by Linda Jaivin
‘I don’t know,’ ZakDot began. ‘It was just two days ago. Julia had stayed over—yes, that’s all happening—and she answered the door with me. I said we didn’t know where you were. Julia had told us how you’d gone off with that, that Verbero guy, how she thought he was kidnapping you, but that it also looked like you knew him. When she first told us about it, we were very worried. I remembered you wanting to tell me something that night at Club Apocalypso. I wondered if that had anything to do with it. We thought of calling the police, but Maddie didn’t want them sniffing around here. You know, she’s got a big collection of illegal chemicals.’
‘I’m glad you got your priorities straight. Security of the arsenal over safety of the housemate.’ We’d reached a landing. I stopped, shook off ZakDot’s fingers and folded my arms across my chest. ‘I can’t believe that. Some friends.’
‘Miles, you don’t understand. We didn’t call the police but we fucking found you and brought you back, didn’t we?’
‘What do you mean? I was found all right, but nothing to do with you.’
‘That’s what you think. We couldn’t figure out how there could be any link between you and those Clean Slate arseholes. So, we searched your studio for clues. We found Trimalkyo’s card and, on the back of it, someone had written the exact date and time that you were picked up. Maddie slapped together a bomb out of a juice bottle, hydrochloric acid, and aluminium foil and we fronted up to Trimalkyo’s place to demand an explanation. As you know, Maddie can be particularly “persuasive” when she’s carrying explosives. We met “the man” himself. Trimalkyo told us that you were with the prime minister. Or as he put it, the “prime meeneesteero”. So, I called Doppler’s office and, impersonating a journalist, drew out the information that she was spending the parliamentary recess in her private residence up north.
‘Thurston hacked into government data bases and came up with an address for the Bunker: Little Woop Woop, Queensland. Little Woop Woop didn’t appear on any maps. This stymied us for a while. Then Maddie got on the blower to her mother, who still lives on a community outside Nimbin. Her mother’s boyfriend was having a didge lesson that afternoon with someone who knew a tribe of feral women trackers known as the No Names.’
‘The No Names! That’s it! But how…’
ZakDot held up his hand like a cop stopping traffic. ‘Almost finished. Maddie asked her mother to pass on a message via the boyfriend’s didge teacher to the No Names. This was the message, and I think it fairly represents how we all felt: “Bring back that weak-brained little fuckwit, dead or alive.” And so they did. And here you are.’
I went all warm inside. My friends did care about me after all. ‘But hold on, did you say something about the police? Where do they come into this?’
‘They don’t, really. It was just that this one policewoman came and asked for you.’
‘Policewoman?’ My heart skipped a beat.
‘C’mon,’ ZakDot said. ‘Let’s get out of this stupid stairwell.’
‘Was she pretty? Nice eyes? Good legs?’
‘Jesus, Miles, you hear a policewoman’s come looking for you and all you can think of is, does she have big tits. One of these days, you’ve actually got to have some sex, Miles. It’ll help you get your mind off.’
‘I didn’t say anything about tits,’ I protested as I pushed open the door of the warehouse. Inside, I caught my breath. ‘What a fucking mess!’
The signboard on which ZakDot recorded his inspirational sayings had been flung across the room, where it lay splintered against the brick wall. The sofa and chairs and table were overturned, our toys scattered. ZakDot’s inflatable wombat, Bazza, had been deflated and strung up from a lamp. Our pathetic collection of plates and glasses was smashed and the rack for pots and pans dangled crazily. The pots themselves were all over the floor.
‘I go away and the first thing you guys do is throw a party,’ I joked.
‘Fuck me dead.’ From the look on ZakDot’s face, I knew that, if there’d been a party, he hadn’t been invited either. ‘I just went out a couple of hours ago,’ he said, trembling. ‘Everything was fine when I left. Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ We embarked on a tour of the devastation.
‘Do you think this has something to do with Maddie?’ I asked, thinking it looked like a bomb had gone off in the place.
‘That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.’ We turned to see Maddie emerging from what remained of her room. ‘Shit, Miles, you look as bad as this warehouse.’
Bacon picked his way towards us through the debris, stopping right in the middle of rock n roll. I scooped him up and hugged him to me. He mewed.
Thinking of my paintings, I raced into my studio. The others followed.
‘Jesus, what a debacle,’ Maddie exclaimed. The floor of the studio was littered with screwed-up pieces of paper, tubes of paint, scattered brushes and bottles of turps and varnish and linseed oil. Reference books lay thrown about on the floor. ‘They’ve really ransacked this place,’ she said.
‘Actually,’ I admitted, ‘I think the studio’s as I left it.’
We started to laugh and, once we started, we couldn’t stop. I clutched the doorframe and wiped my tears.
‘Oh well,’ ZakDot said after a long while, ‘I take it this means you did something right.’
Maddie poked me in the ribs with her index finger. ‘Well?’
‘Ouch,’ I said. ‘Lay off it.’ I squirmed away.
She rolled her eyes and sucked on her tongue piercing. ‘Did you?’ she asked, finally.
‘Did I what?’
‘Do something right, you git. I get home to find our whole place trashed, coincidentally just before you get back. So. I was just wondering if you had anything you’d like to tell us that might explain any of this?’
Heavy footsteps pounded the floor in the direction of the studio. We braced. It was Thurston, who hurled himself at me and wrapped me in a bear hug. He didn’t care about getting his clothes dirty. The hug went on a bit too long. As if intuiting my discomfort, he released me and stepped back a pace or two.
That’s when I noticed the bandage on his forehead. ‘What happened to you?’
His hand moved up self-consciously to his face. ‘Nothing. I mean, it’s just a little gash.’
‘Were you here when this happened?’
‘Yes, I was. I was sharpening the blade of my broadaxe when they came in.’
‘How’d they get in?’
‘Quietly. Must’ve had a skeleton key or something.’
‘A skeleton key? What’d they look like?’
‘Not like ordinary thieves. Not as I’d imagine ordinary thieves to look like anyway. They wore dark suits and sunglasses.’
‘Like Reservoir Dogs?’ asked ZakDot. ‘Cool. I mean “shocking”.’
Thurston looked confused. ‘Sort of,’ he said.
‘Go on, Thurston,’ I encouraged.
‘Anyway, I came out of my room and stigged and tartled at the sight of them. I brandished my axe and demanded to know what they were after. They looked just as surprised as I had been. I don’t think they expected to be threatened with a broadaxe. Nuk nuk.’
‘It’s a great axe,’ Maddie affirmed.
‘“You know what we want, Walker,” said their leader, keeping his eye on the axe and obviously mistaking me for you. “The bag.”’
‘The bag?’ I didn’t get it. ‘Are you sure they said “the bag”, Thurston?’
‘Yes. They said, “Hand over the bag now and there’ll be no trouble.” Then they started throwing the furniture around. Oh, Miles, I didn’t know where you were at that point or what you’d done, or what bag he was talking about, but if I knew one thing it was that I had to protect your art for posterity.’
ZakDot and Maddie exchanged glances that could possibly be interpreted as sardonic. I ignored them.
‘So, I made a lunge at them with the axe and, after a tussle, I barricaded myself in your studio. I could hear them trashing the rest of the place b
ut at least your paintings are safe.’
‘Thurston.’ My voice came out in this funny croak. I was so grateful I wanted to kiss him. ‘Thanks. Thanks a lot.’
‘Yeah, thanks a lot,’ Maddie added.
‘Anyone feel like a beer?’ ZakDot asked.
Our local had changed since Clean Slate came into power. The owner had painted over the angels and classical Greek figures, and lined the walls with poker machines, which provided the only music now to be heard there. Poets avoided the place and the bartender no longer worked on his novel, in public, anyway, which was probably not a bad thing.
‘You didn’t, like, root her or anything?’ ZakDot asked after I’d finished telling a slightly edited version of events. In this version, I had no idea what Trimalkyo and Oscar were getting me into. Once there, I’d struggled valiantly to escape, painting only at gunpoint. ‘Well?’ he persisted. ‘Did you?’
I choked on my beer.
Maddie punched ZakDot in the arm. ‘Miles wouldn’t do that. Would you, Miles?’
I willed my head to shake itself.
‘Miles,’ Thurston informed the others, ‘is celibate. He doesn’t have sex.’
‘Miles?’ ZakDot sounded even more suspicious now.
‘So what if I did?’ I challenged. ‘Leave me alone, all right?’
Maddie stared hard at me. ‘He’s kidding, ZakDot,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you, Miles?’
I nodded, weakly. ‘What do you think?’
‘Bloody hell,’ sighed ZakDot, slugging back his beer.
‘So, what now?’ Maddie drained her glass and tapped her fingers on the counter.
‘Well,’ I began, ‘I’d like to do a new series of paintings based on the quality of light in the rainforest. It was amazing, and I need to get it down on canvas before it goes out of my head.’
‘Oh, Miles,’ Thurston interjected. ‘That sounds beautiful. I’m sure you’ll create brilliant work from this experience.’
Maddie put her gorgeous, fresh-shaven head in her hands. ‘You’re a bloody hopeless dag, Miles, you know that? But hold on, we still haven’t worked out this “bag” thing that Thurston was talking about. Do you have any idea what they were after?’
I shook my shoulders. ‘Not a clue. Maybe they had the wrong house.’
‘Think hard. It’s got to have something to do with you. They addressed Thurston as “Walker”, after all.’ She signalled to the bartender for another round.
ZakDot’s eyes lit on my rucksack. ‘That’s a bag,’ he observed.
‘It’s just my old rucksack. Why would they want that?’
‘Hand her over,’ Maddie ordered, sitting ramrod straight on her bar stool, jutting out her tattooed chin and lowering her eyelids in what ZakDot and I had privately labelled her ‘commando look’. It was very fetching. I passed her my rucksack.
Maddie rifled through my stuff, flinging things willy-nilly as she went.
‘Hey! Hey! Be gentle with that stuff,’ I cried, diving for a pair of undies that had hit the floor. When I crawled back onto the stool, still grumbling, Maddie, Thurston and ZakDot were all staring bug-eyed at a zip-lock freezer bag packed with white powder that she held in her hands.
‘What’s this, then?’ Maddie asked.
‘It looks like the titanium white pigment I buy from a supplier in Balmain. But I don’t remember taking that with me. It’s such a carry-on to prepare. You need a mortar and pestle and…’
Maddie, checking to see no one was looking, licked a finger, stuck it in the bag, and licked it again. ‘Whooo,’ she exclaimed. She stuffed the white powder back into my rucksack, reached out and grabbed me by the chin. She jerked me closer, nearly pulling me off my stool in the process. ‘Miles, is there something you ought to be telling us?’
Shit, I thought. They know I fucked her.
‘Do you have any idea who would have put this with your stuff?’ Maddie’s words had sped up.
‘No, I…oh, hold on.’ I told them about the day I caught Verbero snooping around my room.
‘Looks like you were being set up big time.’ ZakDot whistled, impressed. ‘Maddie, pass the blow.’
‘Later!’ she barked. Maddie was scary enough when she was languid. This stuff made her terrifying. ‘It’s not safe here.’
‘But why?’ Thurston scratched at his beard.
‘Too many people might see, Thurston,’ she replied in a patronising tone.
‘No, I mean, why the set-up? Do you have any idea, Miles?’
‘I dunno,’ I replied, feeling very tired. ‘All I know is that I’ve had a gutful of politics. I’m over it.’
‘The question is, is politics over you?’ Maddie sucked energetically on her tongue piercing. ‘Judging from the events of this afternoon, I would say a reasonable guess would be no, not by a long shot.’
‘I just want to get back to my painting,’ I moaned.
‘Miles.’ Maddie slapped ZakDot’s hand away from my rucksack. Holding it protectively on her lap, she aimed the hatchet of her gaze straight between my eyes. ‘What did you say about Trimalkyo inviting Doppler and her gang to a New Year’s bash?’
‘Yeah, it’s gonna be on—’
‘—the Dinkum!’ Maddie exclaimed, clapping her hands.
‘How’d you—’
‘Remember? ZakDot and I are working for Dinkum. We’re rostered on. Quadruple overtime. That’s tomorrow night, too. C’mon, gang, the night is young and we’ve got work to do.’ She jumped up and made to toss me my rucksack, then, thinking better of the idea, slung it over her own broad shoulders.
Thurston looked at Maddie, who was practically vibrating, with a worried expression.
‘You weren’t planning on going to the party, Miles, were you?’ Maddie demanded.
‘God, no. I hate New Year’s parties. There’s such a ridiculous level of expectation attached to them. Besides, I can’t dance and I never have anyone to kiss at midnight.’
‘Do you get the feeling Miles lives in some parallel universe?’ ZakDot asked Maddie. Then, turning to me, ‘Miles. Mate. Darling. Sweetie. We’re not talking about whether or not you can “dance”. There are slightly more serious issues at stake. You’ve got to go into hiding.’
‘Go into hiding? What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not some criminal. I’m just a poor artist.’
‘A poor artist who’s got enough cocaine on him to light up every nightclub in the city for a month,’ Zak pointed out.
I grimaced. ‘That’s not my fault.’
‘Tell it to the judge.’
‘Where would I hide, anyway?’
‘You could probably borrow my olds’ shack up the coast,’ ZakDot said after a pause. ‘I’ll call them when we get home.’
As soon as we got in the door, ZakDot relieved Maddie of the bag and went into the bathroom to find a razor and a mirror. He offered me and Thurston some, but we declined. Maddie, biting the end of her pen, righted the sandwich-sign table and, sprawling across Kraft & Vegemite, began covering sheets of paper with diagrams and lists.
‘Okay. This is what we’ll do. We’ll plant a bomb big enough to blow up the whole fucken boat, Destiny and every single arse-licking art traitor on it at midnight.’
‘Fuck, Maddie,’ I cried. ‘That’s murder you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t think of it like that. Ever heard of Thomas de Quincey, Miles? Miles?’
I lifted my head from my hands. ‘Uh, Confessions of an Opium Eater? That one?’
‘Yeah, well, in his essay “On Murder Considered as a Fine Art”, he talks about how the timing, place and style of a murder are actually all components of an aesthetic.’
Recalling Destiny’s insistence that I be at the party, I thought this could be my old nightmare come true—my friends were going to kill me after all. Then I told myself not to be ridiculous. I’d escaped. I was going into hiding. What was Verbero going to do, hunt me down, kidnap me, drug me, tie me up and throw me on board?
It
wasn’t a bad guess.
Thurston nodded excitedly at what Maddie was saying. ‘That’s it,’ he said, ‘an aesthetic of violence. That’s how we approach our mock battles. If you look at it that way, it’s’—his grin pushed his cheeks up like two red balls—‘almost an art form.’
‘So it is. And there’s a role for you in this as well, Thurston. Will you do it? For Miles?’
An hour later, Maddie was using Thurston’s computer to surf the net for new bomb recipes on the one hand, and the plans for the Dinkum on the other. She found the latter on a website advertising harbour cruises.
Thurston was soon on the blower to Gwydion and several other of his weirdo mates, Rodmur, Torold and Baldar. I heard him say, ‘No one involved in this inkle must quatch,’ and then, ‘We shall come like a thode.’
ZakDot, once more abandoning irony to its own devices, sprawled on the floor, fervently penning a new manifesto. I moved around the warehouse, righting furniture, sweeping up, re-inflating the wombat. I’d slept all the way back on the bus, but I was exhausted. The following morning I was supposed to meet ZakDot’s mum at her office on George Street to get the key to the shack, and then hop a train up the coast. In truth, I didn’t mind this plan so much; I liked the idea of hiding away and painting. I wanted to get back into my own world. The real one had become a trifle overwhelming.
I hoped they’d all come to their senses by the following morning. If not, I’d talk them out of it somehow. I wasn’t going to leave till I did.
When I woke up—this morning—they were all crashed out. I knocked on ZakDot’s door and pushed it open. I went over to the window and pulled up the shade. As the light hit his face, he squeezed his eyes tight and clawed at the air like a cat, hissing and growling.
‘I have to talk to you,’ I said.
He pulled his sheet over his head. ‘Talk is futile.’
I sighed and considered my options. I needed to pick up some new arts supplies—pastels, oils and brushes. That’d take an hour or so. I’d do that, come back, wake ZakDot and the others, talk them out of their insanity and then disappear.
Stepping out onto the street, I looked at Thurston’s watch, which I still hadn’t returned to him. Half past eleven, and the day was already stinking hot. I didn’t even see them coming. Next thing I knew a coat had been flung over my head and I was being pushed into the back of a waiting car.
