The Glass Kingdom (9 page)

I sighed as I made the turn. ‘Crank World, maybe. Or the Big Meth Pipe. How the fuck would I know? Home, probably.'

The Toyota limped into a dead-end street, smoke still belching from its rear. There were two dilapidated weatherboard houses on either side of the road and he pulled into the driveway of the one at the end on the left. I slowed down for a second to get a look, then drove on. I turned back towards the main street and pulled in to park out of the line of sight of the house, killing the engine.

I was out of the car in a flash, crouching at the rear wheel to watch the dealer unlock the front door of his house and disappear inside. My hands instinctively clutched for the ghost rifle and I shook my fingers out in irritation. I couldn't seem to stop that tic.

Filthy, tattered curtains hung in the windows of the house, and they were pulled shut. The lawn was baked yellow in the few spots where it had somehow managed to survive—the front was a dustbowl. The building had been painted sky blue at some point but most of the colour was gone now, the paint faded and peeling in the sun. The stumps had sunk on one side, giving the house a distinct lean. Home sweet fucken home.

I spent a few more minutes watching for further movements but saw nothing. I made a note of the street name and climbed back into the driver's seat. Steph had been watching the house in the rear-view mirror.

‘What do you think? Are we going to pay him a visit?'

‘Oh, it's “we” now, is it? You're game all of a sudden.'

‘You've got one of those metal rod thingos you use to change tyres. I could hit him with that.'

‘A tyre iron. Well, you could, but it's probably not advisable. Baby steps. We'll come back tonight and have a poke around if he's not home.'

‘This is not as much fun as I expected.'

‘You'll get your chance.'

The crowds were beginning to form by the time we got back to the Kingdom. Despite the baking afternoon heat, over-enthusiastic kids had managed to persuade their parents to drag them around the carnival, looking forward to plastering fairy floss all over their faces and going home with overpriced show bags filled with crap. Steph and I watched a dozen different family units struggling to extricate strollers from the boots of cars while trying not to lose their temper at impatient toddlers.

‘Still keen on popping out a couple of sprogs?' I asked Steph as we trundled slowly through the car park towards the staff parking area.

‘Gives you pause, doesn't it? Look at those angry, sweaty faces. Some of these couples are probably five years younger than us and they look ten years older.' She turned back to me and placed a hand on my thigh. ‘I don't want us to end up like that, Ben. We'll do things different, eh?'

‘My oath we will.'

‘I never imagined myself having a child until I met you. Now I can't imagine anything else. I always dreamed of saving enough money telling fortunes and giving massages to be able to open a little kinesiology and yoga studio on the Gold Coast. I could rent out the space for life drawing and Pilates classes, teach Ayurvedic massage and align the chakras of people who need my help, go home at night to a man who is glad to see me, maybe a couple of kids who'll show me the drawings they've done at school. I could stick them to the refrigerator using magnets shaped like dinosaurs and ask them if they want Vegemite or Promite in tomorrow's sandwiches. We could share baths and maybe fool around a little until the kids burst in and we have to disguise what we're doing under the bubbles.'

Running the aircon all the time made my eyes dry up so I switched it off and cracked the window. It was like a furnace out there. Why these parents didn't just wait until evening was beyond me. I guess they thought being out at the show with their screaming offspring was a better option than being stuck in the house with them. Steph was right about that much. No way we were going down that road, no way. I'd be hiring a fucken nanny to do all that shit for me. And if the kids wanted to play, well, we'd just step off the front deck onto the beach. You won't see me being dragged around Big Dubs on a Sunday afternoon. I'll be kicking back in a hammock, beer in my hand, watching the kids splash in the surf while I mentally count my money. A house on the Gold Coast, a couple of dirt bikes in the garage and a big fuck-off four-wheel-drive parked outside? Fucken perfect. If Steph was up for playing the dutiful wife and mother, well, maybe it was worth the hassle. I could pretend to be a good family man, sit on the local council or some shit. No one would suspect a fucken thing.

‘I don't think it's unrealistic, this dream.' She wasn't talking to me anymore now. ‘It's not out of reach like the ones I hear from all those women who seek me out on the Kingdom. This one is possible, and best of all it's up to us. We'll have a son one day, you and me. You wait and see. His little neck will smell like my pop's hair pomade, and he'll squeeze me tighter than anyone ever has.'

A hot wind blew in through the window. I closed my eyes and winced. We were locked in a queue of traffic, waiting to get through the entrance. With the feel of warm air on my neck and Steph's soft voice imagining some chakra-aligned future we might or might not have, I began to drift.

I was in the back of a truck rolling down some desert road. The heat was heavy and suffocating, pressing down on my torso. A burning sensation pulsed in my chest, making me think the dressing needed changing. I sat up painfully, groggy from the heat and medication. I carefully peeled back the edge of the bandage to peer underneath. The wounds were still raw and inflamed, still made my stomach churn. I stuck the dressing down and leaned my temple against the cool metal frame of the truck, feeling the vibrations of the engine drilling into my skull.

Another man lay on a stretcher opposite me. He was absorbed in reading something on his Kindle, seemingly oblivious to the fact his right leg was missing below the knee. Woozily, I shuffled along the bench to the rear, where a soldier in combat gear sat quietly smoking as he looked out at the Humvee travelling behind us, just visible in the darkness. His M4 lay unsecured across his lap, bouncing with the movement of the vehicle like it might fall out onto the dusty road at any minute. Without speaking, he offered me a cigarette. I desperately wanted one but I had to refuse. Doctor's orders.

I stared out at the black desert, glad for a cool breeze on my skin. The sky lit up briefly in the distance, off to the east. The sound of a faraway explosion reached our ears a moment later, a low rumbling echo, comforting in its familiarity. Several more bright streaks punctured the horizon: Hydra rockets released from the belly of an Apache gunship. They vanished into the darkness only to be replaced a second later by a starburst of fire as they found their target. Another enemy destroyed, or maybe one of our own. We could never be certain.

‘Ben. Ben, are you even listening?'

Steph clicked her fingers. I snapped back and nodded.

‘Yeah, yeah. The Gold Coast. Something about dinosaurs.'

Irritated, she pointed to the gap that had opened up between us and the car in front. I slipped the gearstick into drive and we rolled forward another twenty metres. In the distance the engine brakes of an eighteen-wheeler moaned from the highway, a great monster taking a breath.

Two of the six streetlamps in the row were out, creating a shadowy umbrella at the end of the road. I leaned against one that wasn't fizzing as it strained to blink back into life. Even with decent lighting, I would have been difficult to spot. I was wearing dark clothes and standing perfectly still. This was the sort of sentry duty I was used to, quietly watching and waiting for signs of movement.

My ears became attuned to the background noise and I could hear various animals in the distance. Two cats were standing off somewhere in the neighbourhood, a territorial struggle punctuated by low growls and banshee-like screaming as they went at each other. A dog barked, his rough howl curtailed by a sharp word from his master. Above me, a family of possums walked the tightrope of telephone lines from one side of the street to the other.

The screen of my phone lit up. I cupped my hand to hide the glare and read Steph's text message.

Coast is clear. Looks lk pizza and xbox on menu. Glad
I brought a magazine.

I quickly typed a reply.

Let me know when he's OM.

I was about to put the phone away when it flashed again.

???

Oscar Mike.

And that is?

On the move, ffs.

Yessir, general.

I was a corporal.

Is that higher or lower?

Stop txting now. I'm going in.

Righto. Maintaining radio silence as of now. X

Knocking on a meth dealer's front door and politely informing him I would be his boss from that point on was hardly an option, unless I fancied picking a shiv out from between my ribs. I wanted to have a good look around in there first, see what sort of set-up he had, decide if it was even worth my while muscling in on his piss-ant operation.

Satisfied no one was home, I slipped the phone into my pocket and walked quickly across the road, careful to avoid the pools of light under the streetlamps.

No one saw me as I approached the house. Gilgandra was asleep.

After the Kingdom had closed for the night, it hadn't taken much to persuade Steph to come on the surveillance detail. She was in with both feet now. A ruthless streak was emerging in her. It would be interesting to see how far she was prepared to go.

Matt had emerged from the house only a few minutes after we'd pulled up around the corner. I'd been prepared for an all-night vigil but he'd jumped in his crappy Toyota and taken off. We were in Steph's Datsun, low-key enough for a surveillance op. She followed him at a sensible distance with the headlights switched off while I became a sentinel.

I tracked along the side of the house, navigating through piles of garbage bags and boxes. I paused to examine the rubbish. Dozens of empty Codral packets had been crushed and piled into a larger cardboard box. Amateur cooks often extracted pseudoephedrine from cold and flu tablets, though why they would leave such an obvious marker out in the open for any fucker to find was beyond me. They might as well have put a sign up on the front lawn inviting the AFP in for a snort.

The back of the house gave out onto a long yard overgrown with native plants. A battered old couch sat in the middle, covered in overflowing ashtrays. A meth pipe lay on its side on a rickety wooden table, next to a copy of
Zoo Weekly
.

I picked up the pipe and sniffed. The sharp odour almost made me gag. This was rough stuff they were smoking. There was a pitiful-looking lemon tree in one corner of the yard but it did nothing to mask the stench emanating from the house. I covered my nose and mouth as I approached the back door.

My intention had been to smash the glass with my elbow so I could reach in and undo the latch but the fucken door was unlocked. Asking for it, they were. Just waiting for someone like me to roll up and set them straight.

All of the lights in the house were off and after only a couple of steps I kicked something that skittered across the kitchen tiles. I stopped and took my phone out again so I could use the display as a weak torch. The kitchen was a predictable mess of empty bottles, cans and takeaway containers, most of which still had food welded to their insides. The sink was piled high with dishes. Blowies buzzed over plates and pots, revelling in such fertile breeding grounds. It was disgusting.

I followed my nose to the bathroom, along a carpeted hallway. I pushed the door open gently and shone the phone inside, still reluctant to switch on any lights. The bathroom had been set up as a primitive lab and the smell was so strong that my first instinct was to crack open the window. If Matt or some other skinny prick were cooking up in such a confined space, it would only be a matter of time before they dropped dead from inhaling such toxic fumes. How they had survived this long was a miracle.

The house would surely have to be condemned after they cleared out or expired. No one would want to buy it. You can never get rid of that smell. Best thing to do would be to put a match to the place and stand well back. That's what happened with most amateur labs in the end, anyway. A little carelessness or inexperience mixing chemicals and boom—obliterated, like someone had called in a targeted drone strike.

Carefully closing the door behind me, I continued to search the house. The lounge room at the end of the hallway wasn't in as bad a state as I expected. Matt probably conducted a lot of his deals there and that required some semblance of order. A large flat-screen television had been attached to one wall. I didn't recognise the brand—it was probably one of those cheap knockoffs they sell at JB. Half a dozen game controllers littered the coffee table. It could easily have passed for any unkempt share-house lounge room, if not for the omnipresent stench of meth.