by Chris Flynn
Been so busy I ain’t even had time to drain the lizard but it don’t matter none anyways. Think I done sweated out all the fluids in my body, probs couldn’t squeeze out three drops of piss. Target Ball stand be pumpin’ even though it’s like a fucken microwave oven in here an’ my shorts is so soaked with sweat they’s turned a different colour. My damp appearance don’t seem to be particularly off-puttin’ to the local populace, though. They loves the cheap games, an’ mine is ’bout the cheapest on the alley.
Actually might make more chedda on the hoops than slingin’ crystal today, though it only takes a couple of buys to seriously boost the poke. Too much like hard work, all this arguin’ with sunburnt motherfuckers who think they been screwed by the game. Which they have, but I ain’t about to tell them that, dumb fucken clems. Angry, scrunched-up clocks, fat bellies, muffin tops and kids with sauce and ice-cream smeared all over their chins. An endless fucken procession of whingein’, dribblin’ mediocrity. Sugar, the big fucken pineapple and K-Rudd. This is Nambour. Welcome to Queensland. Still, ain’t no diff really to the other side of the border.
Just when I’s gettin’ comfortable with my prejudices ’gainst the wrinkled squinters, thar she blows, waitin’ patiently in the queue for her turn. Pretty obvious she ain’t linin’ up to win no giraffe for the kiddlywinks. Cheeks pinched an’ lips thin, hair pulled back tight in a ponytail so’s I can see every crease on her forehead. Eyes flittin’ ’tween me an’ the crowd, watchin’ for Five-O.
My guts do a back flip an’ nail the landin’ so sweet the judges are holding up scores worthy of gold. Fuck a duck, it’s her. Some good Samaritan musta taken her in that night in Mudgee, fixed her up an’ pulled her out the mess I done left her in, but she don’t look so good now. Hit the glass highway, looks like.
Ay carumba. What’m I gonna do here? What if she makes a scene, blows the game wide open? An’ why she comin’ to score in the middle of the day, right in front of all these clueless clems? How’m I gonna justify handin’ out a blue koala when all an’ fucken sundry can see exactly what’s goin’ on? Maybes I’ll tell her to come back later, or see me on my break, pretend she’s an old flame or somethin’, which she is, kinda. I seen her cooch anyways, s’pose that counts.
Wait up, dawg. False alarm. It ain’t her. Nah, it’s just some other chick who been suckin’ the pipe a l’il too much lately. Damn, I coulda sworn. Fell for that ol’ chestnut again, Mikey. Basic rule of crank dealin’ one-o-one—no matter what the tweakers look like when they gets started, even if they is Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie-resemblin’ motherfuckers, couple months shootin’ up shards an’ they all looks like Steve fucken Buscemi. No offence to the guy, he’s a great fucken actor an’ all, but you don’t wanna be imaginin’ the motherfucker all trussed up in leather thongs like the Pittster in Troy, do ya?
Hang back, girl. That’s right, stand over there till I gets rid of these chump jerkwads.
Yo, takin’ fifteen for lunch over here, people, so I’m closin’ up after this gentleman completes his turn. Yeah, I’m real sorry ’bout that, missus, but I ain’t got nobody to relieve me over here, an’ I is in sore need of some relief, you feel me? Less’n you wanna spot me? Naw, that’s what I thought. Come back a l’il later, darlin’, I’ll give you five balls for free, straight up.
Okay then, sir, how’d you go there? Two from five ain’t bad now, most folks strike out quicker’n that. This half pint your daughter? Alakazam there, honey. Yup, that’s what us carnies say to one another ’stead of hello. S’like the magic words, you know? She’s a cutie, ain’t she?
Tell you what, buddy, since you been the only customer ain’t shouted at me in the last ten minutes an’ not accused me of cheatin’, here’s a genuine unicorn for the little one. You like that, honey? See how he’s got a magical horn comin’ out his head? You keep your eyes open if you’s ever in the forest, an’ maybes you’ll spy one fo’ reals. Hey, no problem, brother, it’s my pleasure just to see the little un smilin’. You take care now an’ have a good day here on the Kingdom. Watch your heads, I gots to lower this shutter.
As for you, miss, come on round the side here an’ I’ll let you in.
Damn, girl, what’s the dally-o comin’ round lookin’ to score in front of all the families an’ shit? You gots to be more discreet than that.
Sorry…It’s just, I heard you was holdin’ an’ I really need a fucken hit, you know?
A’ight, a’ight, cool your jets, it’s all good, girl—I got your six. Just a point you be after?
Fucken oath. Thing is, though, I’ve only got forty but I thought maybe you could help me out, mate.
Seriously? This ain’t no soup kitchen, girl. Who told you I might cut you a deal?
Nobody. I just thought, you know, the show’s in town for a couple of days, I’ll sort you out next time. C’mon, mate, I’m good for it, I promise.
First up, quit callin’ me ‘mate’. I ain’t your friend, an’ no use pretendin’ otherwise, a’ight? Secondly, why should I do you a solid? I ain’t never seen you before, girl.
All right, look, fuck, what’s it gonna take? God, please don’t be weird.
That is not how I roll, sweet cheeks. Throw that shit right the fuck out yo’ head, an’ Christ, what the fuck’s wrong with you anyways, offerin’ up your cooch for crank? Ain’t you got no self-respect left at all? Aw now, don’t be cryin’, Jesus—look, let’s sit down for a minute, huh? There you go. Dry them tears an’ don’t be worryin’. I’ll give you a fucken point for forty even though my boss would bust my balls if he knew I done it, so this is just ’tween you an’ me, a’ight? An’ don’t be thinkin’ it was the waterworks done it, neither. I’m lettin’ you off here ’cos you reminds me of someone I knew a little while ago.
And it ain’t my place to say this, but I’m gonna go right ahead in case you gots nobody else tellin’ you but, girl, you needs to kick, you hear me? Kick while you still gots your teeth. Lemme see that face. Damn, I bet all the boys asked you to the formal, huh? Yeah, it ain’t too late, you know? It ain’t never too late.
Damn near broke my heart seein’ that messed up tweaker chick. Maybe it’s ’cos she come round when she did in the day an’ maybe it’s ’cos she was the spittin’ image of Deb from Mudgee an’ maybe it’s ’cos this whole dirty fucken scenario is weighin’ on my shoulders but whatevs, all I can think of is gettin’ out. Must be cray even considerin’ it after what Ben done told me would happen if I didn’t stay put but I’s backed into a corner here an’ there’s just got to be a way, right?
I kept my nose clean long ’nuff for him to let his guard down a little, an’ the way business is goin’ he be rakin’ in so much paper he’s got his hands full jugglin’ what to do with it. Tricky thing ’bout the proceeds of crime—whatcha gonna do with all the cold hard chedda? Can’t keep frontin’ up to no bank with pocketfuls of cash, ten grand at a time. They’s only gonna get suspicious an’ call the Five-O or the ATO. Fucken unpaid tax. That’s how they brings down all the greats—Al Capone, Wesley Snipes, Paul Hogan.
Demand for ice is practically outstrippin’ supply. Some days I’s runnin’ real low an’ Ben has to make some furious fucken calls to secure me a re-up. Some toy manufacturer in China probs had to hire an extra dozen street urchins just to sew up all the additional blue koalas we ordered. Yup, we’s a regular cottage industry over here on Target Ball, keepin’ ’bout a hunnerd Aussie meth workers in jobs, ’scuse me, workin’ meth families is I believe the correct expression, not to mention the thirty-five cents a day we is lavishin’ on our junior employees in the People’s Republic.
Fact is, Ben ain’t been around much lately. Seems to me he must have a couple of big labs out bush round here somewheres. Plenty of quiet spots in the hinterland where you could stink the place up an’ nobody’d bat an eyelid. Obviously he’s off takin’ care of bidness, an’ if it weren’t for his lap cat Steph hangin’ round tryin’ to act like she a gangsta’s moll now or somethin’, I’d be all on my ownsome. T
hey ain’t got the personnel to man the size of operation they got now, an’ I figure that means I got two options. Either I goes to Ben an’ demands a promotion, or I gets the fuck out of Dodge ’fore Wyatt Earp an’ his posse of lawmen come ridin’ through. Don’t want my clock on no wanted poster, dawg.
It’s a risk, though, a major fucken risk. I wanna keep my legs, you feel me? I’d have to avoid the roads. Ain’t like they’s leavin’ their keys lyin’ around no more anyways. Nah, better to get kitted up an’ go bush, head inland to Maleny or Woodford, maybes hide out on some hippie property for a couple of weeks or set up camp in the forest for a while until the Kingdom moves upstate. Then I could skip back on down to one of those small airports on the coast an’ buy me a ticket out of the hot zone. Virgin Blue down to Radelaide, where they ain’t never gonna find me. Shit, that’s a decent plan. All I needs is some chedda to see me through an’ that’s it, motherfucker. I be walkin’ right on out this joint. Can’t take too much though. Don’t wanna make Bruce Banner all green an’ angry.
Tonight. S’gotta be tonight. Ben’s away, Steph ain’t got the game, everybody on the Kingdom be straight-up exhausted—seemed like just about the busiest day of the season so far. Ain’t nobody gonna pay much attention to my exact whereabouts. Plus, lookee what I gots right here. Just counted the poke an’ I moved almost two g’s worth of glass today, plus rolled eight hunnerd buckeroos of legit paper on the hoops.
A’ight, Mikey, here’s what you do. Hand the two large to Steph an’ tell her you’re keepin’ the rest to bankroll tomorrow’s games. That way she’ll call Ben with the report an’ then hit the hay, probs tell me to go enjoy myself after a job well done. Pat on the back an’ all that shit. Gold fucken star. Lock up the stand an’ head west, for the forest, ’cross them paddocks. Reckon I can cover ten, maybe fifteen ks ’fore dawn.
Steph probs won’t even notice I is gone till the stand don’t open at eleven. That gives me a full twelve-hour start, an’ then by the time she asks around an’ calls Corporal Wallace, I’ll just be ’nother phantom in the woods. Won’t exactly be home free, but as good as, brother. They ain’t gonna go to all the trouble of launchin’ no manhunt, not this time, not for little ol’ Mikey Dempster an’ his eight hunnerd. I be gone. Disappeared.
In the wind, motherfuckers.
I think there’s three of ’em back there somewheres. Ben an’ two others, but I can’t be sure. They ain’t real close but they’s a lot closer than I’d like. Fuck me, how’d this happen? Shut up, Mikey, shut up, you dumb prick, you know exactly how this happened. No, I don’t, that’s a lie, a cruel hurtful lie, I do not know exactly how this happened, no need to exaggerate an’ make this worse, dawg. I’s in enough trouble already over here. Yes, a’ight, I admit, I got an idea roughly how this happened—are you happy now? I’s not aware of the finer points of the morning’s events, how could I be? Well, someone must have seen you, asshole. Someone must have seen you leaving last night. Well, duh, I know that now, a’ight? It’s totally fucken obvious. Who, though? Who seen you? You was real careful none of the hands noticed you leavin’, an’ Steph was already in bed. Her eyelids was droopin’ while she was talkin’ to you so it weren’t likely her now, was it? Well, I don’t know then, do I? You know as much as I do.
Probs one of the tweakers. Yeah, that’d be who it was. One of those motherfucking crankheads musta come round again this mornin’ lookin’ for an early score an’ maybes seen me flittin’ out last night an’ fessed up to Steph or Ben ’cos word was they was lookin’ for me. Holy fuck, I hope it weren’t that girl I done helped out yesterday. Biatch, do not tell me you sold me out for a point. She probs did, man. She probs did. Wouldn’t put it past her. Did you see the look in her eyes when you gave her that point for forty? Like a fucken kid openin’ his Xbox on Christmas mornin’. No question she would of sold you down the river, no doubt about it, you dumb-ass motherfucker. What the fuck you thinkin’, helpin’ her out like that? You know these tweaks’ll trade you up for glass in a fucken heartbeat—shit, dawg, ain’t you ever gonna learn not to show no moments of weakness?
An’ now look at the mess you’re in, dickhead. All cut up an’ bleedin’ from crashin’ through the bush like a wild animal, dog tired from not hardly gettin’ no sleep an’ you even done tore yo’ Dockers shirt. Right down the fucken seam at the side. Look at that shit, y’all is a disgrace to the club, boy.
Never mind that, fuck sake, never mind yo’ damn Fremantle Dockers, they ain’t gonna save you now. Matthew Pavlich ain’t gonna swing down out no tree dressed in a fucken loincloth to protect you from the great white hunters. You is on your own, dawg. Keep movin’. They’s still a ways behind you, an’ they ain’t movin’ fast ’cos they don’t know where you is at, not yet anyways, so don’t be makin’ no dick moves to tip ’em off neither. Just stay on this old critter trail an’ don’t stop, you know it’s gonna lead to water eventually an’ then maybes you can jump off a cliff into the river like in the movies an’ get washed downstream.
How come they’s always jumpin’ off cliffs an’ bridges an’ shit in movies, usually with a fireball behind ’em, an’ they never gets hurt or nothin’ when they hits the water, like three hunnerd feet below or whatever? You’d think at least there’d be a couple of broken legs or somethin’ but nah, they always bobs back up, shakes their hair an’ proceeds to the next scene like it weren’t nothin’. Gonna boycott me any movie from now on that’s got a fallin’ into water from great height scene, that shit be stale, dawg.
Yo, any chance of you concentratin’ on the matter at hand, motherfucker? Case you forgot, you is bein’ pursued through the forest by what is quite possibly your angry boss an’ a couple of bikies with shotties. Might wanna focus up here, homeboy. Try an’ filter the choir in yo’ head down to just the lead singer, you feel me? A’ight, that’s the straight-up dope right there, all you cats step the fuck off, I needs to keep this real. There you go. Quieten down now, boys. This ain’t the time for idle chatter. Phase out. Drop the snare, the bass, the string section, lead guitar, back-up singers and ahh, there it is. Just a low hum.
Sometimes you just gots to laugh, right? This ol’ wombat trail don’t lead to no ragin’ torrent. It’s just a creek, dirty an’ stinkin’, hardly even a trickle. Still, don’t know if they got a bloodhound or whatever but maybes if I wade upstream I can throw ’em off the scent. That’s what a fugitive’s s’posed to do, right? Fuck it, I’ll give it a go, gots to be worth a try an’ least I ain’t leavin’ no footprints on the trail.
Christ all fucken mighty I damn near split my dome open on that fucken rock. It’s slippery as fuck all up in this biatch. Now I’s soaked along with everythin’ else. This ain’t no good, I’s gettin’ out of here an’ back on the trail though hold up, hold up, what’s that up there? The edge of a property, maybes? Lemme just crawl up this bank here an’ see what I can eyeball. Well, that is a weird sight but whatever, I don’t care, it looks like good cover to me an’ maybes there’s a road on the other side…shit, bad case of déjà vu. I been here before, ’cept this time I ain’t got the cover of darkness.
Pineapples. Thousands an’ thousands of pineapples, all in rows, stretchin’ as far as the eyeball can see. Well, shit. I always thought they grew on trees an’ had to be knocked from the branches like coconuts. Apparently not, genius. They grow right out the ground. Damn. S’like a footy pitch covered in spiky yellow balls ready to be punted. Better get a hoof on ’fore these motherfuckers burst out the woods behind me. Pick a row, any row. Start runnin’, Mikey, think I hear someone comin’.
Damn, I knew all that bein’ closed up in the stall would affect my fitness. I’s close to beat now, don’t think my legs got much more in ’em. Keep goin’, dawg, just keep goin’. You still got a jump on them that’s followin’ you. An hey, there’s a car, over there at the edge of the field. Maybes it’s the owner of this here place. Maybes I can seek refuge or hide or somethin’. Fucken pineapples, they’s all around me an’ I can’t see
straight no more, ’cept here’s a clearin’ an’ the driver of that car musta seen me ’cos here he comes, skiddin’ up an’ covered in dust, ’cept it ain’t no car, it’s a ute aww, no, it can’t be, can it?
They flushed me out into this here pineapple crop an’ now I’m done, I can’t go no further, I’s exhausted. Can’t believe they come after me so quick an’ hard, I didn’t do anythin’ so bad, though, did I? Just snuck off for a little explorin’, went walkabout for the night. Ben ain’t gonna punish me too hard.
Maybes just a hidin’ an’ then I’s back to square one on Target Ball until a better opportunity to flee comes up ’cos, you know, you gots to see I can’t stay there the rest of my days, I wanna be free man, I want out. I’s just a kid from Freo, dawg, just let me go, will ya? Please, for fuck sake, I’s beggin’ you to let me go.
Wait. Oh my God. You’re not gonna…Let go of me, motherfuckers. Don’t. Ben, please, I know we been here before but don’t do this, it’s barbaric, it’s what they did to slaves an’ that’s my kickin’ foot, my foot and oh, look at all them pineapples all in their rows so pretty an’ strange an’ unexpected. I never knew.
I see them lookin’ with their beady, greedy eyes. I’m one of them now, they’s sayin’. Part of the freak show. Peg leg. Gimpoid. Quasi-fucken-modo. Ain’t got me no hump or no little hands or hair all over my face like some round here but I s’pose the whispers don’t lie. I truly is part of the family now. Least he didn’t take to me with no axe. Probs would of died if he had, bled out in the dirt with all them pineapples. Won’t never be able to eat that fruit no more, not without rememberin’—though to be honest, I don’t remember much.
