long enough to know what passes for
shit-stirring on the street. If I was cracking heads through, Ben was topping
my list right now.
I lowered the Bud.
'You wouldn't be making trouble, would you, Ben?'
He swatted at the fly. Missed. Moved back from me real
fast and flicked a bar-towel over his shoulder. 'Fuck off! Trying to be a mate
that's all.'
He did the petted lip thing, my little sister Kimmy used
to do this when she was about eight, nine ... no later than ten, for sure. I
still remembered her ways.
'A mate, eh?'
'Too right, try and do a man a good turn and what do you
get?' He didn't know what he was saying; he was still pumped on the rush from
the job.
'I dunno, Ben, you tell me ... what's a good turn?'
He got that faraway look in his eyes. Slapped palms on
the bar, leaned in again, 'I'm telling you straight down the middle ... that
girl bangs like a truck stop door! She's my sister, I should know ... there's
more to being in this crew than lapping about in my old man's Mustang.'
He wrapped the bar-towel round the pumps; the fly
settled down on the bar again. I swatted it with the heel of my hand; showed
Ben the blood and guts, little legs still twitching.
He turned down the corners of his mouth, dropped brows.
'That's fucking gross.'
'You want gross, Ben?'
There was no one in the bar to see the muzzle flash,
hear the shot or Ben's cry as the bullet lodged between his ears.
****
The Mustang started first time. Beautiful set of
wheels. Always loved these old cars.
'It's junk,' Angie had said when her old man offered it
to me.
'Junk ... girl, this is quality. Genuine piece of
American history, this is!'
She flicked her hair back, those dark-blonde curls
making waves like the ocean behind us, 'I'm hungry, let's eat.'
I took her to Maccy Dees on the Point, out by the
auto-mart. I liked to listen to the crickets at this time of night, smell the
imported eucalyptus breezing in over the burn of gas and burgers.
'What do you want?' said Angie.
'I'm good, thanks.'
'Not even a Coke?'
'Maybe a Coke, small one.'
She smiled as she spoke into the clown's nose, ordered
herself a Big Mac, sprung for the 'Go Large' option when she was asked. As she
leaned over she exposed her lower back above her trackies ... how did she stay
in shape and eat all that comfort food?
We drove to the back lot. Gulls were scratching on the
nature strip. Angie devoured the burger and fries, then set about washing it
all down with the Coke.
'Daddy has some work for you?' She wiped her chin as the
Coke dribbled down the side of the cup.
'Oh, yeah.'
'Yeah, says it's something you'll like—' she opened the
cup, took out an ice cube.
'Like?'
I liked two things, playing the ponies and the other ...
Angie climbed over the stick-shift, popping the ice-cube in her mouth.
' Mmh-hmh, ' she said, fiddling with the cord on
her trackies, and passing the ice-cube from her mouth to mine.
Was it all just a game to her?
****
I was making good time on the highway. The Mustang
took its time lapping in the 'burbs, but out on the proper roads — no problem.
Had the needle touching 70-mph. Always made me jumpy travelling at speed on the
way to a job. Never on the way back. Amazing how some sirens, few Mars lights,
helps you get your shit together.
I felt hot, must have been a 30-degree day, in country
LA, you remember those with a fondness, mostly.
The sides of the highway, the verges and trees, were
burnt yellow. Not even a bird digging for a feed. Out the back of the car a
trail of dust kicked up.
I could feel sweat forming on my spine. Drops ran down
my forehead, got in my eyes. I took the sleeve of my shirt and wiped.
I was coming into Venice as the cell phone rang on the
passenger seat.
'Yeah, it's Jonny here ...'
The voice on the other end was one I recognised straight
off.
'Why the fuck are you not where you're supposed to be?'
said Patto.
What was I gonna tell him?
I'd thought of blowing him out?
That it was a last-minute
shit-stirring on the street. If I was cracking heads through, Ben was topping
my list right now.
I lowered the Bud.
'You wouldn't be making trouble, would you, Ben?'
He swatted at the fly. Missed. Moved back from me real
fast and flicked a bar-towel over his shoulder. 'Fuck off! Trying to be a mate
that's all.'
He did the petted lip thing, my little sister Kimmy used
to do this when she was about eight, nine ... no later than ten, for sure. I
still remembered her ways.
'A mate, eh?'
'Too right, try and do a man a good turn and what do you
get?' He didn't know what he was saying; he was still pumped on the rush from
the job.
'I dunno, Ben, you tell me ... what's a good turn?'
He got that faraway look in his eyes. Slapped palms on
the bar, leaned in again, 'I'm telling you straight down the middle ... that
girl bangs like a truck stop door! She's my sister, I should know ... there's
more to being in this crew than lapping about in my old man's Mustang.'
He wrapped the bar-towel round the pumps; the fly
settled down on the bar again. I swatted it with the heel of my hand; showed
Ben the blood and guts, little legs still twitching.
He turned down the corners of his mouth, dropped brows.
'That's fucking gross.'
'You want gross, Ben?'
There was no one in the bar to see the muzzle flash,
hear the shot or Ben's cry as the bullet lodged between his ears.
****
The Mustang started first time. Beautiful set of
wheels. Always loved these old cars.
'It's junk,' Angie had said when her old man offered it
to me.
'Junk ... girl, this is quality. Genuine piece of
American history, this is!'
She flicked her hair back, those dark-blonde curls
making waves like the ocean behind us, 'I'm hungry, let's eat.'
I took her to Maccy Dees on the Point, out by the
auto-mart. I liked to listen to the crickets at this time of night, smell the
imported eucalyptus breezing in over the burn of gas and burgers.
'What do you want?' said Angie.
'I'm good, thanks.'
'Not even a Coke?'
'Maybe a Coke, small one.'
She smiled as she spoke into the clown's nose, ordered
herself a Big Mac, sprung for the 'Go Large' option when she was asked. As she
leaned over she exposed her lower back above her trackies ... how did she stay
in shape and eat all that comfort food?
We drove to the back lot. Gulls were scratching on the
nature strip. Angie devoured the burger and fries, then set about washing it
all down with the Coke.
'Daddy has some work for you?' She wiped her chin as the
Coke dribbled down the side of the cup.
'Oh, yeah.'
'Yeah, says it's something you'll like—' she opened the
cup, took out an ice cube.
'Like?'
I liked two things, playing the ponies and the other ...
Angie climbed over the stick-shift, popping the ice-cube in her mouth.
' Mmh-hmh, ' she said, fiddling with the cord on
her trackies, and passing the ice-cube from her mouth to mine.
Was it all just a game to her?
****
I was making good time on the highway. The Mustang
took its time lapping in the 'burbs, but out on the proper roads — no problem.
Had the needle touching 70-mph. Always made me jumpy travelling at speed on the
way to a job. Never on the way back. Amazing how some sirens, few Mars lights,
helps you get your shit together.
I felt hot, must have been a 30-degree day, in country
LA, you remember those with a fondness, mostly.
The sides of the highway, the verges and trees, were
burnt yellow. Not even a bird digging for a feed. Out the back of the car a
trail of dust kicked up.
I could feel sweat forming on my spine. Drops ran down
my forehead, got in my eyes. I took the sleeve of my shirt and wiped.
I was coming into Venice as the cell phone rang on the
passenger seat.
'Yeah, it's Jonny here ...'
The voice on the other end was one I recognised straight
off.
'Why the fuck are you not where you're supposed to be?'
said Patto.
What was I gonna tell him?
I'd thought of blowing him out?
That it was a last-minute
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