‘This,’ Harris says, ‘is product.’
He’s holding up a little plastic bag he’s scrounged out of his pocket. It’s just a normal ziplock bag. But the contents are not normal. I see a few grams of brittle off-white crystals that would seem innocuous if they were stored in a jar on your spice rack.
I squint at the bag. ‘It looks like rock salt.’
Harris cocks an eyebrow. ‘Yeah, you probably don’t wanna sprinkle this into the spag bol or anything.’ He lays the baggie on our kitchen table.
It’s Sunday, just after two in the afternoon, and I got home from my shift to find Harris in our house, having a cuppa with Dad, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’ve only just had time to get over the shock of seeing him here, and change out of my work clothes; now I’m sitting in on this little business talk, and Harris has produced the bag of ice, like a party favour.
Something has happened, though, since I spoke to him last. He’s still working the same grungy street look in his dirty jeans and boots, the black hoodie. His surfer hair is tangled, like he’s raked it back with his fingers too many times. But it’s not the outside of him that’s different. It’s the expression on his face, the way he carries himself. The vulnerability I saw in him last Tuesday by the river seems to have been whittled away. He seems more purposeful, more directed. The anxiety in his eyes has been replaced by a cool determination.
I can only wonder at the change, file it for later. Now the conversation is all about the ‘product’.
Dad leans across to examine the baggie. ‘This isn’t local?’
‘This is from Melbourne,’ Harris says. ‘About five hundred bucks worth – there’s five points in there. More expensive, this stuff. The local product isn’t ready yet, and it won’t be as clean.’
‘They’re stepping on it pretty heavily?’
‘Yeah, they’re gonna chop it up with Epsom salts or something. Wouldn’t want to stick it up my arm, personally.’
That makes me gape. ‘You inject it?’
‘Yeah.’ Harris shakes his head. ‘Sounds crazy, right?’
‘Or they smoke it,’ Dad says, to clarify. ‘Either way, it’s not gonna do you any good. Who gave you this?’
‘Snowie,’ Harris says. ‘Leon’s happy with me, I’ve been doing a good job as a cash courier, and when Snowie said he needed to make a delivery down here I offered to make it easy for him. Said I needed to come see Dad anyway, drop in at the hospital…’
‘You’re still sticking to the hospital story?’ I ask.
‘Yep, although I made it sound like a chore.’ His gaze holds mine. ‘This’ll be the last time I get to use that as an excuse.’
‘Tell me about local production,’ Dad says.
‘Well, apparently, there was a big bust about three months ago, cleaned out a few of the more reliable cooks.’
‘Yeah, Mildura CIU broke up a party in Irymple a while back.’
‘Right. So Leon’s got his out-of-town suppliers, plus he’s bankrolling this new lab. Two boys from Swan Hill have got things cranking. Not much I can tell you except it’ll be big quantities, and delivery should be happening soon. Dunno dates, dunno details yet. Won’t be too hard to find out though.’
‘Just keep your questions low-key. You don’t want to seem obviously nosy.’
‘Or I’ll get my nose cut off – yeah, I figured that out already.’ The way Harris says it so casually, snorting at the joke, makes me shiver. He lifts his mug in Dad’s direction. ‘I’m being low-key, hey. It’s not that hard to get info. One of the guys I’m working with has a mouth like a sewer trap. Vomits words. Snowie’s not so good at subtlety himself. All I have to do is sit at the table, drink my beer and keep quiet, and the others all fill in the blanks.’
‘Good,’ Dad says. ‘Better if you’re a listener, not a talker.’
I touch the bag with the tip of my finger. ‘What about this stuff? You’re supposed to offload it, right?’
Harris nods. ‘Some of it is for me to distribute as I see fit. And some of it’s on order for Gavin Donovan.’
I look quickly at Dad, who returns my look before nodding at Harris. ‘Right. You been given any names for who to pass the rest onto?’
‘Said I knew a few parties who’d be interested. Nobody who’ll report back, except for Gavin.’
‘So you give Gavin his share –’
‘Dad!’
