‘What about me?’
‘Is it your mother who provides the leather jacket? The sun spectacles bearing the well known name? The shoes?’
‘Mind your own business,’ he laughed at her. ‘That’s just what you’ve told me. Nah. I don’t care. Anyway, I’ve said to you sometimes that I’ve gotta go because I’ve gotta go to work. Well, that’s how I make a few bob, quite a few bob. Friday, Saturday, Sunday nights I work at the Lame Duck.’
‘A restaurant?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Your mother’s one?’
‘My mother’s what? Mum’s sure got no restaurant.’
‘I’m sorry. I must have mis-heard,’ said Esther.
‘Lame Duck’s a chink one. Chinese. Well, all sorts of oriental and Asian crap. You should come one night.’
‘I think not,’ said Esther.
‘Got started up years ago by this guy called Lam Duc,’ he grinned at her. ‘Geddit?’
‘I believe so,’ said Esther.
‘Well, yeah. Guess you could see what it was going to end up being called, eh? Anyway, these days it belongs to this young chink guy from Taiwan called Mickey Chan. It’s pretty big.’
‘Tell me, what do you do?’
‘What I’m told to do by Mick. He’s an okay dude. Rich as and still young. Geez, man! You should see his car! Mostly I do dishes, clean up and all that shit. Sundays, when it’s not quite so busy, I pluck and gut old hens Mick buys in, three for a buck, from a mate of his who owns an egg farm. We do the old girl chooks who’ve given up laying eggs. He screws their necks and I get to do the dirty work. Reckons because he owns the place he gets to do the fun part. He’s cool, is Mick.’
‘Is he?’
‘Like, well, he’s not supposed to do stuff like that out the back, but no one ever checks. He pays me good and keeps me in smokes for keeping my mouth shut about a couple of things.’
‘Such generosity,’ said Esther.
‘You takin’ the mickey?’ Damon laughed.
‘And is he your friend?’ Esther asked.
‘Shit no. He’s just a boss. Don’t really know him. Well, I don’t talk much to him. Too busy, anyway, and when he gets going, Mickey, all fired up and when the place is flat-out, can’t understand a word he says. Nor any of the others, either, come to that. I’m the only one there who’s not a chink. You been to China?’
She looked at him. ‘Yes.’
‘Cool,’ he looked at her. ‘You not gonna tell me about it?’ he rested his chin on a hand and stared hard at Esther.
‘It was a long time ago. Not a good time. I was in Shanghai.’
‘Dancing?’
‘Oh no. My dancing days were over,’ she smiled. ‘Well over.’
‘What then?’
‘Well, if you must… I worked in an orphanage,’ she had stopped smiling. ‘There was a need.’
‘You worked with poor little orphan kids? That’s cool.’
‘Yes and no. I cooked. I cooked what little there was to be cooked. And I cleaned. They were bad times. Very sad times.’
‘Where else have you been?’
The sharp smile returned. ‘Ah. So many places I am beginning to forget in my old age. Such curiosity.’
‘Mrs H. down the library is always saying curiosity killed the cat,’ he smiled back at her. ‘Want me to knock off old three-leg, then?’ he pointed down at Tumbler who now sat at Esther’s feet. ‘I could prove you right. Curiosity would’ve killed the cat!’
‘I think not,’ she said.
‘Just checking,’ he grinned. ‘Just give me the word when you’re ready.’
‘We will bear his offer in mind, won’t we, cat?’
‘Tell you what. Reckon you won’t ever come and have a wild night out at the Lame Duck. Tell you what I’ll do. Next time I come down here I’ll bring you a takeaway from up there. Anything you like.’
‘You’re very kind.’
‘Not really. I get ’em for nothing.’
‘Not every gift need come with a price tag,’ said Esther.
‘See they’ve started knocking the shit out of that place up on the corner just back from here,’ said Damon. ‘Reckon it won’t be too long and they’ll have reached this joint. What will you do then?’
‘I’ll manage,’ said Esther.
‘But how?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘But how will you manage?’ he did not give up.
‘I think it may be summer before they reach here. Summer? Well, boy, there are parks. There are places. Nice places for the warmer weather. Don’t you worry.’
‘I’m not bloody worried,’ he lied. ‘It’s not the roof over my head getting knocked down.’
Says Bad Face, ‘So what? The old tart gets chucked out, that’s what!’
Says Good Face, ‘Find her somewhere else, that’s what. Find old Esther some decent place to live. Shouldn’t be too hard.’
‘Nah,’ says Bad Face. ‘What’s the point? Can’t have too much longer to live. Old as, already. Frizzle, fry or freeze on some park bench. What’s it matter? Chill out.’
‘Chill bloody out? Yeah. Nights like we’ve been havin’ and chill out is exactly what’ll happen. Poor old girl. End up frozen stiff.’
‘A frozen stiff? Yeah, that’s the number. Old bat’s had her time. Who the bloody hell’d miss her?’ Nothing. Quiet. ‘Who’d miss her?’
‘You ask yourself that,’ says Good Face.
CHAPTER NINE
For two weeks Damon did not see Esther. She was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to be found. He worried. What on earth could have happened to her? He worried more. Three, four times he took the long walk down to the old warehouse. No sign of her. No sign at all. It was almost as if she had never existed other than in his mind. He would knock on her door, wait. The door was locked – he tried it each time he visited. He thought there may be access to her room from other parts of the old building. If there was, he couldn’t find it. Those parts of the interior of the crumbling warehouse that were safe enough to navigate did not seem to have any relationship or connection to that place that Esther called home.
Once he saw the cat. ‘Hey, puss! Where is the old girl?’ he called. Tumbler hissed. ‘Here kitty kitty kitty kitty,’ sweet and soft, but Tumbler, not to be fooled, hissed with a greater intensity and vehemence and slunk off and away in its drunken three-leg roll. ‘Yeah. Wise cat,’ whispered Damon. ‘Reckon you’ve got my number. Least you don’t look to be bloody starving. Where the hell is she?’
He thought of battering down the door. She could be inside. Could be injured from some fall, from some other low-life hoon knocking her into some other gutter. Could be dead! No, not dead. Not old Esther.
Give it another day, two days. Go to the cops? Like hell! Like as not the old woman should not even be squatting in this slum and they, the bloody cops, would just turf her out on the street, sick or not. Cops’d land anyone with a load of shit – even old Esther! Give it another day or two and then bash, batter down the door.
He wasn’t required to break and enter. Quite by chance, he spotted her on the street. For the first time in weeks there was a fitful ray of sun – very early spring sun. Damon had left the library. He sat in a sliver of park that was doing its best to grow a couple of trees in the canyon between two high-rise office blocks. He lay back, enjoying what little there was of the fitful ray along with his usual lunch – bag of crisps, can of Coke, a couple of cigarettes.
There she was. Esther. She worked her way around the edge of the tiny park, checking rubbish bins, fossicking. Not food! Not for bloody food, Damon prayed very hard. Please God do not let the old trout be looking for bloody food. His prayer was answered. It wasn’t food she was hunting. Esther carried a short stick, a sort of poker. She ferreted within the contents of each bin. Methodical. Into a sack that she half-carried, half-dragged behind her she stashed her trove; forking out from the accumulated trash in each bin a haul of aluminium drink cans. ‘So that’s how you
pay for the damn catfood and the tea,’ Damon whispered to himself. He let her be.
Damon gave his afternoon to the intricacies of the cardiovascular system and to Romeo and Juliet. He kept an eye on the entrance door to the library. Esther did not come. ‘Stupid old cow,’ he muttered, as he left the library. ‘You better be home this time,’ he pulled up the hood of his jacket. There had been no more than the one fitful ray. He helped himself to a good-sized container of fried rice at the Lame Duck. At the Indian open-all-hours next door, he bought half a dozen tins of catfood.
‘Didn’t know you had a cat, Damon,’ said the Indian.
‘Don’t know everything, do you?’ said Damon.
But she was not home. ‘Shit!’ he hissed. ‘Have you bloody moved on then?’ he huddled in the doorway, hunkered down, decided to give her ten more minutes, smoked.
‘Aha!’ she startled him. ‘What do we have here?’
‘You got me here. Where the hell have you been? I been bloody looking for you.’
‘Have you?’
‘Not good enough to let your mates know where you’re going, where you been? Oh, no. Where have you been? You haven’t been here for bloody weeks. Shit!’
‘Come in, boy. It is cold and damp out here.’
‘As if you’d care! Of course it’s bloody cold and damp out here and I been coming down here for bloody weeks.’
‘I shall put the kettle on,’ said Esther.
‘Stuff the kettle! I been worried.’
‘Goodness, boy. Why, for heaven sake?’
‘You could’ve been dead.’
‘Yes. I guess I could have,’ said Esther. ‘But now, as you see, I’m not.’
‘Serve you right if you had been.’
Then she laughed very loudly. ‘Ah me. Ah me. A fine young man worried about me. A young man concerned for my welfare. I am so lucky. But so late in life.’
‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘And so angry. What is it you have carried in here?’
‘Just shit for your cat and some Chinese.’
She looked at him. A slight, light smile seemed to play with her lips. ‘Thank you, boy. There is no need for you to bring me things.’
‘I’ll bring you stuff if I bloody want to. You given me stuff. I got my pot plant. It’s still growing, you know.’
‘I should hope so,’ said Esther. ‘It was a good and strong healthy plant.’
‘We got it on the table at home. My mum likes it. She was going to put it in a new pot.’
‘Why?’
‘Remember? The old pot’s all cracked.’
‘As I told you, boy, it continues to fulfill its function – it does what it was designed to do.’
‘Yeah. Right. I told her not to. It’s got a cool colour, that old pot. I think that plant whatsit – what the hell is it?’
‘Geranium.’
‘Yeah. That’s the one. I think it’s going to flower real soon.’
‘So,’ she looked at him. ‘Now tell me, boy, why did you need to see me?’
‘I didn’t need to see you,’ said Damon.
‘Why did you want to see me, then?’
Damon took off his sunglasses and stared straight at her, making no attempt to either cover or hide his face. ‘Well, Esther, I guess it’s like this. I thought that you’n me had become, well… er… sort of mates. I thought we were friends.’
‘I thank you for saying so,’ said Esther.
‘Me? Well, I never ever had what you’d call a friend and I guess I don’t know too much about what you do and, well, how you behave…’
‘Seems to me, boy, that you have learnt very quickly and very well exactly how to behave,’ said Esther.
‘I reckon friends, mates, are allowed to be a bit worried about each other.’
Esther leaned across the small table and, for the first time, touched the boy. She placed her hand over his. Damon did not move from her touch. The touch was gentle, the feel of that touch soothed, her hand was dry, warm. ‘Thank you, Damon. Thank you for your concern and for your worrying. There was no need… no need at all. But it is a good feeling to know that someone else thinks of you. I make you a promise that, for as long as I am around these parts, I will stay in touch with you. There,’ and she withdrew her hand.
‘There? Bloody nothing! For as long as you’re around these parts? What the hell does that mean? You planning to piss off?’
‘So,’ as she poured more tea. ‘Your mother likes your geranium plant? That’s nice.’
‘Yep,’ something told him he would not be answered. He allowed the diversion. ‘Yes, she does. Mum hasn’t always had very many pretty things.’
‘Has she not?’ as she handed his cup across to him.
‘Well, she’s had it a bit hard bringing up a kid, me, all by herself.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Do you want me to tell you about her?’
‘Only if you wish. Only if you choose. I didn’t ask,’ said Esther.
‘I think you sort of just did,’ said Damon.
‘Nonsense, boy. Rubbish!’
Rubbish? Damon was reminded of the old woman’s refuse bin fossicking but said nothing about this. ‘I am quite sure you lead me on to talk about things.’
‘Well, maybe that is another thing about being friends. Another thing, maybe, about having friends.’
‘If you say so. Where’s the cat?’
‘He will come,’ said Esther.
‘Yeah, well, I brought him a whole heap of stuff to eat.’
‘I am sure he will be most grateful.’
‘Bloody crap,’ said Damon. ‘Bloody cats aren’t ever bloody grateful for anything!’
‘It’s in their nature,’ said Esther.
‘Yeah, yeah. You’ve said that before, old lady.’ He looked at her, rubbed the scarred side of his face. ‘I’ll tell you how I got this.’
She said nothing.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Told you I ran into some glass, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘It was a broken bottle that was being held by some bastard who was gonna stick it to my mum. That’s what done it,’ he continued to stroke the scarred side of his face.
‘You tell me this, boy, only if that is what you wish,’ Esther said. ‘It is your choice. It is your decision.’
‘Never told no one else. Not ever. There is not much to tell. You gotta understand one thing, Esther.’
‘I will try to.’
‘My mum has had to do all sorts of stuff just to keep me. See, she’s never found it easy, has Mum, to hold down your regular sort of job. My mum just isn’t your regular nine-to-fiver.’
‘I am surely able to sympathise with that, my dear,’ said Esther. ‘I was never one myself. Well, let’s just say, unless there was absolutely no option.’
‘She doesn’t manage some restaurant or anything like that. Not like I think I might have told you. Mum works nights in a bar. She’s a barperson. She’s always done that sort of stuff. It doesn’t pay too good so she does other stuff. You know, stuff that keeps the roof over our heads. I am not ashamed of it and I’m sure as shit not ashamed of Mum. She’s a part-time sex worker, is Mum.’
‘So?’
‘You know what I mean?’
‘When you’ve lived as long as I have, boy, and living the sort of life I have lived, it is not difficult for me to know what you mean.’
‘You’re not shocked?’
‘Do I seem shocked? Do I sound shocked? Do I look shocked?’
‘It’s hard to tell,’ said Damon. ‘Let’s face it, plenty of people would be. Like her old man and her old lady – my grandparents – if they’re not dead and I hope like hell they are. Serve ’em right. Shit, I sure hope they are,’ he was quiet for a short time.
‘These days she works two, maybe three shifts a week in the bar and then she does three or four other nights for an old friend of hers who runs this house. Nice place. Been there a few times,’ he look
ed at Esther. ‘Just for something to eat, that’s all. Quite an okay joint compared to some around town. She makes a good living these days, does Mum. It’s sure easier now I earn a few bucks slaving my guts out for Mickey the Chink. Just now and then she has a private punter, customer, over at our place. Usually someone she’s known for yonks. Generally I know them, too, that’s if I spot them.’
‘You love your mother, don’t you?’
‘Of course I bloody love her! She’s my mum and she’s just about all I got. Doesn’t mean we don’t get to live our own separate lives. Yeah. She’s just about all I got. Back when this happened,’ fingers to the face. ‘Things weren’t as sweet as they are now for us. No bloody way!’
‘No?’
‘No. Often she had guys over at our place, seamen off the boats, travellers, trash – a helluva lot of them. Not our place we live in now. Been a lot of places we lived. Been a lot of places we been chucked out of, too,’ and then everything came out in a rush. ‘Was her screaming her head off woke me up. Shit, I can still feel it all and see it all and I was only five, nearly five, just a little nipper, me. Just a little wee guy. There was this great big dude. A gorilla dude. He had Mum by the neck in one hand and this broken fuckin’ beer bottle in the other. Fuckin’ Jesus, he was gonna do ’er! I know he was. She was done for, was Mum. I threw me in between the two of them. Me! Just a little fuckin’ weed! Guess I must’ve thought in some dumb kid way I could do something. Shit!! Stupid bloody kid. I took that broken bottle right in the face. Mum got knocked on the head. Knocked fuckin’ senseless, she was. Guess the gorilla shot through. Dunno. Jesus, I dunno. Dead dumb thing for me to do but I guess it might have saved her. Trouble was I bled like a stuck pig and I didn’t go out and get any help from people – not that where we lived you were likely to get any help, anyway. Just about all bums where we lived then. All I did was cling on to my mum. I think I might’ve thought she was dead! It wasn’t for hours and hours before she come round and there was me hangin’ on to her for grim bloody death. Bloody? You got no idea, mate, just how bloody. Was blood all over her and blood all over me. Swimming in it, we was. Swimming in a fuckin’ pool of blood. And it didn’t turn out okay. Not for me it didn’t. I got this,’ fingering again. ‘And it won’t go away. Too late getting to the hospital for a good, clean stitch-up job. There was glass ’n dirt ’n shit all in this side of my face. Was in hospital for God knows how long. Been back to fuckin’ hospital God knows how many times. Know enough about this bloody shit to be a doctor or a nurse without any more stuffin’ training! This fucking thing goes with me… grows with me…’ he stopped.
Scarface and the Angel Page 4
