I wince against the pain, control the urge to jerk when the needle dips in again. ‘And what’s the third piece of wisdom?’
‘Don’t get sucked in by the money. Get out before this business kills you.’ Leela concentrates on her work. ‘Nobody takes that advice either. They’re always, like, “Oh, I need to do one more job”, or “I’ve just gotta pay off the blah blah”. Forget the blah blah. Get in, make whatever money you can, get out. If you can do those things, in that order, then you might be the last man standing when the shit goes down.’
Suddenly the dizziness I got this morning holding that money rises up inside me like bile. Is this chick psychic? How did she know? Then I realise: she doesn’t know. She’s just seen my story play out dozens of times before. Other boys, other lives, same tale of woe.
I take a big breath and let it out. ‘How d’you know it’s gonna go down?’
There’s a moment’s silence and all I hear is the buzz of the equipment. When I look up, Leela is staring at me in the mirror. Her perfectly-made-up mouth twists into a sad smile. ‘Oh, honey. Haven’t you figured it out yet? In your industry, there’s nowhere to gobutdown.’
Half an hour later I leave the shop, my skin still smarting, a new bandage on my back. The work’s all done now and it won’t take as long to heal this time, Leela said.
But I’m thinking more about all the other things she said. I’m just another anonymous cog in this machine. It’d make me feel low if I didn’t have an ace up my sleeve. This isn’t all of me. Amie and the sarge know what’s going on. I’m doing something here, something important, and when this job is done I’ll walk away, light and clean as Teflon, just like I said to Reggie. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.
I push through the door and walk into the lounge room, still thinking about it. Then I see something that stops me dead.
The lounge room is dim and muggy, like always. Kevin and Reggie are sitting on the sagging couch, lit by the jaundiced glow of the TV. They’re watching the shopping channel. Kevin is in a trackie jacket, with a sarong wrapped around his skinny waist, smoking a cigarette and gesturing at the screen, saying, ‘But why would you wanna cook without fat, eh? Fat makes it taste nice.’
And Reggie is having a pipe.
I dunno if he’s seen me. He’s sucking on the glass teat, using the lighter off the coffee table to keep a flame under the bowl. The bowl turns white as the smoke swirls inside it.
My brain turns white as well. Something inside my chest breaks, and I feel an ache. Leela’s words punch me again:Honey, in your industry there’s nowhere to go but down.
In your industry.Yourindustry.
Kevin looks up and sees me. ‘Yo, Hazza! You’re back, mate.’
‘Um, yeah.’ I have to ignore my chest, ignore the ache. Play it cool. Act normal. ‘Tools-down time.’
Reggie makes a little cough. The white smoke trails around his face as he raises a hand. ‘Hey, dude.’
‘Hey.’ I nod on automatic.
Kevin gives Reggie a pat on the back. ‘Don’t cough, mate, you’ll waste it.’
‘Shut up.’ Reggie’s grinning. He clicks the lighter again, raises the pipe.
I lick my lips. ‘Right. Leave you to it then.’ I walk off down the hall.
Once I’m in my room I let myself exhale. Let the ache out. Leela is right. Every other little shit-bird crank peddler in town is using their own product; I don’t know why I imagined Reggie would be any different. But I did imagine it. And I was wrong.
My view of the world has suddenly been flipped on its arse.
Reggie is using.
I’m living in a house full of drug dealers. I’m surrounded by the business of shards, baggies, pipes and skaters. It shouldn’t be a big deal. But seeing that kid – he’s just a kid! – suck up a hit of ice was like listening to a song played in a minor chord.
Shit, when I was his age I was well on my way: stealing booze and smoking weed and getting hammered every chance I could get. It’s not the same, though. Ice fucks you up. Turns your skin inside out. Gouges holes in your brain. Rots your teeth. Destroys sleep. Makes you feel like the king of the universe, while it eats you alive.
I dunno what to do, what to think. Reggie’s using, and it’s normal for him, and it’s everywhere here, and I have to act cool about it, like I’m okay with it. And I’m not okay with it. And I’m part of the bloody system that’sdeliveringit to him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I have never hated this job, this whole fuckingindustry, as much as I do right now.
