The Glass Kingdom (4 page)

Mikey flicked a bony hand at me and gulped back a shot of whisky. ‘A'ight, a'ight, don't sweat it, boss man, the Gaga's too loud, they can't hear for shit.'

It wasn't entirely true but I nodded reluctant assent and leaned back in my chair. I scanned the room for other hands from the show, yet I couldn't spot anyone I recognised. There were so many people jammed into the small space that they could have been standing ten feet away and I wouldn't have noticed. The dance floor was now obscured by a forest of thin denim legs. They'd start fucken line dancing in a minute, I just knew it.

The beer tasted rank but it was hot in there, so I drank it anyway. Mikey skolled two bottles and both of his shots in the time it took me to reach the suds at the bottom of my first. He screwed up his face in disdain as he watched the ruddy farm boys dance with the local fillies. Flushed, curvaceous blondes dressed in shiny boots and sequined shirts linked arms with young blokes who looked like they wouldn't be out of place on the back of a horse in the 1950s. The music seemed to be getting worse, somehow.

‘Who's this?' I asked Mikey, pointing up at the ether.

‘Miley Cyrus.' He grimaced.

‘Your Fifty Cent diss was worse than I thought.'

I watched his Adam's apple bobbing as he poured the last of the beer down his gullet, eyes half closed. I decided to talk business before he was too far gone to take in my proposal.

‘About the blue koalas.' I leaned in close across the table. It was hard to hear yourself think when Billy Ray's daughter was wailing in your ears.

‘You needs to freshen up the prizes on that stall, dawg, the kiddlywinks want something more innerestin than friggen native roadkill. Fuck those wombats an' shit, how 'bout we gets some giraffes or rhinos or pythons—yeah, some snakes, man, that'd be dope!'

‘I'm trying to offer you a job, dickhead.'

Either he couldn't hear, or he was wilfully ignoring me. He cupped a palm over one ear, making headphones, and scratched an imaginary record on the table with the first two fingers of his other hand.

Join up wit NASA an' fly to Venus
Read da news on TV like Anton Enus
Run away wit da circus like Bailey an' Barnum
Or become a rock singer like Johnny Farnham

He threw both hands in the air, jumped up from his seat and turned three-sixty, flinging his arms around to whatever mysterious rhythm burned inside his head.

‘Woo! You cop a look at the titties on some of these biatches? Pure corn-fed country home cookin' that is, sitting up nice and perky for all these goggle-eyed motherfuckers to leer at.'

‘Calm down, will you? Have a drink, you fucken loon.'

‘I'm out. Needs me a clip for my nine.'

‘Take one of these. I don't want to wrap the ute round a tree anyway.'

He sat down and gunned the remaining shots one after the other before starting on the last beer. I could see where this was going. I made a mental note to prop his head out the window on the way back. It was a long drive to the next town on the schedule.

Two fairly pretty cowgirls passed by our table then, heading in the direction of the bathroom. They smiled at me, preened their hair and glanced back in my direction. It was too dark to see my neck, obviously.

‘Shee-it, did you see that, homie? You got somethin' those two hornbags want real bad, boss man.'

‘Fuck off, Mikey.'

‘I's just sayin', a big muscly army motherfucker like you, gym body an' all, probs got a schlong like a baby's arm. You gots to take advantage of nature's gifts, dawg. Be criminal to pass up an invite like that.'

My patience had just about reached its limits. ‘I'm going for a piss. If you don't want to walk home to the Kingdom, cut this shit out when I get back. I wanted to talk business.' His idiotic way of talking was so infectious, I almost said ‘bidness'.

‘Oh, I see, y'all are going after those two to bang 'em in a stall, huh?'

It wasn't until I stood up that I realised how much I had been sweating. I couldn't tell if Mikey was trying to get a rise out of me or if he was just a muppet incapable of keeping his trap shut.

It was quieter in the men's, though bursts of music blared in every time someone opened the door. A couple of locals looked me up and down as I pissed but they didn't speak to me. I took my time washing my hands and splashed some water over my head. The roadmap of scars on my neck looked red and angry under the dim lights of the bathroom. The cool drops running through my hair felt good.

I shook myself off and stood up straight, smoothing my shirt and yawning. The night was a washout. Mikey would fall over drunk soon, and I'd have to drag him back to the Kingdom.

When I returned to our table two other men were sitting there, sipping beers and surveying the dance floor.

‘My friend and I are sitting here,' I told them.

Heads swivelled to stare at me. The younger one had a wispy moustache. ‘Don't look that way to me, mate,' he said.

I ignored him, scanning the crowd for a sign of Mikey. I assumed he was embarrassing himself somewhere out on the dance floor, probably gyrating up against someone's girlfriend while imploring her to ‘shake her booty'.

A young bloke clad head to toe in denim emerged from the crowd, his blond hair combed neatly down. He made a beeline for me and raised a hand in cautious greeting. It took me a second or two before I recognised him as a mark who'd come round the stall asking about crystal. One of my established clients had recommended he talk to me. After I'd checked him out, I'd given him a free sample. I knew he'd be back.

‘Paul, right?'

He was surprised I remembered his name.

‘Yeah. Look, I hope you don't mind me coming over like this, but your mate's in strife.'

‘Why, where is he?'

‘Couple of boys took him out the back.'

‘Say what now?'

‘I don't know, mate, I think he was mouthing off. They frogmarched him out of here so fast his feet hardly touched the ground.'

‘Appreciate it, Paul.'

‘Yeah, but you might want to…'

I pushed my way through the crowd towards the door, leaving Paul in my wake. It was warm outside, and I stood by the entrance for a moment to get my bearings and adjust to the sudden quiet. Like I'd done a thousand times in the desert, I slowed my breathing and listened to the night. Behind the curtain of cicadas and drone of the highway I could hear the distinctive muffled sounds of a fight.

I stepped to the corner of the pub and the noise increased. I saw them then, three men standing over Mikey. He was trying to get up as they put the boot in. They were only twenty metres away, partially obscured by a large flatbed ute. I broke into a run, with no intention of stopping until I collided with them.

Two of the assailants looked up as I approached. I swear my feet were gliding over the gravel like I was fucken ice skating. It was beautiful. They tried to move back and ready themselves for me, but I was in juggernaut mode. I spared a glance down at Mikey—I couldn't tell how badly he was hurt, and maybe that was just as well.

I changed tack at the last second, veering away from the two men who'd spotted me. Instead, I shoulder charged the heavyset guy who was kicking Mikey's curled-up body. The impact knocked him clean off his feet and into the passenger door of the ute. His elbow smashed the side window and he slid down in shock, a big gash opening up on his forearm. I wheeled on the other two, throwing a few quick, wild punches, windmilling to make them back off. One of them panicked a bit and flailed his arms madly to avoid me. The lucky prick caught a hold of my shirt and clung onto it as he stumbled and fell to his knees.

As I tried to pull away from him the third guy whacked me on the temple with his fist, a dull thud made worse by the three gold rings across his knuckles. Given his fat friend had a handful of my shirt, my only option was to scrape the edge of my boot down his shinbone and stomp on his foot as hard as I could.

I tell you what, not many people can stand the pain of having their shin kicked or scraped. It's fucken white-hot pain, just blots out everything. The bloke sucked in a huge breath and his eyes rolled back in his head. His lips parted to expose two rows of shining, pristine teeth. I couldn't resist. I elbowed him hard in the mouth and felt a couple of those pretty little babies crumble. He staggered back and spat a plume of blood, roaring in pain as he clutched his mashed-up lips. He fell heavily, a great cloud of dust billowing up with the weight of the cunt.

In the absence of any other weapon, the overweight bloke on the ground sank his teeth into my thigh. I clenched so fast I bit my tongue, bringing the metallic taste of blood to my mouth. I lashed out at the guy's face with my heel and felt a cheekbone give way, though it might have been an eye socket. The bloke opened his jaws and turned white before passing out. As he crumpled to the ground my shirt ripped right down the back, along the seam. I thrashed around, trying to wriggle out of it. Still curled up in the dirt, Mikey moaned and squirmed out of the way of it all.

I was so busy untangling myself I only caught a glimpse of the first man as he pile-drove into me. We went down together, his bulk slamming me into the dirt. The prick was all over me. He stank of whisky and cheap cologne. Blood poured out of the cut on his forearm and smeared over my chest as he sat astride me, raining down blows.

My arms were free so I went into a defensive boxing position as best I could, but he still landed a few corkers on my neck and around my ears. I knew if I didn't get up I'd be in trouble soon. I tensed my spine against the ground, assessing his weight.

I sat up quickly and headbutted him in the solar plexus. That knocked the breath out of him. He let out a great wheeze and froze for a second, his fists opening and closing reflexively with the shock of it.

I slipped my arm under one of his thighs and used my momentum to flip him off me. As we pivoted I drove my knee into the small of his back, just above the third vertebrae. He flung his arms out over his head, letting out four short gasps. I went to one knee and stood up, shaking my head to clear it as he rolled over.

He had one hand on his spine as if he was trying to hold it together. He raised the other in deference.

‘Wait, stop, stop, that's enough—Christ, my fucken back, you've broke me fucken back.'

He shuffled away from me, terrified he was paralysed. In the back of my mind I was thinking, Fuuuck, this is not good. I held off, dropping my hands to my knees and bending over to catch a breath. The other two blokes weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

Three big blokes. I'd been lucky. They could've been toting a shiv, or worse. I composed myself, tapping into the adrenaline rush.

‘You better not have hurt the young fella,' I warned the last one, who stopped writhing around after he worked out his back was not permanently damaged.

Still holding his hands outwards in a placatory gesture, he rose haltingly to one knee, wincing and closing his eyes tight with the pain.

I waited to see what he was going to do next. Eventually he opened his eyes and breathed out.

‘Fuck me, mate. That was a Muay Thai move. You could've fucken killed me.'

‘Didn't see you holding back.'

My shirt was hanging in tatters from one arm. He took in my infantry tattoo, then the burn scars on my chest and neck. He looked down and swore under his breath.

‘I don't fucken believe it. You serve?'

I nodded. ‘Uruzgan.'

‘For fuck sake. We're at the logistics base in Wodonga. You in the Bluedog?'

I shrugged apologetically.

‘Christ all fucken mighty. Your prick of a mate there's lucky to have you on his side.'

He was in good shape but I knew if he was at the logistics base he'd never seen any action. I clocked him swallowing the fear that had suddenly formed in his throat, his surprise at its unfamiliar taste.

‘We done here?' he said.

‘I am if you are. Best see to the chubby guy. He doesn't look too good.'

‘Fat prick. Almost got my back broke over nothing.'

I stared at him a little longer, taking note of his stance, waiting to see if he was bluffing. The only sounds came from the man with the smashed mouth, who was in the foetal position, whimpering a woman's name over and over.

‘I'm sorry, May. I'm sorry.'

I stretched my jaw, satisfied the recruit was not going to recommence hostilities now he knew where I'd been.

‘May his missus?' I asked.

‘Nah, his wife's called Jess.' He stood up slowly, bending his back, eyes bulging. ‘Must be his dentist.'

The smoke parted around me to reveal an enormous crater in the road, scattered with debris and the remains of people turned inside out. In the middle of the hole lay the husk of what had once been a camouflaged Humvee. It was scorched black and burning now, upside down on its roof. Oil and blood oozed from the crushed cab, mingling to form a sticky goop.