The Year's Best Australian SF & Fantasy - vol 05

by Bill Congreve (ed) (v1. 0) (epub)

  “Yeah, I know that, Jimmy,” said the Old Man. “You ain’t exactly breaking the bank with your job at the factory. And I know ya think I’ve been a cunt to ya for taking ya money each pay. But I done it all for you.”

  Jimbo wanted to tell him to get to the point and stop wasting everyone’s time, but deep down he knew this was unusual for his father - something here was about to break.

  “Mel? Hand it to me, thanks love.”

  Jimbo’s mother pressed something small into the Old Man’s free hand.

  The papyrus hand scrabbled at Jimbo’s arm, attempting to pull him closer. Jimbo reluctantly relented and leant in to the warm sour odour of sweat surrounding his father.

  “Me and ya Mum want ya to have this.” The Old Man closed Jimbo’s hand around a small hard square of plastic. Inscribed on the card was a black square with a yellow triangle inside it.

  “Is this a bank card?” asked Jimbo.

  “Yep.” The Old Man tried to smile. “Every dollar you paid us, to me and to ya mum - I knew about that, she’s not stupid enough to keep secrets from me - every cent is in that account. With interest. It’s yours.”

  “Is this what I think it’s for?” Jimbo looked towards his mother for reassurance, forgetting she had betrayed his confidence.

  “You can get married now, James.” Mel smiled for all of them, tears brimming in her eyes. “You can afford to get yourself a bride.”

  “This is fucken great! I can’t believe it!”

  “There’s one condition,” said the Old Man.

  Here it comes, thought Jimbo. I fucken knew it.

  The Old Man grinned. “She’s gotta be white.”

  Jimbo started laughing. “No fucken worries about that. I won’t be the one to taint our gene pool!”

  It was the first time in years they had laughed together as a family.

  ~ * ~

  It felt weird going round to Uncle Frank and Aunty Lana’s place now that Niki no longer lived there. Jimbo hadn’t been here for almost a year. Nothing much had changed. The weatherboard house still needed painting and weeds struggled through the cracked dirt. He remembered swimming in the pool out back and noticing Niki had nipples and breasts beneath her swimsuit. It had unsettled him, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from them, those hard buttons jutting from unfamiliar bumps of flesh. That seemed forever ago now.

  Aunty Lana greeted Jimbo at the door, kissing him on the cheek and hugging him tight, smothering him in perfume and breasts. He was conscious of those heavy breasts pushing against his chest, knowing that when he was younger he had wondered if Niki would grow to have these treasures.

  They sat out on the back verandah, overlooking the pool. Uncle Frank had never filled it in when the water laws changed back in ‘43, hanging onto the idea that the weather patterns would shift back in favour for the Lucky Country. The Old Man had called him a fucken idiot, though not to his face. In that instance, the Old Man had been right. The water table had shrunk even further over the last ten years, and a good portion of Frank’s backyard was now an empty concrete hole that possums sometimes got trapped in.

  Lana poured Jimbo and Frank a cold homebrew, one of the darker colours. It tasted better than Jimbo remembered. Lana sat back and sipped on a white wine. One a those fancy Savlon Blanks by the looks, thought Jimbo.

  “Have you spoken to Nicole lately?” Lana asked.

  Jimbo sipped at his beer then shook his head. “Uncle Frank asked me that a few weeks back at the footy. How’s she going?”

  “Well, according to her emails, things are fine. Very busy. They seem very impersonal though.”

  “Said she won’t be back for bloody Christmas.” Frank placed his glass with a little too much force on the table. He stared at the empty pool. “Too busy, she reckons.”

  “Yeah, well that’s the City for ya,” said Jimbo.

  “It’s not just that, Jimmy,” said Lana. “We haven’t spoken to her for several months now. We’ve called but she’s either out or - I don’t know. Maybe her flatmates aren’t passing on messages.”

  “She’s not seeing someone, is she?” Frank’s eyes bored into Jimbo’s until Jimbo stared at the brown froth in his glass.

  “Why would she tell me?”

  “You two are as close as brother and ... well, close as cousins can be.”

  Not as close as I want us to be, Uncle Frank. “She hasn’t said nothing to me.”

  Lana smiled and patted Jimbo’s hand. “Can you do us a favour, please, Jimmy? Can you pop in and see if she’s okay when you go to the City next week? Maybe give her something we’d like you to take her, nothing big, just a little home-cooking and bits and pieces.”

  “Selfish little bitch,” Frank muttered under his breath.

  “Frank,” said Lana, sharply.

  “Yeah, no worries, Aunty Lana. I was thinking of looking her up anyway.”

  They sat in silence, Lana staring at Jimbo with a sad smile on her painted lips, Frank staring at the empty pool, and Jimbo wondering what the fuck he was doing here.

  Eventually Lana broke with, “How’s your father doing, Jimmy? Sorry we haven’t been around to visit lately, you know how it is.”

  Frank grunted something about more beer and Lana left the table to refresh the drinks.

  * * * *

  * * *

  Part III: Exchange of Vows and Rings

  The carriage was mainly empty; besides Dave and Jimbo there were a couple of month-trippers - a man and a woman - and half a dozen traders on the way to the City. Jimbo didn’t recognize the month-trippers - they had boarded at Murchison, a god-forsaken dust bowl that Jimbo had only previously heard about but never visited. She looked part Asian too. One of the traders was an Abo that Jimbo recognized from footy. How the hell could that black cunt afford a ticket? thought Jimbo. There must be a bit a cash floating around the Abo camps. Might have to go on a recce when I get back.

  Dave handed another beer to Jimbo from the cool-pak underneath the seat. The vinyl covering on the seat was cracked and someone had carved Keep Australia pure - kill them all! into it.

  “This’ll be ma last beer. Want a clear head for when we get to the City,” said Jimbo.

  “Yeah, no worries, mate,” said Dave. “Shoulda brung something harder, maybe some Bundy or something.”

  Jimbo knew what Dave meant. The excitement of the train journey was slowly and surely being usurped by a worming terror with every clack of the tracks. He could have done with the rum to ease his nerves, but dreaded disembarking into an alien, crowded place with a blurred head.

  Dave stared at his reflection in the darkened windows. “Didn’t realize most of the trip is underground. How much longer we got to go?”

  ‘“Bout an hour. Two more stops to make. One in Nagambie, the other in Seymour. It’s a straight run from there.”

  “You nervous?” asked Dave.

  “Nah.”

  “Me neither.” Dave rocked back and forward in his seat, looking around the carriage. “The track between Nagambie and Seymour is above ground, right? Least there’ll be something to look at.”

  “Yeah.” Jimbo swallowed a mouthful of beer. And hopefully something to take my mind off all this shit.

  He took the card from his pocket and ran his fingers over the embossed red writing.

  Bridal Services.

  He’d made the phone call in the privacy of the Old Man’s study.

  The voice on the other end of the line spoke in a flat monotone. “You have reached Bridal Services. You are being monitored. Your call number is A6YTR7200. Transferring you now.”

  Sweat had formed on Jimbo’s palms. The telephone had become slick under his fingers. His cock uncoiled from its slumber.

  The monotone voice had started again. “If you are enquiring about bridal purchases please say “Bridal Purchase”. If you want to make an account enquiry or set up a new account please say -”

  “Bridal Purchase,” Jimbo had said.

  The line clicke
d and whirred. A pleasant female voice had said, “Hello, my name is Operator 635SD. I will be your Transaction Manager. You will need to provide the following information before we begin.”

  The clacks from the tracks began to slow. The train decelerated as it emerged from the tunnel and approached Nagambie Station.

  Jimbo put the card back in his pocket.

  “We got about half an hour before we leave again,” said Dave. “Ya want to get off and have a look around?”

  “Nah, I can see plenty from here.”

  “Suit yaself. I’m gunna go have a squiz.”

  Out on the platform, three Cartel men stood sentinel while a young woman kissed her family then gathered her bags. Dave wandered among the crowd but stalled at the exit, unable to pass the guards. So much for sightseeing, thought Jimbo. The woman and her entourage of Cartel men boarded the first-class carriage, the one ahead of the carriage Jimbo sat in. The doors connecting the carriages were locked however - Dave had tried to get in shortly after they had left Shepp - and curtains had been drawn over the windows.

  Dave plonked himself back in the seat as the train shuddered and began to creep slowly out of Nagambie Station. “See that woman getting on the train? Looks like she’s scored a City job too. Fuck, man, that place is sucking all the women out of the country, I tell ya.”

  “Fuck the City. And fuck those women.”

  “What about Niki?”

  “That’s different.”

  Dave started to laugh but Jimbo glared him down. “Take it easy, man. You’re so fucken uptight about her.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Jimbo, we’re going to the City to get ya a bride. With the cash ya got saved you’ll get the pick of the litter. Niki will be nothing more than a memory of ya hand on ya cock, mate.”

  Eucalypts flashed by the window as the train picked up speed. Huge strips of bark dangled from their trunks. Jimbo imagined he could see koalas clambering amongst the branches and chewing on the leaves. The Old Man claimed to have seen one on his trip to the City way back when. In this part of the country though, koalas were but a memory now. Like Niki. Dave was right.

  “She might be picking us up at Central Station,” Jimbo said.

  “Cool. She bringing her girlfriends?” Dave put his hand on his crotch and grinned.

  Jimbo laughed. “Yeah, you hope! Why’d she want them to meet a loser like you?”

  “They might be lonely country girls homesick for a bit a country boy.” Dave shook his crotch vigorously. “And whaddaya mean she might pick us up? She gunna be there or not?”

  “Didn’t speak to her or nothing. Left a message on the phone at her apartment. She lives with a Zoe and a Michelle. They all said their names on the recording. Sounded too sexy for you, eh?”

  “Yeah, well I hope she’s there. Tell ya the truth, Jimbo, I’m not looking forward to getting out at the station. Central’s sposed to be huge, bigger’n the entire mall. I’m almost shitting my pants as much as you.”

  “That easy to tell, eh? Thanks for being ma best man, Dave. Couldn’t have done this without ya.”

  “No worries, mate. Ya didn’t have much choice as ya got fuck all friends, ya ugly cunt.”

  “Speaking of ugly cunts, you manage to get hold of Fitzy?”

  “Nah. Haven’t heard from that fat bastard for months. Didn’t have a job last I heard though.”

  The blur of eucalypts began to materialize back into individual trees and the clack of the tracks slowed. The train eventually ground to a halt. Outside, low scrub and the occasional thicket of eucalypts stretched over rolling hills the colour of rust.

  “Why have we stopped?” asked Dave.

  Several passengers started opening windows. The Abo from footy had climbed halfway out of his. “There’s something on the tracks ahead. Hey, one a those Cartel fellas is getting out.”

  The Cartel man strode through the dust towards the front of the train. The sun bounced from his scalp. He held a gun in his hand.

  “What’s happening?” asked Jimbo, his face pressed against the window.

  An explosion thundered through the earth, rocking the train. The Cartel man whirled around, looking for the source of the sound. His head snapped back and his legs folded underneath him. He collapsed into the dirt, a plume of smoke rising from the back of his head.

  The Abo scrambled back in through the window. “He’s fucken dead!”

  Gunshots echoed from the first class carriage. Screams. The doors beeped and whooshed open.

  Dave tried to scramble beneath the seat, pulling his cool-pak around his head. And like a bushfire fanned on the breeze, panic swirled through the carriage.

  Two men wearing square steel buckets for masks boarded the train. One brandished a shotgun, the other a long narrow rifle Jimbo didn’t recognize.

  “Sit down and shut up!” said the man with the shotgun. “Put ya fucken hands on ya heads!”

  The passengers dropped to the seats. Jimbo pressed his hands flat to the top of his scalp. Dave’s face was white as he cowered beneath the seat.

  “There’s another one down the back,” said Rifle.

  Shotgun strode down the aisle towards the month-trippers. A lion symbol was stamped into the back of his helmet, beaten from old Holden car parts. “You!” He motioned towards the woman. “Get up!”

  She clung to her partner. “No, please -”

  “Why are you doing this?” Her partner held her tight and swivelled her away from Shotgun. “You can’t -”

  Shotgun smashed his weapon into the man’s face. His head rocked back, cracking against the seat rail. He slumped sideways in the seat. The woman screamed, trying to pull his body closer.

  “Get the fuck up, bitch!” Shotgun reached out, grabbed a fistful of her long black hair and yanked her off the seat.

  “Careful of the goods,” said Rifle.

  She flailed at Shotgun’s face, but her fingers raked against the bushranger mask. Shotgun kneed her in the stomach. The sound of her breath exhaling echoed in the silence of the carriage. Jimbo needed to piss something bad. Dave had started to weep.

  Shotgun dragged her down the aisle as she hitched for breath. Her shoes knocked on the seat legs - whack whack whack - as she was hauled towards the door.

  “I wouldn’t none of youse cunts do nothing for the next half hour,” said Rifle. “Stay in ya fucken seats and ya’ll be fine. Stick ya head out the window and I’ll burn a fucken hole in it.” He pointed the rifle at the Abo. “Specially you, bruddah. Keep ya fucken black nut in!”

  The Abo nodded and swallowed hard.

  As Rifle stepped from the train, he said, “Thank you for travelling with RuralRail. We hope you’ve had an enjoyable trip and look forward to seeing you again.”

  Laughter. More screams.

  “We gotta help her,” said the Abo.

  Jimbo said nothing, his hands still firmly glued to the top of his skull. Sweat leaked between the palm of hands and his scalp, beading through his hair. His knees trembled. Dave stared up at him, his eyes wide and wet.

  “We gotta fucken help her!” The Abo stood and moved towards the door.

  “Sit down,” said one of the Traders. “You’ll get us killed.”

  Somewhere nearby they heard the revving of engines.

  The Abo leapt from the train. “That’s motorbikes!”

  Jesus, they’ve got petrol, Jimbo thought. These boys are serious.

  The remaining month-tripper groaned from the back of the carriage. The cameras tucked up in the corner of the carriage whirred and swivelled. The loudspeakers crackled.

  “Everyone remain calm and in your seats. We will be resuming normal services shortly. Remember, please stay seated for your safety. We will be travelling express to Central and apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.”

  “You gotta be fucken kidding me.” Jimbo looked around at the others in the carriage. Their faces were ashen and silent.

  The doors began to beep.<
br />
  The train shuddered.

  The Abo climbed in through the door, sweat coating his face. There were bloodstains on his shirt. “They killed all the Cartel and took the woman that was wiffem too. They was the only passengers in first class.”

  The doors whooshed closed and the beeping stopped. The Abo sat back down with the Traders. He held something metallic and bloody, showing it off.

  “This should be worth heaps,” the Abo said to his colleagues. “One of their heads was split open and I saw it there, all shiny and shit. Was easier to get out than I thought.”