dance floor, do a quick surreptitious check around. Amie and her mates are bolting out. My cheek stings like buggery but the rest of my body relaxes. I make a ‘what can you do?’ gesture at Snowie and Ando, who are pissing themselves laughing at the table, before lurching to the men’s.
Splashing some water on my face helps, but the adrenalin of the last few minutes has me shaking. Plus the memory of cupping Amie’s arse… I’ve run my hand under the tap twice, but it’s like my fingers have been napalmed. I stand at the grotty men’s wash basin for another two breaths, getting my shit together, before I’ve got enough in me to go back to the table and make raucous jokes about it with Snowie and Ando.
It’s another hour before I can finally make my excuses and piss off. I don’t go home straightaway though: I pull over a couple of blocks before Amblin Court and yank my phone out of my pocket, send a quick text and hope Amie isn’t asleep already. I chew my thumbnail as I stare out the windshield at the night, then jump when the phone brays in my hand.
Amie sounds breathless, like she did in the club. ‘Harris –’
‘I’m sorry,’ I cut in quickly, ‘God, I’m sorry, I’m probably waking you up, I just wanted to check –’
‘You’re not…’ There’s a little pause. ‘You’re not waking me up at all. I’m glad you texted.’
‘Shit, Amie, about the club –’
‘It’s okay,’ she says.
‘It’s not okay. I just freaked the fuck out when I saw you. I didn’t mean to stuff up your night out –’
‘D’you really think I care about my night out?’ Her voice is shaky. ‘For god’s sake, Harris…’ I hear her exhale deeply into the line before her voice levels out. ‘Seriously, I was worried I’d blown your cover. I didn’t even know we were going to Flamingos until the last minute, and I came this close to dumping you right in it.’
It sounds like she’s trying to forgive herself for that. I only hope she forgives me – for feeling her up on the dance floor. ‘Amie, listen. I didn’t want to offend you, or see you get hurt. I’m sorry I did what I did. And you only slapped me cos I asked you to, so don’t stress about that. It was just… It was a bad situation.’
‘It was supposed to be this civilised night out with my cousin…’ She sighs, but there’s a bit of genuine humour coming back into her tone now.
My imagination is only too happy to supply a vision of her sitting in bed in her pajamas, raking back her hair. Except she’s not in her room in Walpeup now, she’s in her nanna’s house in Mildura –
‘So, um, did you make it home okay?’
‘Yeah.’ I close my eyes, but my brain won’t let up. ‘I mean, yeah, I left the club about twenty minutes ago. But I’m not home yet. I just stopped to make sure you’re all right.’
‘I’m fine.’ She pauses. ‘Is your face sore?’
That gets a laugh out of me. ‘It is a bit tender, now you mention it.’
‘Oh god –’
‘It’s no big deal, I’ve had worse.’
There’s a bit of silence down the line. I can’t help but think that, putting aside the first trumpeting blat of panic at seeing her in the club, what I remember most is when we were pressed up against each other in the crowd. The way we moved together. The soft roundness of her, cupped in my hand…
‘Stay safe, Harris.’ Her voice is quiet. ‘I’d better go. It’s late, and the wedding’s tomorrow. My auntie will be wondering why I’m still up.’
I force myself to snap back. ‘Good luck for the wedding.’
‘Thanks.’ Now I can hear her smiling.
‘Watch out for roos on the drive back to Walpe.’
‘Will do. And I’ll tell Dad what you told me.’
‘Okay, good. And text me…’ I swallow, hope I don’t sound too eager. Ah, fuck it. ‘Text me when you figure out a way to meet up again.’
‘I will. Go home, get some rest.’
We say our goodbyes and I tuck my phone back in my pocket, turn the key for the drive onward to Amblin Court. The idea of meeting up with Amie, of seeing her again, sends an orange fireball ricocheting through me. But that moment may be a while off.
Until then, I’ll just have to burn.
*
Seven-forty-five next morning, the house gets raided.
I jerk awake to hear a lot of banging around and shouting from down the hall. At first I think it’s the start of a fight, but part of me registers that the shouting’s too structured.
I hear, ‘Down on the floor – get down on the floor!’ and then my door seems to explode open. Two guys in black – uniforms, flak jackets, helmets – almost fall into my room. I think they were expecting the wood veneer to offer more resistance. Their service weapons are out and one of them yells, ‘Hands on your head! Lemme see your hands!’ so I do exactly as I’m told.
The sheets and blankets fall down to my hips and I’m half-kneeling on the bed. Apart from fighting general fogginess and confusion, and the strange heart-attack feeling of being woken with a bang, I’m thinking a couple of things. One is, I’m super-glad I told Leon I wouldn’t carry a weapon. Because if I’d agreed to it, the gun might’ve been in the room with me right now, and that would be problematic. The other thing I’m thinking is, I’m bloody relieved I don’t sleep commando.
‘Hands!’
‘I’m doing it, mate, I’m doing it –’
‘Don’t you move. Don’t you fucking move a muscle.’
‘I got my hands up, see? I got ’em up.’ My hands fumble at the top of my head.
‘Stay there.’
‘I’m stayin’ here, okay? I’m staying here. I need to sit down, but.’
One of the officers – the older one – nods at the other officer, who comes over and quickly tugs my sheets and pillow onto the floor. His eyes light on the bandage on my leg. He covers me with his weapon the whole time. I’ve never had a police pistol stuck right in my face before. It makes me sweat.
‘Sit down right where you are,’ the guy says. ‘Do not fucking move.’
It’s one of those funny police moments where they tell you to do two completely opposing things at the same time.
‘I swear to god, I won’t move.’ I sink my butt back on the bed with relief. My sore leg stretches out over the edge. ‘Thank you. Shit, that’s better.’
The older cop points a finger at me. ‘Stay exactly where you are. Just stay there.’ He glances at the younger cop, holds his gun with one hand as he lifts a hand-mic on the shoulder-side of his flak jacket and speaks into it. ‘We’ve got one in the far bedroom. Yep, holding.’
Shouts come from down the hall. I hear Kevin say, ‘Get the fuck off, you bastards!’ and Steph yell, ‘I’m fuckin’ doin’ it!’
‘What’s going on?’ I ask quietly.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ the younger cop snaps.
The older guy frowns at him, looks at me. ‘It’s a bust, son. Suspected drug activity in the house.’
Well, applause all round. I wonder how long it took them to work that out. Blind Freddy could’ve told you there was drug activity in the house.
‘Okay.’ My arms are getting tired from keeping my hands on my head. ‘But I don’t think I’m the droid you’re looking for, yeah? I just moved in here.’
‘We’ll see,’ the older cop says. ‘We’ll just wait and see.’
The radio mic on his jacket squawks.
‘Hold him here,’ he says to his younger buddy. He exits abruptly.
‘Seriously,’ I say. ‘I’ve only been here three weeks. Go through my stuff and have a look.’
Young Cop sneers. ‘Thanks, we’ll do that.’
I don’t think he needed an invitation. Young Cop tosses the room. I have to lie face down on the carpet in my jocks while my duffel gets upended. All my wound care stuff goes flying.
‘Medical supplies, hey?’ Young Cop says.
‘That’s for me leg.’ My voice sounds muffled, because of the carpet.
Young Cop moves around behind me, steps over me. ‘That’s it? Nothing else?’
D’you think I’d tell you if there was? I don’t say that.
Maybe my lack of solemnity is in my posture, splayed out here on the floor. Young Cop crunches through my sterile wipes and stuff until I catch his shadow looming near my head.
‘C’mon. You’ve gotta have something.’ He steps on my fingers. It hurts.
I tense my arms. ‘Ow.’
He shifts position. The toe of his boot nudges my wounded thigh. ‘You guys think you’re so fucking smart, dontcha? So fucking smart.’
I’ve met cops like this before: young, dumb, and full of attitude. They like to let you know who’s boss. Change the uniform into a Jim Beam T-shirt and jeans and this guy would be indistinguishable from Ando.
And he likes to play with his food.
‘You’re a stupid shit, aren’t ya?’ Young Cop hunkers down so he can hiss above my ear. He raps the back of my head with the butt of his gun. ‘Aren’t ya?’
If he really expects me to reply to that, he’s dreaming. My teeth clacked together when he whacked my head, and that’s how they’re gonna stay. I keep my nose pressed to the carpet.
Boots clomp towards us from down the hall. Young Cop stands up fast, but before he moves he kicks the side of my prone leg. His toes are steel-capped, and it takes a lot of effort not to cry out as a localised white explosion shoots through my thigh. Fuck, that fucking hurt.
‘Sorted,’ Old Cop says as he returns. ‘You find anything?’
‘No, sir,’ Young Cop says meekly.
My shoulders relax even though I knew there was nothing to find. Now the other cop’s here, I think it’s safe to speak. ‘Can I get up now? This carpet is bloody rank.’
‘What’re you doing here, son?’ Old Cop lets me up so I can sit on the milk crate.
‘I live here.’ I’d thought that was pretty obvious. I stretch my leg out, rubbing my thigh and throwing glares at Dickhead Junior. ‘I come up from Ouyen, looking for work.’
‘You picked a dodgy place to move into,’ Old Cop says flatly.
‘It’s cheap, that’s all I know. And I didn’t know where else to go. Like I said, I’ve only been here three weeks.’
Old Cop raises an eyebrow.
‘I used to work at Ridgeback Falls quarry,’ I insist. ‘Stuffed me leg, so now I’m looking for a new job. That envelope on the floor there, that’s my references. Check it out yourself.’
Old Cop goes through my wallet. ‘Driver’s license says your name is Harrison Lucas Derwent, is that correct?’
My face warms as I nod. ‘Yeah. But it’s just Harris, hey.’
‘Well, just-Harris, why don’t you put a shirt on and we’ll sort it out.’
His name badge reads Murphy. This is the guy Sarge Blunt told me about: the Mildura CIU guy. I check him for funny looks, but he doesn’t so much as twitch at me. The sarge was true to his word then – the cops here don’t know me. Inconvenient in the long term, but definitely a plus in a situation like this. Let me be arrested with the others. Let Snowie think I’m part of it all.
‘Sorting it out’, like the Murphy guy said, takes the better part of the morning. I slap on some clothes, get cuffed – ‘Nah, go ahead and cuff me if it makes you feel better’ – and am handed off to the cop shop. They take my fingerprints and process all my gear before I’m put in a holding cell with Kevin and Steph, plus the girl who usually brings the baby. She’s on her own this time, crying and obviously strung out.
‘I didn’t do nothin’, I didn’t do nothin’!’ she wails.
‘What the fuck’re ya here for then?’ Kevin snarls. Kevin’s been done for possession. He’s not such a happy-go-lucky guy when he’s stressed.
Reggie’s not in the cells – I’m relieved. I sit beside Steph on the cold concrete floor and knead my bruised leg. ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah.’ She rubs her hands together. ‘Bit desperate for a ciggie. And I wish I had me jacket, it’s bloody freezing in here.’
I’ve got a flannie on so I offer her my hoodie. ‘What’s the story, you reckon?’
She gives me a wary look then accepts my hoodie, pulls it over her threadbare T-shirt. ‘Dumb bust. Dunno what they expected to find. Nobody’s batching, and nobody sells outta their bloody house – unless they wanna get robbed.’
‘What about Baby Mama over there?’ I cut my eyes at the crying girl.
Steph makes a ‘pfft’ sound. ‘Neighbourhood troll, hunting for freebies. She knows Kev will do anything for a root. And she’ll do anything for a pipe.’
‘So why the bust?’
She shrugs. ‘Best guess, they know something’s up. They know the house. They’re probably trying to rattle Snowie’s cage.’
I think she might be right on the money. Steph doesn’t use, Barry’s not a resident, I’m clean as a whistle. Kevin was the only idiot with gear in his room, and that was for private consumption. No quantities. If the cops were hoping to find some million-dollar drug lab in the Mildura suburbs, they’ve screwed this up royally. On the other hand, if they were just trying to shake up Snowie’s household, see what fell loose…
We’ve already been here two hours when suddenly Baby Mama starts screaming. It takes another twenty minutes to get sense out of her, and that’s when we find out the baby is back at her place. Alone. She left a six-month-old alone in the house while she went to score – that was four hours ago. The cops are nice enough to send a car over. I cross my arms over my chest and tuck my chin into my neck as Baby Mama cries like her heart’s gonna break. The whole thing makes me feel sick.
They let us all go, except for Kevin and the mother of the baby, a few trying hours later. Baby Mama gets her baby back, carries it with her into an interview room. We’re asked if we want to make a statement, which we graciously decline. Kevin’ll have to go through the grinding process of court appearance, but they’ve got nothing to hold me and Steph on.
But something is different. Something has definitely changed. Because I’m in the system, now: I’ve been name-checked, fingerprinted, processed. My current place of abode has been noted. When I went to sleep last night I was ‘under-the-radar just-Harris’. But now…
Person of interest. Known associate. Material witness.
The cops have lots of polite names for it, but none of those count. The one they use amongst themselves, that’s the important one.
I’m officially a scrote.