Black Teeth

PRAISE FOR ZANE LOVITT AND
THE MIDNIGHT PROMISE

WINNER, NED KELLY AWARD FOR BEST FIRST FICTION, 2013

SYDNEY MORNING HERALD
BEST YOUNG AUSTRALIAN NOVELISTS, 2013

LONGLISTED, COMMONWEALTH BOOK PRIZE FOR BEST FIRST BOOK, 2013

‘Beautifully written, elegantly crafted tales that not only demonstrate a command of the short story as a form, but also dark humour and biting wit…There's poetry in the formal structure of its various moves, as well as a precise attention to the rhythm of the prose. There's also a striking rendition of people and place…
The Midnight Promise
is a superb debut and may just be the best Australian crime fiction of last year.' Sue Turnbull,
Sydney Morning Herald

‘What makes Dorn such a compelling narrator is that for all his decrepitude he has a reflective spirit and an insightful eye…An often brutal, yet brutally reflective, examination of the human condition.'
Australian

‘Crashes straight into Temple, Corris and Chandler territory… You can recommend
The Midnight Promise
by the back cover—Text has it nailed.'
Australian Bookseller & Publisher

‘Stylistically reminiscent of Quentin Tarantino's
Pulp Fiction
or
Kill Bill
…The writing is sharp, the scenarios are well conceived, suitably violent, stupid or pointless and very funny…
The Midnight Promise
is an exciting and original debut.'
The Hoopla

‘Flat-out one of the most enjoyable crime books out there. Australian noir with a nod to Raymond Carver…You'll put the book down wishing for more.'
Readings Monthly

‘Lovitt's on-the-brink-of-self-destruction antihero, acute talent for low-life scenarios and convincing desperado dialogue has him treading Temple turf. A writer on the rise.'
Qantas Magazine

‘If you like hard-edged fiction, then
The Midnight Promise
is for you…A fine book. Read it with the light on and the lock on the door.'
Weekly Times

‘A notable, confident first novel. Intelligent, never ponderous,
The Midnight Promise
wears the battered fedora of the crime genre with stylish ease and moves at a brisk pace.'
Australian Book Review

‘Whip-smart…Delivered in short, snappy chapters, each detailing a different case, and the ending is so good it will feel like a lesson in breakneck speed reading. An extraordinary debut.'
Mx

Zane Lovitt lives in Melbourne.
Black Teeth
is his second book.

textpublishing.com.au

The Text Publishing Company

Swann House

22 William Street

Melbourne Victoria 3000

Australia

Copyright © 2016 by Zane Lovitt

The moral right of Zane Lovitt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

First published in 2016 by The Text Publishing Company

Cover design by W. H. Chong

Page design by Jessica Horrocks

Typeset in Bembo 11.3/15 by J & M Typesetting

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

Creator: Lovitt, Zane, author.

Title: Black teeth / by Zane Lovitt.

ISBN: 9781925355147 (paperback)

9781922253736 (ebook)

Dewey Number: A823.4

For Tunko

1

The doorbell. It ground out a weak metallic chime but it was loud enough. A raw breeze cut against his neck, alien weeds slithered beneath his feet. They grew across the porch unchallenged, up from the cracks in the tiles but mostly from a small yard that hadn't felt the love for a decade, a cartoon of neglect. Beyond the iron paling ran a footpath hemmed with itchy-bomb trees; further beyond ran the afternoon traffic that didn't judge the now-woeful state of a once-resplendent two-storey terrace. He tugged his tie with a gloved hand, glanced again at the precariousness of his footing, flinched at a sound from within: a creak, maybe a footfall. The man straightened, on parade.

The door fell back just inches to reveal a tiny, dispassionate eye. An unseen mouth said nothing.

‘Hello. Mister Alamein? Rudy Alamein?'

No response. Just the eye.

‘Mister Alamein, I'm with Fortunate Insurance. My name is Anthony Halloway.'

Still nothing. It was not clear that the man inside had heard. The eye merely blinked. Beyond it was darkness.

‘I believe you contacted our office this morning for a quote on our Prime Life cover. I've brought you a copy of the policy and I'm here to answer any questions you may have.'

Anthony Halloway sucked his lips and raised his eyebrows: his politest method of demanding a response. The tiny eye blinked more, blinked faster. Then the door opened.

Rudy Alamein was perhaps the same age as Anthony Halloway, perhaps in his later twenties. He wore a woollen jumper too short in the sleeves and tracksuit pants too big at the waist, held them up with a fist on his hip and they were stained with something purple, maybe beetroot. A few tufts of red hair sprouted from a smooth, enormous cranium. The tiny eyes in there continued to blink against the daylight.

Anthony smiled with relief. ‘Good afternoon.'

‘I already spoke to…somebody called me.'

Rudy's voice was weak, like that of a much smaller man sitting inside his mouth.

‘Somebody called you today?'

‘Like…before.'

‘And if I may ask, what was the upshot of that conversation?'

‘Ummm…'

‘Did you purchase a policy with us?'

‘I said I'd think. Think about it.'

Anthony performed a pantomime face of disappointment and a short bow.

‘In that case, Mister Alamein, I seem to be wasting your time. Unless you have any further questions?'

The big head shook, but with a confusion, as if Rudy didn't quite know why it was shaking.

‘Well, thank you,' Anthony said. ‘And we hope to be hearing from you soon.' He turned to assess the return journey to the sidewalk. Whatever path had once existed could no longer be seen through the wooden tangle of foliage. He'd taken three long steps in retreat before he heard again that high voice, just barely above the urban ambience.

‘Ummm…'

He stopped, rotated awkwardly.

Rudy said, ‘Did you say…have you got it with you?'

Anthony raised his right hand. It held a briefcase. ‘Sure do. Would you like to read it over?'

‘Is it long?'

The honest answer was, ‘Yes.' He said: ‘It's our standard contract.'

Rudy snorted and murmured something, then beckoned with a flap of his hand. Anthony made the return strides to the porch, overcame his gracelessness with a brush of his lapels and smiled his way inside.

The door closed, engulfing them in black. He was about to holler in protest or even panic but the lights came on: only Rudy and a swarm of old furniture scattered mindlessly around a reception room, what had once been a formal dining room. The bay windows hid behind heavy brown curtains and the air was thick with dust you could taste. Rudy led the way along the hall, holding up his pants.

‘There's one thing that you need to be aware of,' Anthony said as he passed an armoire, a credenza; other European words. ‘The benefit is capped at one-point-five million. While your premium will continue to rise with inflation, the benefit will not. That needs to be clear.'

No response from Rudy. They passed a set of carpeted stairs that steeply climbed the south wall then curved out of sight. Anthony's gaze lingered but there was nothing more to see.

The kitchen plumed with the scent of decay, vaguely rancid, plainly organic. Anthony's stomach sent up a distress signal and he poked at it, stifled a belch, while Rudy continued wordlessly past a large benchtop above which grey saucepans hung from a cast iron gallery. The grey colouring wasn't by design, was a dust veneer undisturbed for an age.

A heating duct in the corner administered no heat; the insurance man gave thanks for his gloves and jacket.

Rudy sat into a cane chair over a circular table where a half-eaten bowl of cereal awaited him. Tripping on a loose floor tile, Anthony regained his balance with a nervous laugh, checked the room for further hazards.

‘What I want to know…' said Rudy, swallowing and bringing to his lips another spoonload, ‘…is how soon it will come to…like, be enactive.'

‘Let's take a look at the contract, shall we?'

Anthony lowered his briefcase onto the tablecloth. Strewn across the dull blue cotton were tiny shavings like crumbs of parmesan
cheese and it took a moment to determine that they were in fact nail clippings, hundreds of them, chewed off and left to mingle. Some had already attached themselves to Anthony's jacket but he thought better of openly brushing them away.

The contract was a colourful document of at least nine pages, more like a brochure, bejewelled with yellow sign here stickers and labelled in block letters: Product Disclosure. Followed by:
Fortunate Insurance—There Is More to Life
. It appeared to intimidate Rudy, who cowered to his bowl, tipped it forwards and dug into the remains of his meal.

‘Now,' said Anthony. ‘Has anyone explained to you the difference between a level and a stepped premium?'

Rudy ducked further.

‘I don't care about any of that.'

‘I know this sort of thing can be tedious, Mister Alamein. But you've requested the maximum possible cover, so it's important you understand the—'

‘What about suicide?'

Anthony felt his neck go rigid.

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Like, if I commit suicide, is that…is there, like…'