The place was filling up, and Tally attempted a headcount — sixty now at least, if they’d just keep still. A couple of Big Issue vendors, more kids from Diggy’s stickering crew, a sinewy couple with caved-in faces and faraway eyes; then a white boy with dreadlocks that poked up like tarantula legs, with a yellow dog trampling good-naturedly in his wake.
‘Hoi, ropehead,’ called the old guy in a familiar tone when he saw the boy. ‘Fill up me cup will ya, mate.’ He made the boy sit down beside him, then launched into a long and confusing story that seemed to revolve around sea shanties. Tally had noticed the old man drank fast, and already his words had begun to slur, his story lurching all over the place like a lost moth, but the boy sat nodding politely, throwing twigs into the fire, his dog smiling at his feet, tongue lolling out one side of its mouth. She felt like she’d seen this animal before.
Then music rose up, the shuddering intro of a familiar reggae song, and Tally’s skin prickled as the mournful vocal uncoiled into the night: No, no, no … You don’t love me and I know now … A female voice, an old song Grace used to sing in the shower. Cos you left me, baby … And I got no place to go now …
And she was up on her feet without thinking. Here she was, wasting time, wasting this opportunity. She pulled out her camera, hit the ‘on’ switch without even looking, glanced around. Who first? The boy with the Easter eggs was still talking to Blue, but she planted herself right in front of them, breaking him off in mid-sentence.
‘’Scuse me, can I ask you something?’ she said, already clicking to the photo. She held the blurred rectangle of the screen out to him, a shot taken from inside a moving car: a flicker of red hair and pale skin, dead yellow grass, and out the back window an anonymous road unravelling into the distance. She pressed the camera into the boy’s hand. ‘This girl, have a good look — you ever seen her before?’
The boy looked down at the picture, then at Blue. ‘This is Sherlock,’ said Blue, ‘and that there’s her sister Grace. She’s been searching for her ever since she first got here, back in the heatwave.’
Tally began her detailed description, a rote recital that never lost its urgency, holding the boy’s eyes as she sketched in her sister’s outline: the straight fall of her hair, the way she stood and walked and rolled her eyes; even her laugh, a slow sound somewhere between a giggle and a gurgle. When she’d finished the boy stared down at the picture again.
‘Hey, I’m not sure …’ he began. Tally’s heart leaped like a hooked fish. ‘Don’t hold me to it, alright, but I did see a girl looked a bit like that,’ he said. ‘Tall, kinda slim but not too skinny, and real pretty. I did see a girl with hair like that awhile ago.’
Tally stood there hardly breathing, the hope gushing up inside her, an ache that held her motionless, afraid to tip the fragile balance of the moment; the kind of feeling that could take a wrong turn so fast it’d knock the breath out of you. People nearby went quiet, listening in now.
‘But it’s hard to tell,’ he continued. ‘Picture’s so blurry.’
‘Where was this?’ asked Blue. ‘When did you see the girl?’
‘Down in the Quarter, near the Carnie district. About a month ago … no, musta been six weeks.’
Now the questions tumbled out of her. ‘What was she doing? Did she look sad? Who was she with? You got to tell me all of it.’ Was it her, or was it someone else?
Blue pulled gently at the sleeve of Tally’s detective coat, made her sit down next to them, shushed her while the other boy spoke.
His name was Jason, and he didn’t sound so sure now: it was probably a different girl, he only saw her for a second. Heaps of girls have long red hair. Yep, long and straight. And she stood like this, with her back real straight too. Hard to say, about his age — sixteen, maybe? He forgot what she was wearing, nothing fancy, jeans or whatever. She was standing just outside one of the side gates into the Carnie district, talking to a lady holding a big snake — that’s what he saw first, the snake, a fat browny-green one all wrapped around her in coils. No, no, wrapped around the older lady, the one in the gypsy outfit. No, he couldn’t remember. But she was about this tall. And pretty, yeah. She was real pretty.
The more agitated Tally’s questions became, the more doubtful Jason sounded. Look … he’d only seen her for a second, really, and it was ages ago. He was sorry if he got her hopes up, it was most likely a mix-up. It was probably some other girl.
Before long Blue told Tally to stop pestering Jason, he’d told her everything he knew. He’d go with her to check it out tomorrow morning if she wanted, but there was nothing they could do tonight. She had to remember that the chances of it leading anywhere were small, real small. ‘Have another beer, sis,’ he said. ‘And calm down a bit, you been shouting.’ He would come with her tomorrow, but only if she promised not to get her hopes up too much. He handed her his empty cup and Jason’s too. ‘Grab us another drink, hey.’
‘But what if he sees her again?’ she demanded. ‘How will we know?’ She turned to Jason, about to explain how to find their current sleeping spot, describe the tangled backstreets that led to the glass factory. But Blue cut her off.
‘Jase knows where to find me,’ he said. ‘Remember what I told you.’
The rest of the night passed like a TV show playing in the background, the volume turned low: Tally couldn’t concentrate on what anyone was saying, all her thoughts were on tomorrow morning. Of course her hopes were up. That’s what hopes were for, wasn’t it?
She’d wanted to show the photo to more people, do the rounds of the whole party, so when the battery warning sign appeared and the screen went dead, tears welled up, and she only just held them back. But you couldn’t cry here, not in front of everyone. She sat on the ground next to Blue and Jason, who’d been joined by the dreadlocked boy and his dog; she scratched behind the animal’s ears as the three boys spoke. The dog wriggled closer and snuffled at her pocket, searching for the squashed remains of the Easter egg.
‘You want some chocolate, poochie dog?’ she murmured.
‘No!’ the dreadlocked kid broke in sharply. ‘You never give a dog chocolate, don’t you know that? It’s like poison for them.’
Tally apologised. She’d never owned a dog — she’d wanted one, but they’d always moved around too much. He was a beauty, what a sweet nature. ‘Looks like he’s smiling,’ she said. ‘What’s his name?’
The dog’s owner softened. ‘Scout. I get him roast chickens from behind the supermarket, the ones that’ve dried out. I taste it first to make sure it’s alright,’ he said.
‘Look at his feet,’ she said. ‘They’re so cute.’
‘Too big for his body,’ replied the boy. ‘He’s still growing into them.’
She fell into a kind of trance, petting the dog and half listening as the boys talked — work, money, survival, that was the gist of it. She would just wait for tomorrow, nothing else to be done tonight, but she could feel hope flitting through her now, a little string of sparks lighting up her insides.
The dog owner used to work for Diggy but now had a job cleaning a church for a minister. ‘He’s a good guy,’ he said. ‘Lets us stay out the back in this little room.’ A shed, he supposed, but a nice shed. And he wasn’t one of those pervert priests either; he was the real deal.
Tally was paying scant attention; she was thinking about tomorrow. Scout flopped on his side and lifted his front paw so she could tickle his stomach. His fur was soft to the touch and golden-yellow, the colour of caramel slice.
‘He doesn’t keep them past two months of age,’ the boy was saying. ‘Guess they work better when they’re young and cute.’ He made a snorting sound. ‘Yep, there’s dogs all over this city that used to work for Diggy.’
Now she was listening. ‘This is Diggy’s dog?’ A picture was coming to mind: a small yellow pup swaying on a bright strip of pavement, transf
ixed by a pair of sneakers pacing back and forth; the same pup slung over a retreating shoulder, tongue lolling out in a mindless grin.
‘He’s my dog,’ the boy corrected. ‘Diggy gets rid of them once they start to grow.’
‘He’s a handsome fella,’ said Jason. ‘How old?’
‘About four months. Training him up to be a guard dog, but he’s too friendly. Just walks straight up to people.’
‘I seen him before,’ Tally said excitedly. ‘First time I ever seen Diggy he had this same dog, only he was just a pup!’ Another omen, she thought; another connection knitting together, bringing her closer, surely. ‘But why did he give him away?’
‘Keep your voice down, Sherlock,’ Blue advised.
‘Diggy uses the puppies to recruit street kids,’ the boy said, speaking quietly. ‘Diggy looks young but he’s real smart, nobody knows his real age. Got a finger in all the pies, you don’t want to mess with that guy.’
‘What work did you do for Diggy — did he piss you off?’ Tally asked, realising too late that the question had come out far too loud.
‘Diggy was here earlier,’ someone interjected. ‘Left before dark. He’s the one who sorted out the keg for everyone. For free.’
‘He keeps away police, Diggy. He’s a good man,’ said one of the marshmallow girls. She looked hard at Tally, like she was challenging her to disagree.
‘Yeah,’ Tally echoed. ‘Diggy’s a good guy.’ She caught Blue’s eye. She wasn’t stupid.
They stayed another couple of hours until the party started to get messy, Tally not budging from her seat beside the boys, scratching the dog on autopilot until both hands began to cramp up. The stereo speakers were vibrating, pushed to their cheap limits, and the cranky old man had passed out on a mattress. The guy with the matted hair had just jumped onto the makeshift table to demonstrate a surfing manoeuvre when abruptly Blue stood up.
‘Come on, Tally,’ he said. ‘Gotta head off, big day tomorrow.’
That’s when she saw Pearl weaving her way towards them. The girl’s eyes were half closed, and she was unsteady on her feet, stumbling on the bricks and rubble, cursing under her breath. As Pearl wobbled closer on stick-like limbs, Tally saw her mouth was slack, her head hanging forward like a broken toy. One side of her face was speckled with sores.
‘Where yiz garn?’ Pearl slurred, coming to a standstill and swaying there, squinting at them with some effort. ‘S’up, Blue.’
‘We’re just heading off Pearl, have a good one,’ he said, making like he was dusting off his pants.
‘Hi Pearl,’ Tally ventured, but the girl either didn’t hear or ignored her.
Pearl stood there for a moment, eyelids drooping, then turned and staggered off. ‘Fuck yiz then,’ she threw over her shoulder.
As the boys exchanged complicated goodbye handshakes, Tally bent to kiss Scout on the top of his silky head, breathing in his strong doggy scent.
‘Don’t go back through the Old Docks,’ warned Jase. ‘Saw heaps of cops there earlier, something’s going down.’
As they walked out the hole in the brick wall, Tally glanced back, but Pearl was nowhere to be seen.
[Intercept, telecommunication, caller ids blocked: Milk | Damon]
‘Of course I remember you. I gave you a forty-five-minute interview. How’s business?’
‘Same as always, deadlines and some more deadlines. Hey, sorry I haven’t been in touch about that piece, all the summit hoo-ha has completely taken over.’
‘Yeah. I wondered what had happened to it.’
‘Remember I said it’s a slow-boiler — a longer feature, pitched at your A demographic. I want to do it justice, devote some time to it.’
‘Right. Well, you did say you’d keep me posted.’
‘Of course. But that’s not why I’m calling. An associate of mine is keen to get in touch with you.’
‘You haven’t given out my numbers?’
‘Of course not! Absolutely not. I’ve even recorded them in code.’
‘Okay. So who is this person?’
‘The state liaison officer with the Department of Infrastructure and Civil Compliance, someone pretty high up the ladder.’
‘A bureaucrat.’
‘Well, yeah, but we all know how accurate job labels are. You’d know better than anyone.’
‘Go on. What does he want?’
‘She. She’s asked me to put the two of you in contact. From what I understand, she’s keen to discuss the possibility of working together on a project she’s handling. It’s huge.’
‘Me and who — the government?’
‘Well, technically, yes, but essentially you and Luella. She’s extremely well connected and as discreet as they come. At first I wasn’t too sure myself, about working with a Beige, I mean, but she’s really impressed me these past couple of months.’
‘Hard to do, impress a journo.’
‘Hehe. Not for everyone, Milk.’
‘This is all very vague, do you know any more? Is this about a commission?’
‘Absolutely. And it would be extremely well paid.’
‘Well, I don’t mean to sound uninterested, but I’m already being extremely well paid. Things have really taken off lately.’
‘So I’ve heard, Milk. You’re doing some real high-end gigs these days.’
‘You heard from where? From who?’
‘Okay, maybe I phrased that wrong, don’t get paranoid. Let’s just say I’ve put in a good word or two behind the scenes …’
‘Oh really.’
‘Yeah, really. I was pretty blown away by your work and I’ve had a quiet word in some very select ears. Coming back to that story of ours, that’s why I haven’t rushed it. Last thing I’d want to do is turn public opinion the wrong way.’
‘No kidding. I insisted it had to be handled extremely carefully, as a condition of me talking to you. I still get to approve the final edit, right?’
‘Of course, that hasn’t changed, and we’ll need to shoot updates too, now that things are on the up. Now, this woman. Can I put the two of you in touch?’
‘Hang on — you’ve met her, right?’
‘Many times. Very professional.’
‘What does she look like?’
‘Ah … short, petite. Buzz cut, wears plain dark suits. Why?’
‘Jesus.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Christ. Do you trust her?’
‘She’s my primary Polbiz liaison. I’d better hope I can trust her, my job depends on it.’
‘What have you told her about me?’
‘Very little, just sketched out your creative talents and field of work, said you’re top of your game. Just enough to pique her interest. I really think you should meet with her. It’s a fascinating project and it’d be well worth your while.’
‘Alright. Give me her details and I’ll contact her, not vice versa. But Damon?’
‘Yes?’
‘This had better not go sour.’
‘That’s not in either of our interests. You got a pen?’
[Legends Hotel, North Interzone: Violet | Kev]
She was always on time to meet Merlin, he’d made it clear that he did not tolerate lateness, so Violet arrived back at the hotel ten minutes early. They’d meet in the foyer then head down to the basement together to rehearse; they’d never said so outright, but she guessed neither of them much liked being down there alone.
The door swung open on the dusty plastic plants, the stained carpet, Kev parked in his usual seat, his head and massive torso framed by the aperture in the wall. She called out a greeting to him and plonked down into a chair in the foyer to rest her feet and wait for Merlin. No point in traipsing upstairs, she could rehearse in jeans, and the wig
was a permanent fixture now.
It no longer hurt to look in the mirror: the guilty party had effectively been erased. A disguise worked like a kind of armour, she thought, keeping the world at one remove; when she stepped outside the front door her dark hair felt more anonymous, almost protective. Violet smoothed down the black strands like it was her own hair, the movement already second nature. Thankfully the weather had cooled; a wig would be a hassle in a heatwave.
But Kev was beckoning her over, not saying anything, just gesturing slowly with one meaty hand, an odd look on his face. She crossed the foyer to his window, and it seemed ages before he spoke. He held up a white envelope. She had no doubt that this was going to be bad news.
‘Merlin’s had an accident,’ he said. ‘He’s in the hospital downtown.’
‘What?’ She wasn’t ready for this. ‘What kind of accident? What’s happened?’
He let out a slow huff of air, shrugged. ‘It was one of those falls old people have. You know, like when they say he’s had a fall. He’s broken his hip.’
‘So he can’t walk?’
‘He can’t do anything much. Lucky he’s got some cash squirrelled away. They’re operating in the morning.’
A whirl of panic swept through Violet and mixed in with it was guilt. Her first thought was for herself, not for Merlin: how would she survive if they couldn’t work? How long was he going to be out of action? ‘How did it happen?’ was what she said.
‘Up on the roof,’ said Kev. ‘Feeding the birds. He slipped and fell, had to crawl down to the fifth floor and yell for help. I took him to emergency in a taxi.’ He held the envelope out to her. ‘He wants you to have this. Got his niece to drop it off.’
She took it, ashamed to note her own swift assessment of its slimness. So selfish, she thought. What about poor Merlin?
Black Glass Page 17
