Sting (24 page)

A monumental fart rips from Gabs’ arse, breaking the silence.

Gabs chuckles and it quickly turns into a deep, I’m-going-to-wet-myself belly laugh. She soon infects me, and before long I’m laughing so hard I’m gasping for air and tears are rolling down my face as we squirm around on the floor.

“Bloody hell, Gabrielle,” Jane says, and shakes her head. A smirk teases at the corner of her thin lips.

“Better out than in, Janie,” Gabs offers.

“Mummy,” Sienna says, now standing in the doorway clutching Strawberry Shortcake in one hand.

“Yes, honey bear?”

“Is there a thunderstorm coming? I heard a loud noise.” She bats her lashes, turning her little head to the side.

Gabs’ laughter increases in pitch and she clutches at her stomach, rolling onto her side.

“Please don’t wet yourself, Gabrielle. Those mats belong to the centre,” Jane says.

“My face hurts,” I cry out, pressing my palms to my sore cheeks.

“Mummy,” Sienna says fanning her hand over her button nose. “Something smells.”

“That’s because Willow farted. Sorry if she woke you up, honey,” Gabs says, with relative control in her voice.

I poke Gabs in the side. “Cheers for that,” I say quiet enough for only her to hear. “Come here, Princess.” I motion with my hand for Sienna to sit on my lap. When she does, I tidy the tangled strands of hair behind one ear.

“It’s impossible that it was me. I only fart glitter and rainbows,” I inform her, with a wink.

The widening of her eyes, and her open mouth … I can only describe the look on her little face as priceless.

“You have a magic bum?” she asks quietly.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone.”

She tries her very hardest to wink back. “Okay, Lolo,” she whispers.

“Come on, I’ll tuck you back into bed.”

After more cuddles and kisses good night, I return to the lounge room. The lights are on, the mats are rolled up, and Gabs and Jane are drinking what I presume to be cups of tea.

“Can I get you a tea, Willow?” Jane asks, rising from her seat.

I hold up my hand to stop her. “No thanks. I should get going. Thanks Jane, this was just what I needed.”

“It wasn’t exactly the kind of session I had planned, but good to see you ladies enjoy yourselves.”

Gabs walks me out to my car.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” she says, pulling me into a hug.

“Yeah, me too. You sure know how to clear a room, huh?”

“Ha ha, very funny. You know, I think a girl’s night is in order.”

Even though I usually avoid going out, I think it’s time.

“How about we finish up early tomorrow? We’ll put a note up on the front door, give everyone plenty of notice,” she suggests.

I nod. “Ryan is working late tomorrow night anyway. I was probably just going to sit around and watch
Sweet Home Alabama
again. Let’s do it.”

“Hold the freaking phone. You mean, you’re actually gonna come out? Oh, lady. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

Gabs pulls a phone out of her pocket and dials.

“Who you calling?” I ask.

She places her finger over my lips.

“Sarah!” Gabs says excitedly. “Putting you on notice. Girl’s night tomorrow night … uh-huh … Yeah, I know, right? We’re getting ready at Willow’s … you bring the champers, I’ll bring my bag of MAC.”

I chuckle to myself, knowing full well that the bag she’s referring to is more like a backpack. There are enough goodies in there to keep every woman in this town made-up and looking fabulous for months.

I’ve got nothing to wear
, I mouth to her.

“Bring some extra dresses of yours too,” Gabs adds. “Hoo-wee, this is gonna be fun … Bye lovey.” She slips her phone in her pocket.

“I guess that’s settled then,” I say. I get into the driver’s seat and wind down the window.

“Yup. See you in the morning.”

“Oh, and I forgot to mention that there’s a young uni student that might be coming in to trial in the next few weeks.”

“Girl or guy?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, as if I should know this tid-bit of information.

“
He’s
a friend of a friend of Sarah’s. His name is Zac; he’s supposedly very cute, a bit on the shy side, but apparently he knows his way around a coffee machine.”

Interesting.

“Okay, well I look forward to meeting him.” It’ll certainly help take the pressure off me. Standing at that machine, day in, day out, is draining. I love it, but I wouldn’t mind mixing up my hours a bit. I could spend some more time in the kitchen, and toy with some new recipe ideas.

Gabs mumbles something about ‘what to wear’ and ‘maybe pink’ as she wanders back inside.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

RYAN

“I haven’t seen any familiar faces yet, but it’s early,” Mick says, as he subtly scans the pub. He picks up another potato wedge and dips it in chilli sauce before shoving it in his mouth.

“I just feel like I’m sitting here wasting time, you know?” I need to rein in my impatience, because it’s not gonna help this job move along any quicker. All day spent at the docks and cruising out on the boat felt like a massive waste of time. Nothing happened.
The joys of surveillance.

“Just relax. You’ve been in this game long enough to know that everything takes time. We need to invest the hours, but I’ve gotta say, this is a hell of a lot better than camping out on the docks, listening to seagulls squawk and cleaning bait off the boat.”

“Yeah. I guess a session at the pub isn’t bad for an afternoon’s work.”

“Now you’re acting more like a decky.” He chuckles and moves in closer, giving me a waft of his soapy aftershave.

“Well, at least you smell better,” I add.

“Stink just comes with the job.”

“Yeah,” I say through a chuckle. “Guess it does. Anyway, it’s your shout, Mick.” I slap him hard on the back. He chokes on his mouthful of beer and rocks on his timber barstool.

“Righto, settle down, hotshot. I’ll get us another.”

The cover band kicks into gear, starting off with a Bon Jovi song, the name of it not coming to mind.
I suspect we’re in for a night of eighties music.
The dance floor in the corner is bare, but there’s a group of young girls skirting close by who look as if they’re about to bust some moves.

Mick gets the attention of the barman and orders another round. He nudges my arm.

“Don’t look now, but our man’s at the pool table,” he whispers.

“I’m gonna take a piss.”
In other words, I’ll check out our POI.

I plod over towards the toilets, taking my time.

Bones. Yes, the fucker is skin and bones. Leaning against the billiard table, he’s wearing faded black skinny jeans that on any other bloke would be tight. On him, they hang on his narrow hips like regular jeans. His tight, ripped black T-shirt shows just how concave his chest is. Is there any muscle on this prick at all?

As I approach, I get a closer look at his tatts. All in black, a freaky clown face is weaved into a Celtic pattern, with a pistol and dead roses. Further up his forearm is a woman’s face, half of it a skeleton.
Bones
. He must have been whacked off his head when he got these done.

I take a piss and settle back in at the bar with Mick.

Once Bones and his friend are well into their game of pool, I walk over and put some gold coins on the edge of the table to let them know we’re next in line.

When they are down to just a few balls, Mick and I move to the high table with stools closest to the action.

Bones sinks the black ball, winning the game. “Fuckin’ take that,” he shrieks out loud, slapping on the back a well-built guy with dirty-blond hair pulled into a ponytail. He has the biggest sideburns I’ve ever seen. I haven’t seen this bloke around before; certainly not at the docks. He could potentially be another lead.

The bloke with the ponytail lifts his chin in my direction. “You playin’?” he grunts.

“Yeah, man,” I say with a mirrored chin movement.

“You can’t be any fuckin’ worse than Chops,” Bones says. Chops
?
He follows it up with a snide chuckle.

“Shut up, arse-wipe,” Chops says, as he inserts the coins. The table kicks and the sunken balls roll to the end of the table for collection.

I grab the pool balls out from underneath and assemble them in the plastic triangle on the end of the green felt, sorting bigs and smalls so they’re distributed evenly amongst the bundle.

“What’s ya name?” Bones asks, sizing me up as he approaches.

“Palmer,” I say and extend my hand. His handshake is weak as piss.
It figures.

“I’m Bones. Who’s ya mate?” he asks, lifting his chin in Mick’s direction.

“Mick the Dick,” I joke.

Bones laughs like a hyena. Mick shakes his head as he walks over and shakes Bones’ and then Chops’ hands.

What, is this some kind of fucking BBQ gang?

Suddenly, I’m hungry. A good spicy pork rib or some chicken, how Blondie makes it, would be spectacular right about now.
Give me all the protein.

“Your break?” Bones says, and scratches his scalp ferociously. He probably has head lice or some shit. It’s most likely been a good week or more since he brushed that mop.

“Sure.” I take the cue and do a half-arsed job at hitting the triangle grouping of balls. I don’t sink a single one.
As planned.

****

Mick and I lose the first round, on purpose, of course. We bet them a round of drinks and fifty bucks that we win the next game.

The scum agree to keep playing. It’s not hard to keep these critters around.

As we play the second round, the big night stories start coming out. With each shot we play, we all try and outdo each other.
Of course, I started this game.

The conversation grows more comfortable as we talk more as a group, rather than with our partners.

“Chops ate that many fuckin’ cookies, greened out and spewed all over me new fuckin’ carpet. Nothing would wake the bastard for a good twenty-four hours. I thought the cunt was dead,” Bones gloats, elbowing his partner’s upper arm.

“Stop bitchin’ about your carpet, ya big girl. Had you told me they were hash cookies I would’ve fuckin’ stopped at one, wouldn’t I? You know I love chocolate. I still need to get you back for that, too. Arsehole.” Chops grins as he leans over to take his shot. It’s a plaque-filled grin, with one eye-tooth missing. The tooth behind it is a shade of grey.
The man needs to meet Colgate. Like twenty years ago.

“Well, the last time I was on a bender,” I offer, “after two days of partying straight, I woke up in a random hotel room wearing a pair of chick’s underwear, had two phone numbers scrawled on my arm and got stung for five hundred dollars’ worth of room service. I reckon that little party stung me about three grand.” By the time I finish my ‘story’, Chops’ jaw is hanging loose. I dare say, with his acne-scarred face, and hair and sideburns which were in fashion forty years ago, he’s not fighting off chicks with the nearest stick-like weapon.

“Fuck yeah, that’s the way you fuckin’ party!” Bones cheers, with a congratulatory slap on my back.
He even slaps like a pussy.

With the black and white ball the only remaining two on the table, I take a shot at the black and skilfully sink the white, losing us the game.

“Shit!” I growl.

“You suck at pool though,” Bones adds.
I threw the game in, you arsehole.

I shrug, and lean the pool cue against the table. “As I was sayin’, I crashed hard for three days after, and the boss got the shits because I never showed up, never rang. Fired my arse.” I scull the last few mouthfuls of my beer.

“That blows,” Chops chips into the conversation.

“Yeah, but now I get to work on a boat with Mick the Dick.”

“Why don’t you stop talking, hotshot, and get us some more drinks?” Mick says.

“Righto, I’ll just take a piss first.” I hand the pool cue to Mick and walk into the toilets.

As I stand at the urinal and unzip, the door opens and shuts behind me. Staring at the wall ahead, as the liquid tinkles down the stainless steel urinal, out of the corner of my eye I see the tattooed arm. He unzips and starts pissing beside me.

Here’s my chance.

“You fuckin’ crack me up, Palmer. I appreciate a man who knows how to wreck himself. I’m doin’ my best at perfecting the art.”

And your wiry, malnourished body is testament to it.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve got a problem though. I’ve only been here a few weeks, and I don’t have my normal contacts to rely on, you know? Partying’s a bit of a problem right now.”

I shake, zip back up and flush. He does the same soon after.

“I could sort shit if you need it,” he says, stuffing both hands in his pockets.

I rub underneath my nose with the side of my index finger. “You got Charlie?”

He nods and his thin lips pull into a smirk.

“Well, fuck. This night just got a whole lot better.”

“Lemme make a quick call. How ’bout I meet ya in the laneway in half an hour? How many
G
s you want?”

“I’m not greedy. Just a taste to start. I’m fussy when it comes to things like this.”

I hope to fuck I don’t have to test it in front of him. If I have to I will, but it could affect my credibility as a witness if I have to testify.

“You won’t have any complaints, my friend. This is top grade shit.”

Finally, some fucking progress.

“Good. So what are you blokes drinking?” The rowdiness of the patrons increases decibels as I open the door.

“Bourbon and coke.”

Only cockheads drink bourbon. I should’ve known by the look of them.

“No worries, man.”

I walk through to the bar, nodding for Mick to follow me. I order the prick a couple of bourbons, and beer for Mick and I.

He moves in beside me, leaning his elbows on the wooden bar. “We’re on. Thirty in the laneway,” I mutter loud enough for only him to hear.