Skarzy (6 page)

20

Serious took the seat opposite Skarzy,
while the girls sat to the right. Skarzy didn’t get much of a look at them, but
he smelt their perfume a mile high. For a moment he thought of Lucy – and then
blocked it. She was the last girl he’d fucked.

Serious leaned
forward, and Skarzy made no attempt to conceal his penis.

The guy didn’t
seem to care. In that he wasn’t disgusted.

He was still
giggling. “Still in the shit, I see?”

Skarzy glared
back.

“Well … got
the money?”

Skarzy opened
his mouth. Exposed what was left of the tongue. Made it swivel.

One of the
girls: “Eww! That’s gross!”

Skarzy ground
his teeth together. He noticed Serious had discarded his bat.

“She’s not
messing around, you know,” Serious continued. “She’ll be at yours come morning.
That bitch is
crazy.
But still you gotta get the dough. You owe it.”

Serious’ eyes
twisted towards the pamphlet.

“What you got
there, Skarzy?”

Skarzy shot
him in the face.

The girls
screamed. Fled. Skarzy stood up on the chair.

Hello world!
Got one more in you, hey?

He pointed the
revolver at their backs, knowing full well his chambers were empty.

Bang, bang,
he thought.
Bang,
bang, bang.

Curly Serious
was dead. Skarzy didn’t need to check his pulse. Bastard took one between the
eyes. And what a mess he’d made…

Skarzy stood.
Grabbed Serious’ jacket. Jeans. T-shirt.

The girls were
long gone. Skarzy wasn’t worried.

He tucked the
empty gun into his jeans, and took Serious’ socks.

He left the
jocks. There was no telling what he’d find under there.

That’s one
more than you gave me,
Skarzy thought.

He touched his
own face. His cheeks were cold now. He looked down at his fingers.

Serious’
blood. God that felt good.

21

There was a card in Serious’ jeans.
Skarzy read it intensely.

CROWN CASINO

Gold Card

He wondered if
it was just for parking. Or if there was money in the account. On the back
there was a barcode. And an attached sticker.

Rory Demming

The High Club

33,77 Side
Alley

Main Street

City

Was that
Serious’ real name? Skarzy doubted it.

“Now
approaching Caulfield Station.”

Serious had
also left him the bare essentials.

The wallet.
The phone. The cigarettes.

Not Skarzy’s.
But they would do just as well.

Skarzy was
about to light a cigarette. He looked at the poster on the wall.

No Drinking

No Smoking

No Swearing

No Running

They had
diagrams to. The smoking cigarette with the big red circle and slash through
it. Skarzy looked at the cigarette in his hand. Put it back in the packet.

The train was
slowing down. Skarzy glanced outside. No one about from what he could tell. He
figured the girls would be getting off here at least.

The train
stopped. Skarzy opened Serious’ wallet. It was made of black leather. Had a
metal clip. Inside there were various assorted cards. Serious’ ID.

Nathan Demming

17 Johnstone
Avenue

Mount Martha

So the card
belonged to his brother. Or father. Perhaps there was money on it after all. He
might just have to pay the Crown a visit. He
was
heading that way,
wasn’t he?

The train was
at a standstill. Skarzy shifted nervously. He checked the wallet further. The guy
had about two hundred cash on him.

The doors
suddenly snapped shut. Skarzy was momentarily relieved, but then realized the
train still wasn’t moving. He looked up at the security camera.

Was someone
watching him?

This wasn’t
good. Even if the train’s delay was coincidental, the girls would be probably
calling the cops right this second. Skarzy stood.

He looked to
either side. There wasn’t a soul in sight. 

He charged
down the aisle. Opened the door in between carriages. Kept going down. Starting
to sweat. Fury pumping through his veins. Next carriage. Much still the same.
No one in sight.

The train’s
engine roared.  The jolt shook him. He clutched the railing. The train was on
its way again.

Skarzy bit his
lip. Looked down either end in panic. He realized he’d been heading down the
back of the train. Only two more carriages to go.

But he sat
down. Felt tired.

“The next
station is Malvern. The next –”

The announcer
was cut off. Skarzy stood again, alarmed.

What the
hell’s going on?

“Good evening
passengers.”

A real, live,
human voice.

Not
computerized.

“There’s some
trouble with the railway. We’ll be going to  Flinders Street direct. Buses will
be waiting for you there.”

Trouble with
the railway? Yeah … bullshit.

They were onto
him.

Skarzy
realized something else too.

There must be
other people on the train.

He pulled out
the gun and kept on going. Two more carriages before the exit. Skarzy pictured
the great metal door. A circular handle. Glass peephole. A fire hydrant resting
beside it. Maybe an axe too.

Stations
passed.

Caulfield. Malvern.
Toorak.

People too.

A man. A
woman. A child.

And Skarzy’s
expression never changed.

Of course,
there was no emergency exit.

No axe
resting. No fire hydrant sinking.

No handle, no
peephole, no swearing, no running, no drinking, no smoking –

JUST A
BLEEDING BLANK WALL.

Skarzy spun
around. His eyes were hazy.

Hawskburn. 
South Yarra. Richmond.

He
was
spinning.

He felt sick
to the pit of his stomach.

Fear held him.
Danced with him.

He gripped the
sliding door. Shook it.

Nothing.

Skarzy
swallowed. He tasted blood.

Am I bleeding
again?

His head
shook. Pain.

He aimed the
gun high. Charged forward.

The people had
run from him. But he ran after.

He ran and ran
and ran.

Until finally,
he tripped.

22

 On Curly’s bat. The sucker must have
left it behind.

Skarzy sat up.
The train was still moving. He’d been knocked unconscious … but only for the
briefest of moments. It was a knock he needed.

Not having a
tongue meant he couldn’t speak to other people.

But it didn’t
mean he couldn’t talk to himself.

Come Skarzy.
On your knees, tough guy.

Skarzy went
there. Gradually the haze was bettering.

He was by the
door. 

And the
outstretched obstruction was not in fact a baseball bat, but a foot, connected
to a leg, connected to a man standing over him pointing a gun.

“That’s right,
motherfucker,” the shaky voice snapped. “One wrong move and –”

The train was
slowing down. They were in the dark Flinders Street Subway.

Skarzy
twisted. He did move. First right, then left. The door was locked of course. He
couldn’t get out of man’s aim. He looked a little longer; and realized it was
just a dude. A couple years younger than him.

Who put you in
charge of…?

The train
stopped but the doors did not open.

Skarzy tried
to stand, but the dude belted him with the gun.

“Sit down, you
bitch
.”

The conductor’s
voice on the P.A again.

“Good evening
passengers. Please refrain from trying to leave your carriage. Police are
coming aboard. For your own safety, please remain seated.”

The dude
smiled. Laughed.

Skarzy had
never met him. He felt the man was deranged.

Settling some
personal vendetta.

And Skarzy
almost …
related
.

He remembered
owning a gun like that.

Suddenly –
from nowhere – the door Skarzy was resting against ploughed open.

“Whoa,
HEY
–
”

The dude was
sure surprised by something.

Skarzy just
let his head roll onto the pavement, following his back –

QUIPP – QUIPP
– QUIPP –

Shots fired.

QUIPPQUIPPQUIPPQUIPPQUIPPQUIPPQUIPPQUIPPQUIPP

The sound
scorched Skarzy’s ears. He scrunched up his eyes, waiting for the pain to
settle in, the white light to come, the peace, the rapture, and for the love of
–

Someone had
his arm. They were dragging him across the pavement.

And then to his
feet. Skarzy looked at the officer, and swallowed.

His busted
forehead throbbed.

“Okay, pal?”
the policeman asked him.

Skarzy nodded.
He looked over in the direction of the train.

They had shot
the dude something of a dozen times. He lay pressed up against the opposite
doors, sprawled out, twitching. Officers surrounded him. Kicked away the
revolver.

Skarzy looked
to the rest of the train. A few doors had been opened down the far end, but
from what he could tell no passengers had been let out.

“That’s Detective
Simmons, over there,” the officer pointed to a plain clothes man standing by
the elevator. “You’ll need to answer a few questions.”

Skarzy walked
slowly over to where the man was, looking for a way out. Exits.

But even though
the man was thoroughly engaged on his cell, he noticed his eyes flicker in
Skarzy’s direction, and realized the Officer must have signaled him.

The elevator
seemed to be the only way off this platform. Sure, further along there may be
other elevators, or stairs, or tunnels, but further along there would surely be
more cops. Skarzy walked up to the Detective, unsure of where to go.

The man smiled
at him, raised his finger indicating he was busy, and then Skarzy saw the way.
He almost smiled back.

Skarzy pointed
urgently to the door opposite the man – four meters across from the elevator –
and the man reluctantly nodded.

Skarzy
shuffled along slowly with his knees pressed together, his face glowing.

He never
thought he’d be this glad to see a toilet cubicle again.

23

Skarzy wet his face over the basin.
Wiped the blood up with paper towel. He stood staring at himself in the mirror.
Just to let a little time roll. Not to reflect. Not to be a narcissist.

But what’s
wrong with it?
he
queried.
What’s wrong with trying to understand yourself?

He was angry
with himself. This newfound personality he’d taken on after the curry muncher’s
death was evolving too rapidly. He thought about it one way, then reflected,
changed his mind again,  then thought about it a third way combining the two.
All this change, all this reflection, was costing him. He wanted to slap the
image.

MAKE UP YOUR
FUCKING MIND.

Who was he? A
villain? A hero? A victim of the world?

Or just some
nutter? The answer itself didn’t matter.

As long as
there was one.

And only one.

You are
different,
he
realized.
For better or worse, you
are
that.

And it wasn’t
all self pity, or self centeredness, or a big black gaping hole of madness. He
actually believed he had something to offer the world.

To show them.

And for that,
he would live.

Tonight, he
would live.

Skarzy felt
better. He gave himself a wink and a smile.

Thanks for the
chat,
he
thought.

But it’s time
to go.