Saturday 7 November 2015

Scattering Your Bones in the Wind





“You’re vile,” I said.

“You are vile.”

“You’re vile,” I said.

“You are vile.”

“You stole my husband,” I said

“You stole my wife.”

“You stole my happiness.”

“You stole my life.”

“I hate you so much.”

“I hate you more.”

“It is eating me up, what you did.”

“Well, at least there is some good news coming out of this.”

“On which to dwell.”

“On which to dwell.” He spat the 'd', I wasn’t sure that was possible.

“You are vile!” I said.

“Absolutely hideous!” he said.

“Stay out of the rain or you will melt, today.”

“I am dead!” he said.

“You're still talking?”

“I can talk in death,” he held his hands out as if in a question. “2000 years of Christian dogma gave us that.”

“Good to hear,” I said. “Was it a painful death? I do hope it was painful!”

“The most painful death imaginable!”

“Lovely. That cheers me up no end,” I said. “Did you scream? Did nobody come to help you? Were you ignored and alone as you took your last breath?”

“Yes... with the lambs,” he said. “And there was no one, darling... No one ....”

“Just the silence into which you screamed for mercy... and the bleating of the lambs.”

“Yes,” he said. “That's all there was in the end, the bleating of the lambs.”

“It paints a lovely picture...”

“Dark green, echoing across the deserted, wide, flat land.”

“Midnight green,” I said. “With the moon reflecting on your misery.”

“The foxes would come in no time, sniffing at the cold, stiff corpse, chewing out the neck.

“And the birds?” I asked.

“Yes, the birds would come with sunrise, pulling at the larynx, supper on the oesophagus, pecking at the spine that would soon be exposed.”

"Pecking out the eyes,” I said.

“Like oysters.”

“Picking at the bones in the midday sun,” I said.

“Wah, wah! Wah, wah! Wah, wah!” He waved his arms as if they were wings as he squawked. Squatting on his haunches and for a moment, I thought he may have taken off, like the birds, entrails hanging from their beaks.

“Until you leached back into the soil,” I said. “Dissolving bit, by bit, by bit, until becoming just a stain on the grass.”

“A human stain.”

“A human stain,” I said.

“Bits of skin and fragments of bone.”

“Scattering in the wind.”

“Scattering my bones in the wind,” he said. “Scattering my bones in the wind.”

“Until there was nothing left.

“Just fragments, broken fragments.”

“And your vile life was over,” I said.

“All but the scratching, all but the scratching.”

“Under the light of the moon.”

“The silvery light of the full moon.”

“And the bleating of the lambs,” I said.

“Those god damn lambs.”


Tuesday 27 October 2015

Irish Darren





Irish Darren had nice eyes and a handsome face. He was a traveller, blown into town only for a short time. I guess you’d call him temp staff.

He had those slightly bandy legs and big feet. He had a thick arse and quite a bulge in the front of his trousers, you know, like he had a cricket box shoved down his jeans. Smooth and round and plump. I couldn't help but notice.

He had a great accent. I could have listened to him talk forever.

Lunch times, I chatted with the girls in the kitchen at the big table about my boyfriend, as they chatted about theirs. Hardly any of the sexless HR girls had boyfriends. Knowing look. A few did. Astonished look. It was usually the same faces talking, my team, and the same faces listening, the HR team.

I'm a bit of an over-sharer, rather than the opposite, so I often chatted. Irish Darren sat at the table with us, which was unusual for one of the other guys, it was usually just me and the girls. He’d sit and eat his lunch, listening, and then he’d join in the chat, sometimes. He’d talk and give of himself, he didn’t sit quietly by, that is what I liked about him the most. He was up for a chat as much as the rest of us.

I chatted about Mat, my boyfriend. Spanky McGee spoke about her husband, handsome Carl. May Pang spoke about Mike McRoberson. Irish Darren would talk about the places he’d been and the people he’d met there. He mentioned his girlfriend once, or twice, but not a lot.

I think I spoke mostly about the idea of a boyfriend, a conglomeration of all my past guys filling in the gaps, rather than strictly talking about Mat, so once I got going, I had stories, never ending stories, instantly cleaned up, and shortened.

When the girls and I laughed about guys, you know kind of intimate (nothing really) I noticed that Irish Darren was taking it all in quite intently, his eyes moving from one person to another. Kind of smiling, but not. Apparently, he has a girlfriend somewhere? Back in Ireland? Siobhan? I'm not sure now. He’d listen intently, say something interesting, and we'd be left smiling at each other, when we'd run out of things to say.

He'd smile at me.

I’d smile at him.

He’d hold my gaze just a little too long.

I’d hold his gaze just a little too long.


After a summer of that, me talking about guys in the lunch room, with him listening, often intently, I swear he followed me into the toilets a few times. It was late in the year, summer had well and truly started, the office was quiet. Of course, that was most likely my imagination, and lunch time hours being what lunch time hours are, people being out and about, but a boy can day dream, can’t he?

He had these big feet, and he always wore those leather shoes. The walls of the toilet cubicles had quite a gap at the bottom. And the bare light globe was right over the toilet cubicles, angled in such a way, so a guy’s reflection was reflected on the shiny tiled floor pretty quickly after he slides himself out of his trousers. If the guy was of the leisurely persuasion, which Irish Darren was, the times that I saw him, as he slid his pants off, and then his jocks, well, the reflection left nothing to the imagination, and if a guy stood there, which some do, rather than sitting down immediately, well, it was, practically, a picture show. 

Irish Daren had a big one flopping about, from what I could see. 

Then one time, I'm sure he sat forward with a hard on, rubbing it up and down. It bent upwards like a large banana. 

Did it? Was it? Was I imagining it? Ah? I could have made it all up, easily. We see what we want to see, isn’t that what ‘they’ say? True of life.

Those big feet, socks and hairy ankles, it’s intoxicating. And I am left wondering how much of it was all in my mind, fed only by my basest desires.


After a summer of that, me talking about guys in the lunch room, I swear Darren followed me outside a few times. 

By late summer, I’d started smoking again, stupid me. It had been the result of weekends on pot with my mate Leo.

I’d sit out the front on, what I assume was once, a planter, but had long since been filled in to effectively form a square concrete box, on the street, outside our building. It would be bathed in sun in the afternoon.

When Darren appeared on the footpath for the second time, when I was out having a smoke, he looked at me and smiled

Cute, pretty, Irish Darren. Nice, too. Such a nice bloke.

“Can I bot one of those?” he asked. Pointing to the cigarette burning in my hand with his chin, nonchalantly.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said.

“I don’t.”

What could you do? I offered him up my box. Lid set open like a cigarette commercial, and a slight Sale of the Century flourish.

“Thanks,” he said. He sat down next to me. I lit his cigarette for him.

“So, what’s with the smoking?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“Really? You don’t know? It’s not something people do unconsciously, now a days.”

He lay his head on my shoulder and went all floppy pretending to be unconscious. I’m not ashamed to say I liked it. His head on my shoulder. I could smell his hair. I could smell him. I could also feel his size, um, weight on me, I liked that too, feeling him press against me. 

He sat up. He shrugged again. “My visa is up, I have to go home.”

“Don’t you want to go home?”

“No.” He looked at me. “Oh, yeah, sure, I want to go home, but not just yet.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you want to see her?” I was thinking the correct answer to that was no. Ha ha.

“No,” he said. He laughed. “Yes.” He looked at me. “She didn’t want me to come to Australia and leave her behind, so I don’t know if she is my girlfriend, or not, any more.”

“Haven’t you been speaking to her while you’ve been away?”

He grimaced.

“No?’ I asked.

He grimaced again. That handsome face, looking unsure, it was sexy.

“Why?” I asked.

“She was pissed off. Every time I spoke to her she was…”

“Angry?” I offered.

“Well, not angry exactly, but not happy either.”

“Oh,” I said.

“She wanted to get married.”

“Married?”

“Well, we’d finished uni and got jobs, and as far as she was concerned that was the next step.”

“And you didn’t want to get married?”

“Well, um, no. I didn’t want to get married, I wanted to go and see the world.”

“And she didn’t?”

“She wanted, wants, to buy a house and have kids, she says we can see the world when we retire with plenty of money to enjoy it.”

“How long before you retire?”

“Exactly,” Darren said. He flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter. “She doesn’t understand…”

“You,” I offered.

“No,” he said. “She doesn’t.”

The straight boy lament, I thought, just before you go down on them.

“I like it here,” he said. “I want to stay.”


“Anyway, I’m being sent into the CBD office to work the rest of my contract,” he said.

“When are you doing that?”

“From next week,” he said.

“So, I won’t see you after this week?”

“No,” he said.

“Oh.”

“You better give me another one of your cigarettes,” he said. “And we can enjoy the time we have left.”

“Sure,” I said. I had another cigarette too.

The sun shone.


I didn't see him after that. Only at his farewell. We all went to the local pub and drank until it got dark. We all got drunk and hugged at the end of the night. 

I hadn’t seen Darren pissed before. He hugged me goodbye, kind of tight rather more tenderly than was really warranted. I remember, because he felt all lither and muscular. I could feel he was somewhat ripped, perhaps not abs, maybe, but a nice shaped chest, which he wasn't shy about rubbing against mine. We were out in the street after the night had finished, first out. It was just me and him at midnight in the dark, both pretty hopped up on alcohol.

"This is it, I guess," he said. Shy. Blushing. 

“I guess.”

He held his hands out, but made eye contact again, for a brief moment. "It was really great getting to know you." Hold the gaze. Hesitate. How are we going to touch each other? Go in like mates. As our heads came side to side, he turned his head, and I could feel his hot, luscious breath on my cheek, momentarily. His chest rested against my chest. He pushed in slowly as though we were going to rub crotches together. It was suddenly a game of chicken, close, close, hips twist, hips twist, hips twist. Three of the other guy’s trip drunkly out the door, suddenly, with a crash. We turn side on at the last minute and hug like mates. 

"I'll miss you," he slurred.

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Our toilet breaks,” he whispered drunkenly.

He spoke close to my ear and I don't think he meant to be quite that intimate and as soon as he realised what he'd done, he broke away. Stepping back. 

“What?” I said. What?

“Cigarette breaks,” he said. “I’ll miss our cigarette breaks.

“They won’t be the same,” I said.

He smiled and laughed self-consciously, kind of at the same time. He pulled away again. "See you." His adorable Irish accent. 

“See you,” I said.

He looked towards the other guys, who were right next to us by then, blind to what was going on. The three of them made blokey greeting each other noises. You know, grunt, grunt, grunt.

We held each other’s gaze unbeknownst to the others. I got tingles, wondering if I’d been just too shy to…


Sunday 25 October 2015

Bunny Saves The Day



Bunny stood by the open door and looked out through the wire screen. She inhaled sharply and exhaled long and deliberately. "I don't like the look of that. I don't like the look of that at all."

"Relax, will ya," said her husband. He sat incapacitated on the couch, with the remote in his hand, as he now did most days. "Don't go gettin ya self worked up."

"It looks as though it is up on Fergusson's Ridge." Bunny turned to look at her husband, "like in 84."

"Bunny, Neil said he'd be here, so he'll be here."

"No dad, I've leaned a thing or two in my 80 years, and I am telling you, it is time to leave.”

"Oh Bunny... no! Neil will be here."

Bunny looked through the venetian blinds, they made a clacking sound when she let them go. "I'm sorry Carl, but I think I am right... on this occasion." She looked back at Carl waiting for his next dismissal. Carl stared back mute. Some of the life had gone out of him now a days, since...

"I'll get my purse," said Bunny. She headed into the kitchen and picked up her large brown purse from the speckled laminex kitchen bench. She reached behind the back door and got the bunch of keys from the hook on the yellow wall.

"I'm getting the car out..."

"Oh Bun..."

"Your sticks are by your chair..."

"Neil said, Bun..."

"Neil said, Carl? What did Neil say?"

"He said he'd be here..."

"So where is he Carl? Where is Neil?"

"I don't know Bun."

"So, the fire is coming over Fergusson's Ridge and you're telling me that Neil will be here at some stage..."

"Bunny, we'd be better to stay put so they can come and get us. They know where we are..."

"Carl, I'm getting the car out," said Bunny. Her patience was running thin. "Make your way out the front, I'll help you into the car."

Carl's eye filled with tears. "Bunny, I am too old for this."

Bunny walked over to Carl's chair. "Come on hon." She picked up his sticks. "Here." Carl struggled to sit up on the front edge of the chair. "We'll be right, dad. We'll be okay." She held out her hand. He pushed it away. "I can still get out of a chair."

"Sixty years, luv and we've done just fine," said Bunny. She lent Carl's sticks against the arm of his chair where he could reach them easily. "We're a good team, hon, we're a good team. And it doesn't end here."

Carl sat on the edge of the seat. He looked up with loving eyes. "Go on, get the car.” He tried to smile, but wouldn’t let himself. “What are ya still standing here for?"

Bunny let the screen door bang behind her. She stopped on the veranda and looked up at the orange sky and wondered if they had left it too late to leave. She took her phone from her purse and pushed Neil's number. There was no answer. She slid the phone back into her purse. The air was dry, she could taste the smoke on her lips. She took the handrail in her right hand and alighted the stairs. The gravel path crunched under her foot as she stepped on the ground.

She pulled one Brunswick Green garage door open, securing it on the wire hook on the fence post. She opened the second garage door and secured it on the other fence post hook. She turned and briefly looked in the direction of the fire. She pushed the curls out of her eyes.

She squeezed along the side of the car to the driver's door. Carl's Customline never really fitted into the old garage. She ran her fingertips along the pink and black and white paintwork as she reached for the driver's door handle. She never really liked the colour scheme of the car when it was new and it hadn't really grown on her in the fifty years of ownership, but Carl was much more of a look-at-me type than her. She missed her Super Snipe, but since Carl's illness they had had little need for 2 cars and since Carl couldn't bare to part with his beloved 59 Customline, her Super Snipe had gone to grandson Felix. Even though she had admitted it to nobody, Bunny had been quite touched when Felix had turned 18 and he'd said that the only car he'd ever wanted was Bunny's Humber. Felix was an artistic boy who liked nice things, so it was no surprise to his parents that he wanted his grandmother's car. Felix and his best pal Blake had taken a year off before they went to uni to study design and they'd taken the car for a trip around Australia.

"I don't think your car is the best choice to go four wheel driving in the outback," said Carl at the time.

"Hon, I doubt that Felix, or Blake, will be leaving the bitumen."

Carl laughed. "I suspect you are right," he said.

Bunny reached for the door handle, she pushed the button and the door opened with an audible clunk. She slipped in behind the steering wheel. She proceeded to slide the key into the ignition, but the keys fell from her hand onto the floor, with a rattle. She struggled to reach them under her feet where they landed, touching them with her finger tips but not quite being able to grab them. She stretched but no. She stretched again with a heave and a sigh and she hooked the ring with her pointer finger. She pushed the key into the ignition. She pulled on the choke. She turned the key, pumped the accelerator a few times and pushed the starter button. The big car woke lazily from its slumber. Er, er, er, er, er, er. The body rocked gently. Bunny pumped the accelerator again.

"Come on," she whispered.

She pushed the starter again. Er, er, er, er, er. The big V8 coughed. Bunny pumped her right foot. Er, er, er, er, er. The car coughed again and the engine came to life. Brup, brup, brup, brup, brup, brup, brup.

She pulled down on the gear leaver and the car rocked into gear. She adjusted the rear vision mirror, she looked back at the dashboard as she grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. She took a big breath. She pushed gently on the accelerator, the engine brup brup brup bruped quicker as it began to slide backwards out of the garage. The light slid through the car as it emerged into the sun. Bunny sat upright behind the wheel, looking up into the centre rear vision mirror. The sun shone down through the windscreen and then over the bonnet and off the front of the car. Bunny pulled down on the left side of the steering wheel and the large nose of the big car began to slide to the right. She pulled down hard on the wheel and the car turned sharply to face the house. She pushed up on the gear stick and the car rocked forward into gear. Bunny pulled down on the right side of the steering wheel, as she pushed down on the accelerator. The car moved forward and the large nose slid around to the right and up the driveway to the house.

Carl was on the front veranda, balancing on his sticks, one in each hand.

Bunny got out of the car.

"That's not looking good," said Carl. "It looks like it is on the main road."

Bunny opened the passenger side door. The big car rocked as it idled. She stopped momentarily and looked in the direction of the fire. "No, luv." She pushed the curls from her sweaty forehead.

She moved quickly up the stairs to her husband. "Come on luv, it is definitely time to go."

"Hang on, let me get my balance." She took him by the arm and guided him down the stairs. He shuffled to the open door on the passenger side of the car.

"Give me your sticks."

"Hang on a minute."

"Turn around backwards and give me your sticks."

"Just a minute, woman, I need to get my balance."

"I'll guide you..."

"I don't need your help..."

Bunny laughed. Carl stopped and stared at her. "Carl Robertson, you needed my help when we got married to tie your bow tie..."

"I don't think..."

"You needed my help every day when we ran this farm together."

"We made a great team, Bun..."

"And you sure as hell need my help now..."

Carl exhaled loudly.

"So stop resisting, turn the hell around, give me you damn sticks and park your arse on the seat of that car you have loved for years."

"Okay, okay, keep you..."

"And she and I will get us the hell out of here."

Carl popped backwards onto the leather seat. “She’s a she?” Bunny lifted his feet...

"I can do it, I can do it."

And she pushed his legs into the car with one great shove.

"Steady on, steady..."

“Put your seatbelt on.”

She pushed the car door shut with a thump. She could still see Carl's lips moving, but she could no longer hear him.

She opened the back door. "A man just needs to catch his breath..." She flung her husbands two sticks onto the back seat. "Watch the seats, watch..." The back door closed with the same reassuring thud as the front door.

Bunny hustled herself around the back of the car, hanging onto each of the rear mudguard fins to balance herself, grasping her throat with her other hand. She opened the driver's side door and climbed in.

"Are those sticks okay on the back seat?" asked Carl.

"Yes, hon, perfectly alright."

He held her gaze and she held his. She fished a tissue out of her sleeve and wiped her nose. She pushed the tissue back up her sleeve. She pushed the curls off her forehead. She could feel her heart beating. She could feel herself breathing.

"You okay luv?" she asked her husband of 61 years.

"Yes." He sounded a little breathless. "As well as can be expected."

Bunny reached over and touched Carl's face. The two of them were still momentarily. The big V8 grumbled as it idled.

"Best we get going."

"Best we do," said Carl. He waved his hand in front of himeslf with a flourish.

Bunny reached for her seat belt, she pulled it across her chest and clicked it into its buckle. She pulled down on the gear stick. The car rocked gently into gear. She pushed down on the accelerator, the rear wheels spun briefly on the gravel driveway and the big car moved forward.

Bunny pushed harder on the accelerator and the car picked up speed, as they glided down the driveway to the front gate.

They stopped at the main road. They looked right towards town, but the road was clouded in smoke.

"Best we head left to Milsons," said Carl.

"Yes, looks like it."

She spun the wheel to the left and they headed south towards their neighbours.

"You better give it some boot, Bun, I think we need to put some distance in," said Carl.

Bunny accelerated hard, the V8 engine made a thrup, thrup, thrup sound and the big Ford picked up speed.

The sky in front was blue, the sun sparkled.

Carl hit the button on the CD player and Verdi began to play.

"Really?" asked Bunny.

"It relaxes me."



Then there was a car heading towards them. A big silver sedan.

"Is that Neil coming to get us?" asked Carl.

Bunny guided the Customline into the gravel, without slowing the speed, the car rocked noticeably, the steering wheel jumped a bit in her hands, stones were hitting the bottom of the car. She tooted the horn, Carl's car always had a horn like a foghorn in the fog. She waved with her fingers at Neil as he passed them heading in the other direction. She got a glimpse of her son long enough to see him making a big O mouth. She guided the car back onto the bitumen, as the right hand back wheel caught the car fishtailed just a little. Bunny’s wrestled the wheel with skill. “Oh, oh!” She watched Neil's Mercedes do a U-turn behind them.

"Oh good," said Bunny. "Now I can relax."

“Giddy up, old girl,” said Carl.

Bunny pushed her foot down on the accelerator and the big Ford rocketed down the road.

She looked in the rear vision mirror to see the black smoke filled sky falling away.

Neil was still behind, even if he wasn’t, exactly, keeping up.


Tuesday 29 September 2015

Fire Away



Oh, no, I think, I can’t even get up and walk away.

I laugh to myself, kind of nervously. You know, if that is your first thought when somebody approaches you at work, it is probably time to get a new job.

It is what I think when Pony-Tail HR Chick approaches me with "that" smile on her face. "That" smile that told me that she wants something. (Oh yes, as HR chicks do, pass it on, just keep passing your work on.)

I reach for my mouse and click on Seek. The mouse, the modern day equivalent of the ruby slipper. Click your mouse and say three times. "Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here."

Poof! Whoosh up into the sky. Whirling around and around and around until I land somewhere new and exciting, where that is nobody knows. Come on, thrill me...

I open one eye. Nothing. Pony-Tail HR chick is still barrelling towards me, Doh! "That" look still on her face.

I look up and smile. Oh, yes? What? 

"Hi. How are you?" I say. Smile. The smile isn't even forced, says the spider to the fly. I have been doing this long enough to know how to fake a sincere smile, as I mentally plot someone's death.

She shrugs and scrunches her nose, clearly, she thinks she is Tabatha Stevens, only half a life time of years, and far too many days in the sun, to pull that one off. 

“Can I ask a favour?” she says.

Oh, here we go, the dreaded favour. “Sure.”

“I have this small problem.”

You want me to do your work for you, but you are not sure how to get me to do it. “Fire away.” I wouldn’t classify your problems as small.

I love that expression. I mentally picture 6 men standing behind her with shot guns, each blindfolded. They all fire at once.  I can see the bullets spinning through the air. Her head explodes like a watermelon hit very hard, red pulp covers everything, splat, splat, splat, splat, splat, splat, splat, splat, as the bullets destroy the back of the head, simultaneously. She falls to the ground like a bag of shit.

“I have a contract that I just need to…”

Just as I thought, do your own work. I stop listening. Blah, blah, blah blah is all I can hear, set to Shine On You Crazy Diamond. I really should listen, I guess. But, I am astral travelling high above our heads. There is purple and red and blue shooting through the crisp air brightly and shiny, like streamers flung of electric magical colour. It is brilliant. It is gorgeous. Everything is beautiful I’m inside one million neon signs...

“So, what do you think?... Josh?”

Come on you target for faraway laughter... The beautiful light suddenly fades. The music stops. Gone. “Oh, um, er, I don’t know.” I stare her in the eye and dare her to question my response.

She folds like a failed bluff in poker. “Oh... um... rightio then... I’ll investigate... um... a little further then... shall, I?”

“Okay,” I say.

There is a moment where we both just gaze at each other. She is not quite sure of the answer I have given her. But, I am sending thought blockers through my death stare straight into the cavity where her brain ought to be. She is wondering if she should question me further, but she is not really sure what question she should ask. My mental mind fuck is working its magic on her, she is putty in my hands. Oh! Yuk! She is white gloop on my fingers, I shake her off, she rematerialises in front of me.

Her lip curls.

She is a deer caught in headlights, such is my mind control. I am staring at her unblinking. I am beginning to imagine ants eating out her eyeballs. She spontaneously rubs her face. She rubs again, she is not really sure why she is touching her eyes. It is as if she has hey fever, but worse.

“Okay,” she says. She shrugs and scrunches up her nose again. It still has no effect on me, that cutesy nose move, nice try Tabatha. The crow’s feet appear at the corners of her smiling eyes, momentarily. Crease, crease. He skin reminds me of brown paper. She makes big eyes. I imagine what she'd look like with myxomatosis. She opens her mouth and her tongue makes a kind of clack noise, which I am not at all sure she means to make. She backs away.

I spin around back to my screen. I can feel her presence less and less behind me. I am a star ship commander, the two screens in front of me morph into the universe. I say, "Engage." The milky way around me melts into liquid light as we hit warp speed and I am suddenly a thousand light years away from the mundane problems of the day.


Friday 25 September 2015

What Does this Bitch Want?



What does this bitch want?

You know, if that is your first thought when somebody approaches you at work, it is probably time to get a new job.

It was what I thought when the fat HR chick approached me with "that" smile on her face. "That" smile that told me that she wanted something. (Oh yes, as HR chicks do, pass it on, just keep passing it on)

I reached for my mouse and clicked on Seek. The mouse, the modern day equivalent of the ruby slipper. Click your mouse and say three times. "Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here."

Poof! Whooshed up into the sky. Whirling around and around and around until I land somewhere new and exciting, where that is nobody knows.

I opened one eye. Nothing. Fatty HR Person was still barrelling towards me. Doh!

I looked up and smiled. Yes, bitch? "Hi. How are you?" Smile. The smile wasn't even forced. Said the spider to the fly. I have been doing this long enough to know how to smile sincerely as I plot someone's death


Figuratively speaking, of course. I don’t really want to kill her. Well, you get caught, don’t you. Life in prison. I hear prison isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, being Maddog's bitch for the rest of my life? No. Not worth it, I think, as Fat Carla approaches me.

“You got a minute.” Those dreaded four words from an HR professional, enough to make the most hardened amongst us quiver.

Depends whose asking, apparently, isn’t the answer. You can get sent to HR for that. Ha ha. “Yeah, sure.”

“I need those figures…” I put the gun up to my shoulder, looked through the eye piece, lined it up with her left eye and squeezed the trigger. And her head exploded all over the white wall behind her…

“Today, if possible,” she said.

“Ah… sure.” What the hell 'figures' is she talking about? I thought.

“Are they ready now?”

“Ah? Just remind me.”

“Remind you?”

“Yes, if you can.”

“The remuneration budget.”

“The remuneration budget?”

“Oh, Jesus, so they are nowhere near ready, are they?”

“You asked me for these when?”

“In our meeting?”

“Our meeting?”

“Oh, you have to be kidding,” said Carla. “Why is it always like this with you?”

“Um, we never had a meeting.”

“Phone meeting.” Carla rolled her eyes.

“We never had a meeting, phone, or otherwise?”

“Jacob, I am really disappointed with…”

“I’m not Jacob.”

“What?”

“I’m not Jacob.” If I told you I was suddenly loving this, you had better believe me.

Carla pulled her head back at the neck, tucking her chin in, and widening her eyes, wider than I thought possible, you know, pulling her mouth into such a position of someone who had just crapped their pants. I could see her feeling it running down the backs of her thighs for the first time.

I didn’t say anything. I was just enjoying the criminally uptight and the perennially incompetent being caught being criminally uptight and the perennially incompetent.

I could feel my eyes narrow in anticipation of her response.

“You’re… not…”

“No.” That was possibly the most satisfying 'no' I have ever uttered.

“Jacob?” 

Watching her squirm came in a close second in the delightful stakes to the previous 'no'.

Here was a, senior, HR professional who didn’t know who the staff were. And I was pretty sure knowing who the staff were was really a minimum requirement of senior HR professionals. They were all ‘professionals’ now, not directors, not managers, all professionals, they thought that made them more accessible to the staff, whatever that means.

I felt my head shake. “No.”

I would have thought knowing who the staff were would make them more accessible than any title they care to use. But what would I know… Carla. I was smiling, I could feel it in my face.

Was she going to ask me if I was sure I wasn’t Jacob. Oh, please, ask me that, I thought, behind my smile.


Tuesday 8 September 2015

Try To Be A Good Person




I tried to be a good person, I really did. But, the world is too awful a place. There are too many horrible people in charge. There are too many terrible people making decisions. 

What’s good for society? What is good for them? Right and left hand up and down? Up and down? 

"I might just go with what is good for me? You know, this once?"

This once of one hundred times? Easily justified, in the selfish mind.

It is hard, you know, when you see the Prime Minister of this country spew lies every time he opens his mouth and makes an utterance. He has made it okay to lie. He has shown us that you can base your entire career on a pack of lies.

"I don't need to tell the truth, when the guy with the top job doesn't"

Australia is now such a cruel and hard hearted nation. "Tow the boats back, tow that wretched scum back to the hell they deserve." We're alright Jack, we live in privilege and we intend for it to stay that way. Build a wall? Get bigger boats to drive them away?

Don't you dare come and crap on our good fortune.

Who do you think you are?

We don't care about you, Jack. We're okay.

That is what we are saying to the rest of the world.


“That is how the rest of the world sees us.”

“The rest of the world?"

“Yes.”

“I don’t think poor countries see us that way.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I think poor countries would be looking elsewhere to flee to…”

“Are you saying you agree with ‘fortress Australia’?

“No, I am just saying that people in need who are looking for a better life, would be looking at somewhere that is easier to get into....”

“That sounds like agreement.”

“I’m not talking about the moral stand, I am talking about simple facts. People will attempt to flee to countries where there is a chance of them succeeding.”

“You understand it is a political tool?”

“What?”

"Conservative politician’s use, what is essentially racism, to win votes.”

“A deliberate strategy?”

“Yes.”

“To win votes?”

“Yes. Use the weakest and the powerless to look tough and protective and the punters vote for you.”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with a country’s right to choose who and when people come to that country.”

“No, not at all. It is about winning votes.”

“There is no ideological basis for the policy.”

“There is, win votes by any means you can.”

“So, you are saying the conservative side of government stands for nothing?”

“Other than wining votes and gaining power, yes, it stands for nothing.”

“It’s not about serving the people of this country.”

“No, it’s about gaining power at all costs and then servicing it’s political donors who will in turn make them part off the rich and powerful elite.”

“That seems pretty shallow.”

“What can I say?”


“Well, I don’t think you can say conservative politicians stand for nothing.”

“No, you are right,” I say. “I can’t say they stand for nothing, because they stand for less than nothing…”

“Oh, come on? I’m not a conservative voter, but…”

“They are all about cutting regulations for their powerful mates. They set out to destroy the unions and collective bargaining to suppress wages for the workers. They froze universal healthcare rebates to doctors. They cut taxes ostensibly for the rich which ties into their bigger plan of no longer being able to fund services for the poor.”

“Seriously.”

“IPA (conservative free-market think tank) wish list.”

“I see.”

“They are dismantling the progressive tax system with their next round of tax cuts. They are suppressing the dole and refusing to lift welfare recipients out of poverty. All policies designed to pander to the rich and disadvantage the poor, bringing about greater inequality the likes of which we have never seen before, in this country.”

“So, they are the big boogey man, you say?”

“They are worse than that, they are denying climate change, pushing fossil fuel. The Prime Minster is suggesting using the clean energy fund to explore new gas options. They are pushing nuclear power generation simply as a point of difference to denigrate renewables. They are proposing that solar and wind turbines production is bad or the environment.”

“The science isn’t…”

“When 98% of the scientists in the world agree, the science is set.”

“People would disagree.”

“And to my wider point, how can you expect the population to be good citizens when you have conservative politicians being duplicitous with what they are doing, only pushing the agenda of the very few. Tell me that?”

“If they don’t like it, they can exercise their right and vote the conservative party out of govt at the next election.”

“How does Joe Average be a good person when so many of his role models treat the weak and the vulnerable as not worth their time?”

“The weak and the vulnerable don’t build a strong economy.”

“Surely, the government’s only real job is to make society more equal for all of its citizens?”


Tuesday 25 August 2015

That Secret Place





No matter who we are, no matter where we live, no matter what we have, no matter what we do, no matter how we see ourselves, I think, at some point, we all have a desire to escape.

Leave it all behind. Make a clear break. To walk away. Get away from it all. Start afresh, in some other place. Be new. Be different Be somebody else.

Escape.

We all have that desire. One day, I will run away from it all. It gives me joy, the thought, a thrill, deep inside, even just fleetingly.

Some place new. Something new. Everything new. Some place where nobody knows me, where everything is reset and the promise of so many things is restored. You know, like when you were a kid and everything was wonderful and exciting, a discovery every day.

I think men want a cave and solitude. I think women want comfort and somebody to share it with.

I don't want a cave though, I want happiness and companionship. I want peace. I want sanctuary. I want simplicity here on earth.


“Escape, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Escape from?”

“All of this,” he says. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yep, I dream of it.”

“Oh,” he says. Followed by a sigh.

“Just get in my car and drive. Get on the highway and leave the city. Just let the road take you where it takes you. End up who knows where? Haven’t you ever dreamed of that?”

“Yes.”

“No destination, just the wide open road.”

“Yes.”

“Nobody to answer to, nowhere to be.”

“Sure, but we can’t all do that?”

“Why not?”

“Society would cease to function.”

“So, what, let is stop. We’re only making billionaires wealthier, at this point.”


“But what about Julie and the kids?”

“Yes, from them too.”

“Really?”

“Oh, especially them. Let all responsibility go. That would be the aim.”

“But, you’d miss them…”

“Yeah, sure, sure I would, but that wouldn’t be a reason not to.


“Have you ever had an affair?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you have an affair.”

“I want to escape the complications of life, an affair…”

“Too complicated?”

“Oh, yes, who can do that?”

“Who can do that? Half the married men in the world.”

“Yeah, I have never really understood how?”

“Really?”

“Yes. I know what Julie does each day, as she does me. How would I ever get away with it? How would I fit it in?”

“Good organisational skills?”

“No, seriously? I think people who have a affairs, their partners must just not care, and the shit only hits the fan when other people catch wind of it. I don’t see how else they do it?”


“Get yourself a man cave?”

“Oh, if you are going to do it, I think you need to do it properly?”

“Make a clean break?”

“Clear out without an explanation is exciting. Brave. Creating a safe space in which to escape, is shutting down. That is weak.”

“So, disappear?”

“Break out, go forth into the world.”

“Run away?”

“Call it whatever you want.”

“Whatever you want?”

“An investment in your mental health. Discovering the rest of your life? Breathing out.”


Sunday 16 August 2015

The Fisherman's Son



Jamie was only a fisherman's son, and he lay on the slab and said fillet.

On top of the marble slab, just like that. He climbed up not worrying about the fish guts and entrails remaining from the previous cleaning. Fish heads mouths open as if gasping for their last breath fell to the floor, intestines stuck to Jamie’s thighs and knees, scales stuck silvery to the skin on his stomach and chest. Blood smeared on his elbows.

The fishermen stood around in their black leather aprons staring at the lad prostate in front of them. His sculptured chest, his perfect stomach muscles, his muscular legs, an arse they all wanted. That's what Jamie knew.

The fisherman's son was wide-eyed, like an animal caught in spotlights, except there were no spotlights. He chewed furiously as he looked from one to the next of the tough fishermen staring at him.

The effeminate son of the head fisherman had long since dreamt of having his water proof pants torn from his limbs and his underwear ripped to his ankles, before being pushed over the bow of the boat by a line of pent up, many days from home, sex-crazed fishermen waiting to have their turn inside him.

He'd hung around in the communal showers on many a night and he knew that Chook and Sargent and Jackoff all looked with interested eyes. He knew Sargent had a horse cock, not so pretty but thick. And Percy had wanked for Jamie one late stormy night but he wouldn't let Jamie touch it when he reached for it, as the cum hung from Percy's knob in strings.

If they thought Jamie would be intimidated, if they thought he'd freak out, if they thought he'd scream out in fear, they were wrong. He wasn't hurting, or terrified, or terrorised, he loved the idea of it, he revelled in the attention. He knew he would love it, he begged for it.

"Do it to me." His voice was gravelly. Like you'd wanted to do it to each other's daughters ever since you saw them in their bikinis on the beach that first summer after they hit puberty. "I'm as tight as a twelve year old." His internal monologue tried not to laugh. He rested his forehead down on the cold marble, he raised his arse in the air, wiggling it around slowly, in his white briefs poking out from the arseless leather apron he was wearing. He breathed in what these men breathed in every night at midnight when they ate their wives pussies. "I can take you all." Harder than any girl will let you take them. "I can take anything you can dish out." All of you, one after the other. "I don't care about respect, whatever you want, I'm willing.” Two at once if any of you think you can do it. "Make me stretch…”

He could hear the gathered crowd's breathing. He could sense their attention and it was all directed at him. Their sexual angst was palpable, they'd been at sea for months. All energy beams were now drilling into his skin, peeling the hair from the crack in his arse, he could feel it.

Face down, he squirmed on the cold marble, rolling around on his hardening cock. He could feel the cool sea air blowing against the crack in his arse, or was that the gathered men's intent? He knew which he suspected it to be, wanted it to be. His pink hole puckered, not that the assembled gang-bang could see that, not yet.

Suddenly, a huge hand jammed itself between his legs from the back, wrapping around his nuts first and then sliding underneath him and grabbing his boner brutally hard, which only made him stiffen up to the hardness of steal.

"This little bitch is sure ready for it," said Sargent's gruff voice. His hand squeezed Jamie so hard that in any other situation it would have hurt and Jamie would have yelped in pain no doubt, but he was so turned on he started to imagine nothing these fishermen could do, short of producing a knife and cutting him open, was going to hurt him. He was ready to be brutally raped by a gang of disgusted fishermen, and he was wondering why these guys were taking so long. He thought, if he isn't punched in the face, he doubted very much he was going to be able to cum.

“He’s always wanted it,” said Percy.

Jamie could feel the men close in around him.

He imagine having his arms twisted up behind his back, maybe his shoulder dislocating and being chocked with huge brutal hands around his neck strangling off the air flow to his brain, before his cast iron cock could spray a agonisingly painful load of jizz out of him in hard, torturous busts. He ground his hard cock into the cold marble at the very thought.

Sargent’s thick, sausage fingers breached the leg elastic of Jamie’s briefs and what felt like the tip of his middle finger slid into Jamie’s arse crack and then pierced Jamie’s puckering hole with more force than Jamie was expecting, which took his breath away momentarily, but at the same time it made precum shoot from Jamie’s cock, he could feel it wet against his stomach.

“Jesus!” It was Mad Dog’s voice.

Mad Dog was the latest fisherman recruit. A bikey who’d mysteriously said he needed to get off the road for a time, when he was asked why he joined the crew. Mad Dog, who, in his first week, had screamed “whippet”, when he’d seen Jamie walking the corridor from the shower to his bunk, pulling the towel from Jamie’s hips leaving him naked. Jamie thought he was going to get flicked with the white towelling, instead Mad Dog picked Jamie up raising him high into the air above his head, one hand on Jamie’s chest, one hand grabbing him in the crotch by the dick, as Mad Dog ran up onto the deck, to the edge of the boat and motioning to throw Jamie full force overhead into the water. Stopping as he seemingly went to throw Jamie, stopping mid throw with a jolt and dropping Jamie full force onto the deck like the proverbial bag of shit, where he lay cowering, fully naked, on the wooden deck planks. Mad Dog laughed maniacally, screaming, “You should have just seen your fucking face! Fucken priceless. You thought you were going to die.”

Jamie was really turned on. He bared up. He tried to hide it by crossing his legs.

Mad Dog grabbed Jamie by the forearm, and pulled him to his feet. He slapped Jamie’s hard on with his open hand. “You’ve got a horn, you dirty little perve.” The crew had gathered around, one of them threw Jamie his towel, which he wrapped around himself before he hurried away.

Jamie was still jerking nightly about that incident.

“Make him wet.” That was Chook.

Another hand came down the back of his briefs, the thick finger of which was saliva drenched joined Sergeants still buried inside Jamie hole making them both equally as wet and able to plumb great depths of Jamie’s anus.

“I want to fucken see.” It was Mad Dog’s voice again, this time catching on the sexual desire welling up in his throat.

The next thing Jamie could hear was the tearing sound of his briefs as they were ripped off his arse.

Then he heard spitting, only some of which he could feel landing on his skin.

“Whose first?” asked Percy.

Monday 27 July 2015

BusinessForce




"I don't want to go back to the call centre," said Kevin.

"Nobody wants to go back to the call centre," said Justin. "You should have studied harder in school, Kev. You should have studied harder."

"Fuck off," said Kevin. "You know... you know... I..."

Justin slapped Kevin on the back. "Oh, come on, let's not go back over that," said Justin. "He touched you, we all know he touched you." Justin punched Kevin on the arm. "Come on, come on Chook should be home now, we can get some gunga."

"I sooooo don't want to go back to the call centre."

"Come with me and soon you won't even be thinking about it."

"Call centre hell!"

"Ah, call centre hell," said Justin. "Back to Camp Guantanamo."

Kevin made a noose and rope motion above his head. "I'm not going, you can't make me. I'd rather..."

"Kev, I'm not going to make you do anything," said Justin. He put his arm around Kevin's shoulders and he gave his buddy a squeeze, which felt oddly nice, reassuring. "No one is sending you back to hell, mate."

Kevin could feel himself physically relax with his buddy’s touch. Kevin put his arm around Justin, as if for support as they walked down Droop Street.


Chook's door was once painted red, but at some stage someone had tried to paint it black, but had done a lousy job, the red bled through like it might under a scab, Kevin always thought. The creeper on the front of the house was so over grown that the window was beginning to be lost in amongst the foliage. The womb, Kevin thought, he’d smile to himself when he thought that it needed a Brazilian.

Justin knocked on the door. Nothing. Justin knocked again.

"He's not home," said Kevin.

"Chook's home, Chook is always home." Justin knocked again. He knocked again. Then he pounded on the door.

"Police!" yelled Kevin.

Justin reeled around looking alarmed at Kevin. "What are you doing?" Justin raised his hands in the air. "What the fuck?"

"I thought it would get him to open the door quicker."

"You are not a bright fucker, are ya?" said Justin. "You want Chook going over the back fucken fence." 

The door cracked open. "Who is it?" a croaky voice asked.

"Justin."

The door was suddenly flung open. "Jesus, fuck me it's bright.” Standing in front of Kevin and Justin was a tall, lean, pale-skinned streak of a male with his hair standing on end, his eyes half closed, shirtless naked, semi-muscular torso, with dirty crimson track pants, sitting diagonally low on his hips to expose his pubes and the very top of his dick shaft. He put one hand to his face, as the other hand tugged his pants up at the front. The track pants had the left leg torn off below the calf. 

Kevin could only assume that this was Chook.

"Did some cunt say police?"

"Just my boy Kev," said Justin. "He thought it was funny..."

"Fucken retarded," said Chook.

Kevin started to say something, but Justin covered his mouth with his hand. "They are the first words this retarded mute has said since his mother and father were torn to pieces by dogs in front of his very eyes..."

Kevin looked at Justin with wide questioning eyes, still with his hand firmly over his mouth. Justin met his gaze, his eyes widening as if a command.

"Did he get that on his iPhoned," said Chook. "I'd sure fucken love to have seen that."

"Na mate."

Kevin licked Justin's fingers with his tongue. Justin squeezed Kevin's face hard enough to cause Kevin pain and to stop him licking his hand. Kevin stopped licking with a short whimper and a shiver.

Someone had been drawing on Chook's face with red biro, outlining his mouth and his eyes, adding a Hitler tash below his nose. Kevin assumed Chook hadn’t done it himself. Kevin tentatively bought his hand up to his face as though he was trying out drawing on his own face.

"You'd better get the fuck in here before the boy's in blue turn up," said Chook. "I can't afford any more pay offs this week. Um, er, I'm already carrying stock depletion because of the last one."

The hallway was dark when Chook closed the door behind them. There was some light seeping in from the tears in the curtains covering the glass next to the front door, but beyond where they were standing, it was like looking into a cave. There seemed to be multiple layers of carpet covering the floor, just waiting to trip someone up.

"Go on, go through, or do you want a fucking tour?" said Chook. "You've got in here often enough to know the fucken way to fucken go." 

Chook laughed a throaty laugh, like a huge chunk of phlegm had just let go in the back of his throat. He coughed and coughed until he, clearly, hacked it up into his mouth, then he spoke through the liquid veil over his teeth, like his words were wet. 

"Even if you don't remember the way ou..." His vocabulary failed him and he resorted to grunting and pointing, seemingly angrily. Maybe not.

The house stunk of stale smoke and BO. The curtains were closed in the lounge room too, in fact, all of the curtains in the whole house seemed to be closed. There was a huge TV diagonally across one corner of the room, blaring Jerry Springer. There was a thick cloud of smoke hanging in the air. When Kevin looked passed the blue light of the screen, every square centimetre of the wall space was covered in shelves covered in knickknacks, vases, plates, figurines, jugs, statues, clocks, boxes, crystal... in a mind boggling display.

"A lot of shit, hey?" Justin's words broke into Kevin's observations.

"It's not shit," cried Chook. "They are my fucken treasures…"

“Opshop finds,” said Justin, dismissively.

“One day, one of them is going to make me fucken rich, you wait. I’m gunna unearth a Da Vinchy."

There was a brown couch in the middle of the room, a coffee table in front of it and an armchair next to the both of them. There was a bong on the table, a huge porcelain bowl with a huge mix in it. Every square centimetre of floor space was covered with tables, tea trolleys, chests, foot stools, ottomans, poofs, all sorts of small, occasional furniture, in varying sizes and shapes.

"Take a seat," Chook commanded from the door, talking over the TV, as he entered the room. "On the couch!" He pointed to the chair. "That's my fucken spot!" He stood in front of them, sliding one hand down his track pants and scratching himself and one hand picking at his unkempt hair as though he had nits. "Did you bring that money you owe?"

Kevin thought it looked like a maze, he hesitated and then stepped his way through carefully.

"Yeah," said Justin. He started to pull $100 notes out of his pocket.

"Keep it!" said Chook. "You're a good bloke..." He pushed Justin's hand full of cash back into Justin's chest.

"Customer," said Justin.

"Mate," said Chook. "Money drives me batshit crazy. It destroys people." He sat heavily in the chair. He picked up the remote and muted the TV, suddenly there was silence. "Some bitch has had a baby with her fucken brother, do you believe it?" He reached out for the bong. "Wanna a smoke?"

"Yes," said Kevin, perhaps too quickly.

Justin slapped Kevin. "Yes," he said too.

The bong was already packed, Chook moved it to his mouth. He flicked the lighter and held it to the cone. The water gurgled and hissed. Chook sucked the entire contents of the cone up in one draw, pulling a face of such pain Kevin was sure he was going to expire before his very eyes. Chook's mouth contorted in an ugly way. He seemed to have the circular breathing of a didgeridoo player, he seemed to be leaking smoke from every hole in his head as he finished sucking it in. A cloud of smoke wafted up into the stale air of the house above him. 

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Chook groaned and moaned all at the same time as he exhaled, deep, guttural from deep within him. Then he coughed.

"So," said Chook. There still seemed to be smoke seeping from all of his pores, if smoke had been leaking out of Chook's arse, Kevin wouldn't have been surprised. "What do I owe the pleasure..." Chook was stuffing mull into the bong cone. He handed the bong to Justin. Justin flick, flick, flicked the lighter and then drew in deeply on the bong.

"We just wanted a smoke," said Kevin. He decided to fill in the silence that was created by Justin's turn on the dirty glass vessel. Justin turned to Kevin looking somewhat alarmed with Kevin's honesty.

Justin tried to talk immediately. "Um... er... no... no..." Justin held out his hand to Kevin.

"What? Ah?" Kevin suddenly felt nervous.

Chook laughed out loud. "What? Fuck! No, no, no Justin, I like your boy's honesty." He laughed again and got up on his chair like a crab might sit in a chair. He took the bong from Justin, who lay back in his chair and blew his smoke towards the mud coloured ceiling.

"Thank the fucken Christ for someone fucken honest. Good for you buddy. Good for you. Bra-fucken-vo. I get sick of these piss-ant cunts coming around here sucking my fucken blood dry and trying to call it something else."

Chook handed the bong to Kevin. "You suck cock, Kevin?"

Kevin didn't know what to say to Chook's bluntly honest question.

"We didn't JUST come around for a smoke," said Justin. Kevin noticed Justin's eyes were big.

"Fuck my arse you didn't," said Chook. "I'm allowed to have soooocial calls anyway. It doesn't always have to be running the fucken empire, you know."

"I... I... I..." Kevin stumbled. He was making an attempt at answering Chook's question. He wanted to capitalise on his new found acceptance. "I might..."

"Relax, dick!" Justin slapped Kevin across the chest. "It isn't a proposition, it is a question."

Kevin’s answer was repeating in his head, as he put the bong to his lips and flicked the lighter. He relaxed the back of his throat and sucked on the mouthpiece. The hot smoke burned the back of his throat and he felt like he wanted to cough, but he concentrated all of his efforts on not coughing, relaxing his throat more and more and more until he'd sucked the whole cone into his lungs. His throat was burning and he desperately wanted to cough, but he didn't, he held out. He didn't quite know how he managed it, but he did. He was sure it had something to do with Chook's newly found admiration of him. He wanted Chook to like him.

"You're alright," said Chook. He winked at Kevin. The red biro outline around Chooks eye moved as he winked accentuating the gesture, leaving Kevin to wonder if Chook was really coming on to him.

“How’s business?” asked Justin.

“Sweet,” said Chook. “I’ve almost got me nothing to do, ever since I put the call centre to work.”

“The call centre?” asked Justin.

“Yeah, 1300 MRS HLP.” Justin looked confused. “I sell baby clothes.” Justin looked even more confused. He glanced over at Kevin momentarily and then he looked back at Chook. “Home fucken delivery,” said Chook.

“What?” asked Justin. “You sell what?” He sounded confused, but more than that he sounded disappointed, disappointed that Chook had gone legit. “Baby clothes?”

Chook had kept a deadpan face, but then his, what would have been a handsome face under the wild hair and the red colouring in, broke into a broad smile. “Yeah, fuck head, I sell baby clothes.” Chook roared with laughed. He looked at Kevin. “I sell fucken baby clothes, do you fucken believe it.” Kevin didn’t know what to believe.

“What?” said Justin.

“I’m getting into the baby care business.” Chook laughed some more. He picked up the repacked bong and flicked the lighter. He sucked hard on the glass mouthpiece. He coughed and smoked chugged out his mouth with each chug. “You crack me up, fucker.” He took the cone out of its slot and banged it into the ashtray.

“What the fuck?” said Justin.

“I sell baby clothes,” said Chook. He put the cone back into the bong. He picked up some mix from the mull bowl and put it into the cone. He handed it to Kevin.

“Don’t give me the shits,” said Justin. He was clearly getting sick of being made a fool of.

“I’m still in business. I’m putting my calls through BusinessForce, so my phone doesn’t ring off the hook.” Chook paused for effect, letting the fact sink in. “I had to get some legit cover, to get my phone answered for me. I can’t exactly have the punters calling up and asking for a quarter and 5 points, now can I.”

“Through BusinessForce?”

“Yep…”

“You sly fucker,” said Justin.

“Frank Positano, the owner, buys coke from me.” Chook shrugged.

The smoke burned the back of Kevin’s throat, as much as he didn’t want to cough in front of Chook he couldn’t help it.

“You don’t cough, you don’t get off,” said Chook sympathetically.

“You got other people taking your orders for you?”

“That’s right. And I’ve got a couple of illegals making the deliveries…”

“Illegals?” asked Justin.

“A couple of Viets who’ve over staid their welcome, shall was say.”

“Deliveries?” asked Kevin.

“We do home delivery,” said Chook. “You got a licence?”

“Sure,” said Kevin.

“Do you want a job?”

“Oh… um?” said Kevin.

“You got a car?” asked Chook.

“Yeah.”

Chook looked at Justin. “So I am now in the coordination business,” Do they call that analytics?" he said. “Arm’s length, man.”

“Arm’s length,” said Justin.

“Like we always said,” said Chook.

“Like we always said,” said Justin.

Like who always said to who, thought Kevin.

“I organise A to collect B from C and to deliver it to D in exchange for E,” said Chook. “A then delivers E to F and I transfer F to G. I then transfer H to A. At the end of every month I transfer J to C. And life is sweet.”

“Sweet,” said Justin.

“And the king sits in his counting house, counting his fucking money.”

“I told you all those years ago it would work,” said Justin, clearly in awe. And you did it.”

“Getting the punters to say the right thing on the phone to sweet little Kylie doing her part time job on her one of her two days off from uni is the weak link. That will need a contingency plan, but other than that…”

“Arm’s length.”

“As the Bishop said to the actress, as long as you don’t, actually, get caught with your hands in their knickers, everything else can be handled by a good lawyer,” said Chook. He and Justin laughed. “I had no idea officer that they were delivering gunger.” Chook pulled a clueless face and looked around the room like a halfwit. “He just came here to give me a massage, if you know what I fucken mean. Nudge, nudge, fucken wink!”

“Is it a crime to like them hairless,” said Justin.

Justin and Chook roared with laughter.

“They could be shaved,” said Justin. “Don’t get me wrong.”

Kevin suddenly had no idea what they were talking about.