It’s nearly four in the afternoon – the streets have an end-of-day feeling about them. I bolt from the Pitbull to the house, almost make it safely to the door of my room when I just about trip over Steph in the hallway.
‘Whoah.’ She looks me up and down. ‘Nice threads.’
I shove open the door to my room. ‘Not another word.’
Steph steps back, keeping her bowl of Weet-Bix out of the way. ‘Hey, I think it looks good on you. And the haircut.’
‘Shuddup.’
She stirs her cereal. ‘I didn’t even know you had a face.’
‘I got seen by the jacks walking away from a thing,’ I say over my shoulder as I hunt for a pair of jeans, a T-shirt. ‘I had to change. And now I gotta fucking change again, so I don’t walk into the bossman’s office looking like –’
‘Like you just walked out of a Bollywood movie?’ Steph says.
I freeze, a T-shirt stuck to my hand. I turn to hold her gaze, and when my voice comes out, it’s dropped a register.
‘A friend lent me the clothes, okay? A friend who I really don’t want to get involved with all this shit.’ I squeeze the T-shirt hard. ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about it around the house.’
Steph locks eyes with me for a few seconds, then raises the hand not holding her bowl and does a zipping motion over her lips.
‘Thanks.’ I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. ‘Now I gotta get changed.’
‘Yeah, you gotta,’ Steph says with a quick raise of her eyebrows. I put a hand on the door to close it, but she speaks again. ‘What was the thing?’
‘The what?’
‘The thing. You said you walked away from a thing –’
My face goes wooden. ‘You don’t wanna know.’ Then I realise I’ve gotta say something. ‘Look, you’ll hear about it. It was messed up.’
Her expression dissolves a little. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know, okay? I don’t know, I wasn’t involved in it, I just found it. Now I gotta go work it out.’
She nods at me, very sober, like she’s weighing up what I’ve said. She waves her bowl in my direction, giving me a Weet-Bix blessing, and turns away. ‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks.’
I change with fucking superhuman speed, then I’m back behind the wheel of the Pitbull. Better not to think about Amie’s hand on my neck while she cut my hair, or the way she looked at me in the hallway. Better not to think too much before I do this. I put the car in Drive and do a uey in the street. Call the club on the way towards Langtree, tell them I’m coming in and I need to see Leon straightaway.
By the time I get inside the belly of the club, I’m lousy with sweat and my leg is stiffening up from fast walking. Leon summons me in, and the sweat gets cold on my skin real quick.
I tell him what happened in Tulane Road. I describe the people in the house, the things I saw. I use short sentences and try to sound clinical – I’m not telling him a story, this is real. Leon’s face gets redder as I talk. He lumbers up to standing and lights a cigarette, finally interrupts me near the end.
‘This is not a conversation I want to be having,’ Leon says. ‘We’re at T-minus less-than-a-fucking-week until delivery, and this is not a conversation I want to be having.’
The tone of his voice and the set of his eyes nearly undo me. I firm my feet. ‘I know. I know you don’t wanna be having it. But it won’t go away. Tulane Road’s gonna be a fucking disaster area. There’ll be cops, and ambos, and neighbours, and fucking journos, all lit up like a bloody Echuca paddlesteamer. It’ll be all eyes on.’
‘Did they see you? Coming outta there?’
I speak carefully. ‘I spotted the squad car as I was walking to mine. I dunno if they saw me walk out of the house’s front yard. I walked on, doubled back and took off when they got round the corner. Then I went and changed my clothes and hair and stuff before coming here.’
Which is all technically correct. I’ve just neglected to say where I did all this. I don’t want to get caught up in a lie if he questions me again later. I’m hoping the thin lacquer of truth is enough to keep my expression guileless.
Still, he’s not gonna be happy about the situation, or my involvement in it. I make myself talk straight. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to discuss this over the phone, and I don’t trust any of the others not to blab, so I couldn’t pass on a message. But I also thought you’d wanna know right away. If there’d been any other way to get word to you quick, that I could be sure was secure, I wouldn’t have come.’
Leon’s eyes are so soulless it’s actually hard to tell when he’s experiencing real emotion. But I think he’s fully panicked and pissed off right now. I keep my sweaty hands inside my hoodie pockets, and pray he’s not gonna shoot the messenger. There’s a long silence as Leon turns to face the blinds, as if he’s looking out the window.
‘Right,’ he says, turning back, and I have to work every fucking muscle in my body not to jump sky-high. He grabs his phone. ‘I’m gonna make some calls. Go out front while I phone around, get yourself a drink from the bar. Then leave through the rear exit, and don’t come back here again until you hear the word.’
And just like that, I know I’m okay. For the time being. Relief skitters down my spine on spider’s legs. I remind myself the reprieve might only be temporary. The Leon I dealt with this morning is gone. He’s still all business, but his system has been tested, found wanting. He’ll be hyper-alert until this is sorted out, and I’m gonna have to watch myself. I’ve gotta stay on my guard.
I can’t afford to slip.
*
Next morning is warm. The sun is already hot enough to make the dew steam and the air has a clamminess that tells you today will be a scorcher.
I got Amie’s text twenty minutes ago: she wanted a fast meeting here, and there wasn’t time to say no. The footy ground’s deserted but it doesn’t make me feel any more secure. I do a blockie before I feel confident enough to park.
I’m barely out of the car when I start talking. ‘What’s goin’ on? Seriously, Ames, this is a shit place to meet. It’s too close to the house, everyone’s on the warpath, it’s not safe –’
‘Dad says you should pack it in,’ Amie interrupts, her eyes fever-bright. She’s wearing jeans and a white men’s shirt over a purple tank. Her hair has curled with the humidity and I want to push my fingers through it.
‘What?’ I scan the length of the street, tug her over so we’re half-hidden in the corner of the brick ticket booth. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Dad says give them an excuse and come back to Ouyen.’ She jigs on her feet, smiling and biting her lip. ‘That’s why I contacted you, that’s why I thought we could risk a quick meeting close by, cos I wanted to tell you in person –’
‘The fuck?’ I step back, then forward.
‘I figured you’d want to know as soon as possible.’ Amie’s expression falters as she looks at me. ‘Come on, Harris, it’s what you’ve wanted to hear, isn’t it? You’re free. You don’t have to keep going with it, you can pull out –’
‘I can’t pull out now.’ I frown, seeing her face. ‘Amie, I can’t. Delivery is less than a week away –’
‘Harris, the police are covering Tulane Road like a rash.’ She stares at me. ‘It was all over the news, for god’s sake! Dad said they’re calling in homicide investigators from Melbourne. The whole town is getting hot, it’s too dangerous –’
I step back again, shaking my head. ‘But your dad wants the delivery dates for the new batch, I know he does. I can give them to him, if he’ll just give me a little more time –’
‘Goddammit, Harris, why are you doing this?’ She circles around to face me. ‘I thought you wanted to cut loose, I know you wanted it!’
‘Yeah, but not like this!’
She sags, her shoulders sinking, face falling flat. How can she not understand this?
‘C’mon, Amie. You really think I’d pack it in now? Make those peoples’ deaths, all this work, for nothing?’ I come in close, fix her in place with my hands, try to get through. ‘Listen, I know I said I want this job to be over, and I do. But I can’t just let it go, not now. I wanna nail these bastards. And it’s so close – don’t make me give up the prize just as it’s sliding into my hands.’
It takes a moment before she musters a reply. ‘I thought you’d be excited.’
‘I am excited. I am. I want to finish this, just like you. But I want it to mean something.’
‘Okay.’ She scrapes back her hair as I release her. ‘Okay. Shit. I get it. I don’t understand, but I get it.’
I make a face, trying to break the tension. ‘Are you that keen to see the back of me?’
‘No!’ she says fiercely. Her eyes drop to the concrete. ‘I mean… Well, you know what I mean.’
‘I know.’ I tilt up her chin. ‘Look, tell your dad thanks, but I’m staying until I hear word from Leon about the delivery. As soon as it’s solid, I’ll be outta Amblin Court before he can say, “You’re nicked”.’ She doesn’t look appeased. ‘Amie, it’ll be over soon. Real soon. I know you want it as bad as me.’
She nods and sighs. ‘I guess I should go.’
‘Yeah.’ I hate seeing her look so disappointed. Then I realise something. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be with your nanna?’
Now she looks really low. ‘Hansa’s taken Nani to the hospital for a check up.’
‘Is she okay?’
She glances down again. ‘After you left yesterday, she had a dizzy turn. We’re hoping it’s just her blood pressure.’
I do what she did for me, what I’ve wanted to do since the second I saw her: I pull her into a hug. Amie’s breath puffs out against my chest, through my thin T-shirt. Her arms slide around my waist, and she squeezes me tight.
‘It’ll be okay.’ I don’t know if it will be, but I want to say something. ‘It’ll work out.’
‘I hope so.’ She pushes back and smiles weakly. ‘Thanks. You should go. And me, too.’
‘Yeah. Go say hi to your nanna.’ Then something occurs to me. ‘Actually, no – do me a favour and wait here for a bit before you go. Just like at the river. Better if no one sees us peel out together.’
‘Okay. Ten minutes. Then I have to get back.’
‘You all right?’
‘I’m fine. Go, go.’
The drive back to the house is quick: the footy ground is walking distance from Amblin Court, for Christ’s sake. It’s too close. My two worlds are starting to rub up against each other. It’s not a comfortable feeling.
Inside, the house is muggy as the sun hits the roof. I wanna tear the batik curtain off the living room window, let some air in, but I don’t do that. I go and slick my face with water in the bathroom, which makes me feel slightly better. As I come back out into the hall, Reggie appears, lolling at the edge of the doorway to the spare bedroom.
‘Hey, Harris.’ He props himself higher against the door jamb with one shoulder.
‘Hey, mate. What’s happening? Didn’t see you at the club the other night.’
‘I been busy.’ Reggie glances around absently. ‘Yeah, I been real busy.’
He looks like shit warmed over: dirty grey-brown skin, his awful shave job making his face look skeletal. I wish I could’ve had more time to keep an eye on him lately, but with everything that’s been happening, I’ve been distracted.
I’m regretting it enough now to try to make up for it. ‘Too busy to come for a kick later?’ I wipe drips off my face with the hem of my T-shirt. ‘Whaddaya reckon? Go out with the ball and –’
‘Sounds good.’ Reggie rubs at his flushed neck and face, pulls at his hoodie. ‘Shit, I’m hot.’
‘It’s a warm one, for sure. Take your jacket off, ya goose.’ But I look at him more closely. I don’t think he’s talking about the weather. ‘You right, mate?’
‘Good, all good, yeah…’ He tugs at the hoodie collar, struggles with the zipper. ‘Fuck. This –’
‘Reggie?’
It’s like he goes a little crazy for a second: he wants the hoodie off, it’s gotta come off. He flails around, arms flying, elbows hitting the wall. His face is screwed up. Finally, he squirms out of the hoodie, shakes it away violently. Bangs against the wall again.
‘Reggie.’ I take a step nearer. ‘Mate, don’t get –’
His head bounces forward on his neck once, twice, and then he goes down.
Oh fuck. I bolt to catch him, miss, manage to get a handful of his T-shirt. It stops his forehead from connecting with the hard carpetted floor, but the rest of him is like jelly. I sling an arm around his front, flip him over.
‘Shit, oh shit.’ I half-kneel, cradling him in my arms. ‘Fucking – Reggie! Reggie, wake up, man. Reggie, come on –’
God, he’s thin. His arms and legs are floppy. They fall out of my grasp like he’s falling apart. And he’s hot as a furnace.
‘Fuck –’ I cast around for someone, anyone. ‘Steph! Steph, fucking get out here!’
I fumble to stand, try to keep Reggie in my arms. It’s like trying to keep an octopus in a string bag.
Steph’s voice sounds out suddenly behind me. ‘Harris, what are you bloody –’ She cuts herself off, and one second later she’s next to me. ‘What, did he drop?’
‘What the fuck does it look like?’ I snarl. ‘Help me get him to the couch. Jesus Christ, he’s fucking on fire –’
‘Dump him,’ she says quickly. ‘Take him out to the street, put him on the pavement, I’ll call triple-oh –’
‘Are you outta your fucking mind?’ I round on her, clutching my armful of OD-ing kid. ‘I’m not fucking dumping him, all right?’
She grabs my bicep. Her short nails bite in. ‘Harris, if the ambos come to the house and see an OD, they’ll call the cops –’
‘Jesus.’ I close my eyes, try to breathe. Reggie shivers in my arms. ‘Lemme think. Christ. Lemme –’
In a few fast strides I cross the living room, lay Reggie down on the couch. His shivers turn into jerks and twitches, like he’s about to launch into a full-blown seizure. I’m not gonna dump this kid on the pavement. I’m not gonna have that on my conscience, no fucking way. Shit. Shit.
I dunno what else to do. I yank my phone out of my jeans pocket and punch Call.
‘Harris?’ Amie’s voice sounds hollow down the line.
‘Come to the house. We need a medic, there’s been a… Jesus Christ, just come to the house.’
‘I’m coming,’ she says, and disconnects. God, does this girl ever hesitate?
‘What did you do?’ Steph pulls me around. ‘Harris. Who did you just call?’
‘A friend.’ I can’t stand here, watching Reggie twitch on the couch. I pace in front of him. ‘A nurse. Shit –’
‘You called a nurse?’
‘Get outta my face for a second, will ya?’ I pace some more, pull at my hair. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. This is a bad idea. This is a good idea. I can’t fucking decide. I think Reggie is deciding for me. He starts to convulse on the couch.
‘Jesus –’ Steph starts, then she tugs at him, pulls him off the couch. ‘Move the table. The table, you dickhead!’
I clear the coffee table outta the way with one sharp shove as Reggie tumbles to the floor. His head hits the carpet with a thunk.
‘Turn him,’ Steph pants. ‘Christ, will you hold him?’
‘I’m holdin’ him!’ I get a sudden nauseating flash on some of the stuff the doctors and nurses said when I was first admitted to Ouyen hospital with my leg. My stomach rises, but I can’t spew now. Things are too urgent for that.
There’s a knock on the door.
‘It’s open!’ Steph calls, which is weirdly neighbourly and hilarious, and I’m gonna throw up in a minute if I don’t think of something else. Reggie’s heels drum the carpet. My heartbeat drums with them.
‘I’m here,’ Amie says, breathless, and I need to glance at her, just to centre myself. She takes in the scene. ‘Oh god –’
‘Is this –’ Steph takes one look at Amie as she sinks down beside us, immediately looks at me. ‘The clothes.’
‘Bloody –’ I’m almost ready to scream by this point. ‘No one gives a shit about the clothes!’ Turn to Amie. ‘What do you need?’
She ignores me for a second, starts talking, almost like she’s talking to herself. ‘Okay. Okay – recovery position. Don’t hold him – Harris, let him go. Watch his tongue. Rapid shallow breathing. Pulse is…’ She lifts her eyes to me. ‘Timer?’
I grab for my phone, set it. She puts her fingers on Reggie’s neck, watches the clock as she talks. ‘I need cold – wet towels, ice, blankets. His temp’s gotta come down.’ She jerks back, we all do, as Reggie convulses and a spill of watery gunk comes out his mouth. Then she shuffles closer. ‘A towel, something –’
I strip off my T-shirt, still damp from the bathroom, and thrust it at her. She wipes Reggie’s vomit, slips her fingers inside his mouth, feels around. ‘Okay, airway’s clear –’ Suddenly her eyes are on me and Steph, and her voice is commanding. ‘Didn’t I tell you I need cold?’
‘I’ll get towels.’ I stagger off my knees, run for my room. Call out to Steph as she goes for the kitchen. ‘Have we got any ice?’
‘When do we ever have fucking ice?’ Steph yells, but she goes to look anyway.
Towels, sheets, the blanket off my bed: I sprint it all through to the bathroom, dump it on the floor of the shower and spin the cold faucet to full. Takes ten seconds for the stuff to soak. By that time, Steph’s come in with a red plastic bucket.
‘In here.’ She’s still not looking at me. She waits for me to shove the sopping load into the bucket, then carries the whole mess back out to the living room.
As soon as it reaches her, Amie starts yanking the cold wet cloth out of the bucket and on top of Reggie. ‘Help me. Here, on his neck, under his arms and knees –’
I drag out handfuls of wet sheets and stuff them around Reggie’s limp body, swaddling him up. Reggie’s stopped convulsing; now he just looks sick and awful. I can’t think about what he did to himself, what it means. I can only concentrate on what’s happening this second – the sound of my own harsh breathing, Amie’s scared-looking face, the water soaking into the knees of my jeans.
But the cold is good for me as well as Reggie: I don’t feel so airy now, my head is starting to come back online. ‘Is he gonna be all right?’
‘How long has he been unconscious?’
‘Five minutes. Less than ten.’
‘Did he have chest pain?’
‘No. I don’t know. What else do you need?’
‘I’m not sure. He’s breathing’s still shallow, if he vomits again it might obstruct his airway. But his temperature’s cooling and his pulse is starting to even out.’ She shakes her head, like she’s shaking a bad thought away. ‘Look, I don’t know. I’m just doing basic first aid. What did he take?’
I catch her eye. ‘What do you think?’
‘Okay, look, if he’s not properly treated it could be fatal. He could have a stroke and get brain damage, or kidney failure. He needs a doctor, a hospital… Is the ambulance on its way?’ She looks from me to Steph, back to me. Her face is all kinds of terrible. ‘You haven’t called an ambulance? Are you bloody insane? What are you –’
She grabs her phone.
‘Hey!’ Steph reaches out, closes her hand over Amie’s, holding the phone. ‘Listen. I dunno who you are, and I don’t wanna know. But if we call the ambos they’ll report an OD, and then the cops will show up –’
Amie snatches her phone-hand away. ‘Do you want this kid to die?’
‘I don’t want this whole house to get busted again,’ Steph says savagely, ‘not that it’s any of your business.’
I’m torn between wanting to break them up, and wanting Amie to realise the stakes here are bigger than she thought. If the cops pull up here that’ll be the end of everything. Me and Steph will get hauled down the station again, Leon will put off delivery, and if anybody remembers I was in Tulane Road… Amie looks at me and I think she knows it, although she doesn’t want to.
Reggie starts coughing, which breaks the moment. Amie turns back to keep him rolled on his side, to rub his thin shoulder blades and speak softly into his ear. I touch his hands – they’re cool now – as Amie starts easing the wet blankets back. I help as much as I can.
‘I think…I think he’s settling,’ she says. ‘We should get some dry wraps for him.’
‘I’ll get something,’ Steph says gruffly. She leaves the room.
Reggie’s face is damp, but I can’t do anything about it. Amie stops fiddling with the wet blankets, and suddenly she doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.
She sits back on her haunches, eyes glazed. ‘He’s okay. He needs a doctor, but he’s okay, he seems stable.’
‘Thank god.’ I feel like I’ve just had a stroke. When Amie pushes off her heels and stands up, walks towards the hallway, I don’t follow her for a second. Then I realise she’s not coming back in. ‘What – Ames?’
My eyes flick from Reggie to the hallway, which Amie’s just walked down, but I don’t think Reggie needs me at the moment and maybe Amie does. I get up and pass Steph as she’s returning with a blanket off her bed.
‘Put that around him, and wipe his face,’ I instruct, and I keep walking all the way to my room. The door is open. Amie is in there, pacing, turning in circles, talking to herself. I don’t think she knows whose room this is. I don’t think she cares.
‘I can’t believe…’ she whispers. ‘Oh god, I can’t believe I just did that…’
‘What?’ I try to fix on her, but she’s moving around too much. ‘Amie, you saved his life.’
She spins to face me. ‘He should be in a hospital!’
‘Amie, it worked out.’
‘I’m not a doctor! I’m not even a qualified nurse! I didn’t know what I was doing –’
‘But it worked.’
‘That was pure luck!’ She’s shouting. ‘And you should’ve called an ambulance – you called me!’
Now we’re both shouting. ‘You were the only person I knew who could help!’
‘What if he’d died, Harris? What would’ve happened then?’
‘But he didn’t die –’
‘He could have! It was stupid, and reckless, oh my god…’ She puts her hands to her face, throws them out again. ‘You’re the most reckless person I know –’
‘I’m reckless? Is that the worst you can say?’
‘You don’t think, you don’t think of anyone but yourself, you’re a selfish –’
‘Don’t call me selfish.’ My voice comes out stony.
‘It’s bloody true!’ She steps closer and shoves me – puts her hands on my bare chest and shoves hard.
I stumble back. My whole body is heating up, like Reggie’s did. ‘At least I acted. I did something. You know, you talk so big, but you don’t actually do anything.’
‘That’s a lie!’
‘Is it? You sit at home, hiding behind your fucking photos, worrying yourself sick over everyone else, but you never –’
‘You take that back!’ Amie screams.
My breath comes in short and my throat is tight. ‘You’re so busy playing the fucking martyr, giving up your residency, giving up everything for your family. All the time you’re freaking out about how everyone will cope without you, and it’s just a fucking excuse to do nothing. You never risk anything, you hold yourself back, you never engage –’
‘I engage!’ Amie shrieks, and she’s engaging now all right. She lurches forward and takes a swing at me.
I catch her fist and pull her in tight. ‘There, you did it! You feel that? That’s emotion. That’s real fucking life in your veins –’
‘What do you know about it –’
‘I know it cos I feel it! What you’re feeling right now.’ When she whips her other arm back, I grab her wrist, drag her closer. ‘You wanna hit me to make your point? Join the fucking queue.’
She’s trembling with fury. ‘Don’t you touch me.’
‘You’re shaking.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You’re fluttering like a bird…’
We stand there, pressed together, both of us panting hard. My brain is white. The combination of all that stuff I said – that I’d never planned to say, not ever – and the feeling of Amie against me, it’s swirling inside me so much right now it’s like I went to sleep and woke up at the bottom of the river. Blood is rushing in my ears. Amie’s so angry she’s gasping, her lips pinched and pale. If I let her go I think she’d slap me into next week.
But I have to chance it when Steph sticks her head in the door of the bedroom. ‘Reggie’s awake. If you’ve finished your little shit-fight, d’you wanna come help?’
I nod, release Amie’s hands. She yanks herself away, rubs her wrists. I’m surprised she doesn’t try to flatten me. Instead she marches back to the living room, so I grab a T-shirt off the floor, pull it on and follow her out.
Reggie is awake, just like Steph said. He’s still on the floor, legs splayed out, but now he’s propped up against the cushions of the couch with a crocheted blanket wrapped around him. His eyes seem set inside black whirlpools. His skin is still grey. He doesn’t look that much better but it’s a hell of an improvement on convulsions and unconsciousness.
I go sit beside him. ‘Hey, mate, how’re you going? You had us all kinda worried there…’
‘Hey, Harris.’ He leans against my shoulder, like his head is too heavy on his stalk of a neck. His voice is like ash.
I put an arm around him. ‘Reggie, I’m gonna take you to the doc, okay? You had a turn.’ I remember Amie saying, She had a dizzy turn. She’s had all the stress about her nanna boiling inside, and now I’ve just spilled all that mean shit onto her. I swallow. ‘Reggie, I’m gonna carry you out to the car, okay?’
Amie sinks down quietly on the carpet on the other side of Reggie. ‘Let me check him out first.’ She takes his pulse, pulls back his eyelids. Doesn’t even look at me.
Reggie focuses on her with difficulty. ‘Who’re you?’
‘I’m Amie.’ She checks his fingernails, listens to him breathe. ‘I’m…a friend.’ Then she nods the all-clear, never meeting my eyes.
This is me – this is me, feeling like a hundred kinds of shit, lifting up a weightless boy in my arms. This is me, waiting for Steph to tuck the blankets around him, so I can walk out into the over-warm day, out to the car I own, to put the boy in the front passenger seat so I can drive him to the hospital. This is me, watching the way Amie doesn’t watch me, doesn’t look at me, doesn’t show any kind of emotion: blank-faced, blank-eyed, like a sign that’s been painted out. This is me, driving, the boy lolling beside me.
I’ve felt like a criminal the whole time I’ve worked here in Mildura. But remembering the look on Amie’s face, it’s the first time I’ve felt guilty about it.