by Chris Flynn
Join up wit NASA an’ fly to Venus
Read da news on TV like Anton Enus
Run away wit da circus like Bailey an’ Barnum
Or become a rock singer like Johnny Farnham
He threw both hands in the air, jumped up from his seat and turned three-sixty, flinging his arms around to whatever mysterious rhythm burned inside his head.
‘Woo! You cop a look at the titties on some of these biatches? Pure corn-fed country home cookin’ that is, sitting up nice and perky for all these goggle-eyed motherfuckers to leer at.’
‘Calm down, will you? Have a drink, you fucken loon.’
‘I’m out. Needs me a clip for my nine.’
‘Take one of these. I don’t want to wrap the ute round a tree anyway.’
He sat down and gunned the remaining shots one after the other before starting on the last beer. I could see where this was going. I made a mental note to prop his head out the window on the way back. It was a long drive to the next town on the schedule.
Two fairly pretty cowgirls passed by our table then, heading in the direction of the bathroom. They smiled at me, preened their hair and glanced back in my direction. It was too dark to see my neck, obviously.
‘Shee-it, did you see that, homie? You got somethin’ those two hornbags want real bad, boss man.’
‘Fuck off, Mikey.’
‘I’s just sayin’, a big muscly army motherfucker like you, gym body an’ all, probs got a schlong like a baby’s arm. You gots to take advantage of nature’s gifts, dawg. Be criminal to pass up an invite like that.’
My patience had just about reached its limits. ‘I’m going for a piss. If you don’t want to walk home to the Kingdom, cut this shit out when I get back. I wanted to talk business.’ His idiotic way of talking was so infectious, I almost said ‘bidness’.
‘Oh, I see, y’all are going after those two to bang ’em in a stall, huh?’
It wasn’t until I stood up that I realised how much I had been sweating. I couldn’t tell if Mikey was trying to get a rise out of me or if he was just a muppet incapable of keeping his trap shut.
It was quieter in the men’s, though bursts of music blared in every time someone opened the door. A couple of locals looked me up and down as I pissed but they didn’t speak to me. I took my time washing my hands and splashed some water over my head. The roadmap of scars on my neck looked red and angry under the dim lights of the bathroom. The cool drops running through my hair felt good.
I shook myself off and stood up straight, smoothing my shirt and yawning. The night was a washout. Mikey would fall over drunk soon, and I’d have to drag him back to the Kingdom.
When I returned to our table two other men were sitting there, sipping beers and surveying the dance floor.
‘My friend and I are sitting here,’ I told them.
Heads swivelled to stare at me. The younger one had a wispy moustache. ‘Don’t look that way to me, mate,’ he said.
I ignored him, scanning the crowd for a sign of Mikey. I assumed he was embarrassing himself somewhere out on the dance floor, probably gyrating up against someone’s girlfriend while imploring her to ‘shake her booty’.
A young bloke clad head to toe in denim emerged from the crowd, his blond hair combed neatly down. He made a beeline for me and raised a hand in cautious greeting. It took me a second or two before I recognised him as a mark who’d come round the stall asking about crystal. One of my established clients had recommended he talk to me. After I’d checked him out, I’d given him a free sample. I knew he’d be back.
‘Paul, right?’
He was surprised I remembered his name.
‘Yeah. Look, I hope you don’t mind me coming over like this, but your mate’s in strife.’
‘Why, where is he?’
‘Couple of boys took him out the back.’
‘Say what now?’
‘I don’t know, mate, I think he was mouthing off. They frogmarched him out of here so fast his feet hardly touched the ground.’
‘Appreciate it, Paul.’
‘Yeah, but you might want to…’
I pushed my way through the crowd towards the door, leaving Paul in my wake. It was warm outside, and I stood by the entrance for a moment to get my bearings and adjust to the sudden quiet. Like I’d done a thousand times in the desert, I slowed my breathing and listened to the night. Behind the curtain of cicadas and drone of the highway I could hear the distinctive muffled sounds of a fight.
I stepped to the corner of the pub and the noise increased. I saw them then, three men standing over Mikey. He was trying to get up as they put the boot in. They were only twenty metres away, partially obscured by a large flatbed ute. I broke into a run, with no intention of stopping until I collided with them.
Two of the assailants looked up as I approached. I swear my feet were gliding over the gravel like I was fucken ice skating. It was beautiful. They tried to move back and ready themselves for me, but I was in juggernaut mode. I spared a glance down at Mikey—I couldn’t tell how badly he was hurt, and maybe that was just as well.
I changed tack at the last second, veering away from the two men who’d spotted me. Instead, I shoulder charged the heavyset guy who was kicking Mikey’s curled-up body. The impact knocked him clean off his feet and into the passenger door of the ute. His elbow smashed the side window and he slid down in shock, a big gash opening up on his forearm. I wheeled on the other two, throwing a few quick, wild punches, windmilling to make them back off. One of them panicked a bit and flailed his arms madly to avoid me. The lucky prick caught a hold of my shirt and clung onto it as he stumbled and fell to his knees.
As I tried to pull away from him the third guy whacked me on the temple with his fist, a dull thud made worse by the three gold rings across his knuckles. Given his fat friend had a handful of my shirt, my only option was to scrape the edge of my boot down his shinbone and stomp on his foot as hard as I could.
I tell you what, not many people can stand the pain of having their shin kicked or scraped. It’s fucken white-hot pain, just blots out everything. The bloke sucked in a huge breath and his eyes rolled back in his head. His lips parted to expose two rows of shining, pristine teeth. I couldn’t resist. I elbowed him hard in the mouth and felt a couple of those pretty little babies crumble. He staggered back and spat a plume of blood, roaring in pain as he clutched his mashed-up lips. He fell heavily, a great cloud of dust billowing up with the weight of the cunt.
In the absence of any other weapon, the overweight bloke on the ground sank his teeth into my thigh. I clenched so fast I bit my tongue, bringing the metallic taste of blood to my mouth. I lashed out at the guy’s face with my heel and felt a cheekbone give way, though it might have been an eye socket. The bloke opened his jaws and turned white before passing out. As he crumpled to the ground my shirt ripped right down the back, along the seam. I thrashed around, trying to wriggle out of it. Still curled up in the dirt, Mikey moaned and squirmed out of the way of it all.
I was so busy untangling myself I only caught a glimpse of the first man as he pile-drove into me. We went down together, his bulk slamming me into the dirt. The prick was all over me. He stank of whisky and cheap cologne. Blood poured out of the cut on his forearm and smeared over my chest as he sat astride me, raining down blows.
My arms were free so I went into a defensive boxing position as best I could, but he still landed a few corkers on my neck and around my ears. I knew if I didn’t get up I’d be in trouble soon. I tensed my spine against the ground, assessing his weight.
I sat up quickly and headbutted him in the solar plexus. That knocked the breath out of him. He let out a great wheeze and froze for a second, his fists opening and closing reflexively with the shock of it.
I slipped my arm under one of his thighs and used my momentum to flip him off me. As we pivoted I drove my knee into the small of his back, just above the third vertebrae. He flung his arms out over his head, letting out four short gasps
. I went to one knee and stood up, shaking my head to clear it as he rolled over.
He had one hand on his spine as if he was trying to hold it together. He raised the other in deference.
‘Wait, stop, stop, that’s enough—Christ, my fucken back, you’ve broke me fucken back.’
He shuffled away from me, terrified he was paralysed. In the back of my mind I was thinking, Fuuuck, this is not good. I held off, dropping my hands to my knees and bending over to catch a breath. The other two blokes weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Three big blokes. I’d been lucky. They could’ve been toting a shiv, or worse. I composed myself, tapping into the adrenaline rush.
‘You better not have hurt the young fella,’ I warned the last one, who stopped writhing around after he worked out his back was not permanently damaged.
Still holding his hands outwards in a placatory gesture, he rose haltingly to one knee, wincing and closing his eyes tight with the pain.
I waited to see what he was going to do next. Eventually he opened his eyes and breathed out.
‘Fuck me, mate. That was a Muay Thai move. You could’ve fucken killed me.’
‘Didn’t see you holding back.’
My shirt was hanging in tatters from one arm. He took in my infantry tattoo, then the burn scars on my chest and neck. He looked down and swore under his breath.
‘I don’t fucken believe it. You serve?’
I nodded. ‘Uruzgan.’
‘For fuck sake. We’re at the logistics base in Wodonga. You in the Bluedog?’
I shrugged apologetically.
‘Christ all fucken mighty. Your prick of a mate there’s lucky to have you on his side.’
He was in good shape but I knew if he was at the logistics base he’d never seen any action. I clocked him swallowing the fear that had suddenly formed in his throat, his surprise at its unfamiliar taste.
‘We done here?’ he said.
‘I am if you are. Best see to the chubby guy. He doesn’t look too good.’
‘Fat prick. Almost got my back broke over nothing.’
I stared at him a little longer, taking note of his stance, waiting to see if he was bluffing. The only sounds came from the man with the smashed mouth, who was in the foetal position, whimpering a woman’s name over and over.
‘I’m sorry, May. I’m sorry.’
I stretched my jaw, satisfied the recruit was not going to recommence hostilities now he knew where I’d been.
‘May his missus?’ I asked.
‘Nah, his wife’s called Jess.’ He stood up slowly, bending his back, eyes bulging. ‘Must be his dentist.’
The smoke parted around me to reveal an enormous crater in the road, scattered with debris and the remains of people turned inside out. In the middle of the hole lay the husk of what had once been a camouflaged Humvee. It was scorched black and burning now, upside down on its roof. Oil and blood oozed from the crushed cab, mingling to form a sticky goop.
Deafened by the explosion, I stumbled down into the crater and immediately regretted it. The first thing I saw was a single boot sitting in the dirt. Jutting up from inside it was a jagged red shinbone. I stared dumbly, knowing what it was yet unable to process the information. My stomach started doing somersaults.
Next to the boot was the head and upper body of Sergeant Ludowyk. Her right arm and legs were nowhere to be seen, and her lower jawbone was hanging by a gory thread of flesh. I stood there, gawping at the charred corpse of my friend for five uncomprehending seconds and then I was in the air, knocked off my feet by a second impact that I didn’t even hear.
I came down next to the thing that had once been Paulina Ludowyk and rolled onto my side so I didn’t have to look anymore. It felt like God had reached down and swatted me with his fist.
That’s when I saw the second Hummer, the one I had just crawled out of, roll weirdly onto its side at the lip of the crater. It had been ripped down the middle by what could only have been a direct RPG hit. Maybe I was concussed, I don’t know. I lay there in the muck, unable to move, watching it crumble like a tower of Lego knocked over by a kid having a tantrum. I couldn’t look away.
One of the back wheels popped off the axle and pinged straight up in the air, the burning rubber leaving a trail of black smoke against the clear blue sky. The passenger-side door whooshed high over my head, a smoking frisbee. The whole thing happened in one second flat, maybe two, but every detail was clear.
The fuel tank ignited then and a beautiful orange jet of flame blossomed outwards, reaching down to caress me. I scrabbled feebly back in the dirt. The fire loomed over me like a phoenix finally freed from its egg. Then it fell upon me, claws tearing at my flesh.
I jerked awake, slick with sweat. Instinctively I placed a palm on my chest and concentrated on slowing my breathing. The scar tissue was hot to the touch, tender. I traced the raised lines with my fingertips.
Steph was next to me, splayed on her back, one arm over her head clutching at the pillow. There was a faint patch of stubble in her armpit and her face was partially obscured by her mop of blonde hair. She was dead to the world, a ragdoll. Once she was out, you practically had to spray her with a hose to wake her.
The sheets were a tangle around Steph’s knees, kicked off in the night. It had been a hot one. I took in her elongated body, and stroked the smooth burn mark on her hip. It was the only real blemish on her body—she complained about her arse, like most women I know, but I couldn’t see a thing wrong with it. Her burn had been obtained in less dramatic fashion than mine, while ironing in the nude, long before we met.
She didn’t stir, even when I let my fingertips skate over the skin of her belly to the top of her trimmed pubic hair. She kept it short in summer and grew it out as winter approached, then went back to a fuzzy strip or some other shape in spring (a downward pointing arrow one time—she isn’t the subtlest of girls). I traced figure eights on the sharp bristles but she didn’t register until I pressed further down. Then she exhaled and turned her head towards me, opening her eyes slowly and smiling, then closing them again.
‘Morning,’ she breathed.
‘You awake?’
‘I am now.’
I was going to tell her I’d had the dream again but she arched her back and reached across to start stroking my dick. It was how we began a lot of mornings, and as she made me come the lingering memories of the burning were banished.
After, as I stared up at the stains on the ceiling of her trailer, a dull pain began pulsing in my left ear and I remembered what had happened the night before.
I stood up gingerly, a series of aches becoming instantly apparent. I’d taken a few knocks, though nothing like what Mikey had copped.
I’d come to sleep with Steph after bedding him down in my trailer. I wouldn’t normally let anyone other than Steph in there but I could hardly have taken him back to the communal bunks. Steph was still awake, just, and she had cleaned me up and rubbed one of her magic ointments into my arms and back. I don’t know if it did any good, but I slept well enough after that and a couple of Panadeine Forte.
Mikey was badly shaken up. He was bleeding from the nose and mouth, but not so heavily as to suggest internal injuries. I’d seen that before—there was no mistaking a ruptured organ. His blood had mingled on my chest with that of the bloke I’d fought as I carried him across the silent alley, picking a path through abandoned fast-food wrappers and ticket stubs. He was even lighter than I thought he’d be, little more than a gangly teenager. I’d carried a couple of guys like that out of harm’s way in Uruzgan too. Decent kids, but fucken useless. Incapable of taking care of themselves. There’d always be some twitchy young fucker like Mikey who ran the wrong way or forgot to duck. The trick was getting them cas-evac’d before they bled out. They made it half the time, more or less.
Mikey wrapped his quivering hands around my torso like he was trying to suckle at my tit. They’d really got stuck into him for whatever he’d said. And it was hard to
believe he hadn’t deserved it, to some degree. But no one ever steps in anymore to call a stop to a beating. Blokes just keep kicking until they hear something break and then it’s emergency rooms, brain scans and half-hearted apologies blaming the piss or their mates for egging them on. Way I see it, if you’re going to take it to that level, it had better be worth it. The guy better have raped your wife or murdered your daughter. Otherwise, just get a few digs in and then step the fuck off.
When I set Mikey down outside my trailer he couldn’t stand up. He’d caught a few blows to the face that looked worse than they were. Nothing seemed broken. I figured a hot bath and a couple of day’s rest would do the trick. Within a week he’d be bragging about the fight and showing off his bruises.
I put my arm around his shoulders and helped him inside, walking him to my bed. He slumped down on the doona, clutching his guts and moaning. I asked how he was feeling and I knew from his sarcastic reply that he wasn’t that bad.
‘A thousand f-f-fucken per cent, dawg.’ He looked around the room, taking in my spartan digs. ‘Nice bunk.’
Even though it was hot he was shivering and I was worried he’d gone into shock. I took my old army swag out of the cupboard and unrolled it. He lay back on the bed, and let me take his sneakers and jeans off.
‘Hey, no funny stuff,’ he mumbled as I helped him into the sleeping bag. I didn’t want him wrapped up in my sheets. He wasn’t all that clean. His face was a mess, so I soaked a towel and wiped the blood off. Snug inside the swag, he finally stopped shivering and his eyes began to blink shut. Satisfied he was going to sleep, I grabbed my wash kit and left, leaving the door unlocked so he could crawl outside and piss if he needed to. I hoped he wouldn’t soil the bed.
I stood in the warm night air for a while after that, wondering what time it was. The light was still on in Steph’s trailer so I tapped gently at her door, wincing at the pain in my knuckles. She was half asleep when she let me in, and didn’t ask what had happened. She knew better.
