‘You’ve had your two shots, mate,’ Snowie says. ‘You’re done.’
I spit on the concrete, look right at Ando. ‘Gimme another one, you weak fuck.’
‘You sure about that?’ Ando says quietly.
‘Nah, mate, game’s over.’ Snowie holds out a hand. ‘You’re a legend. Point proved.’
‘Absolutely,’ I say, which could be a reply to either of them. I don’t know who I’m talking to right now. My eyes are popping stars and my head’s ready to explode.
Ando shrugs. ‘You asked for it.’
He lifts his arm while Snowie’s saying, ‘Nah, mate, ah, shit – Col! Col, we’ve got a little situation out here!’ and then Ando’s fist slams into the other side of my face and I’m thrown backwards by the force of the punch.
Rockets go off behind my eyelids. I bounce off Snowie, then the outside wall of the pub, manage to catch the lintel of the door so I don’t slither all the way to the ground. I get a nauseating feeling, like my bones are rearranging under my skin – my cheekbone and nose disappear for a second, then boom back to life. Someone grabs me under the armpits before I faceplant.
‘Ando, I think he’s had enough.’ A big arm hoists me up as my head hangs down.
‘I’m good,’ I slur. Blood spatters on the concrete step when I talk. I see a pair of acid-resistant boots that look vaguely familiar. ‘Ah, geez…Westie, is that you?’
‘Yeah, you silly bugger,’ Mark West says. He props me back against the wall. ‘Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, eh? Shit. What a mess.’
I’m breathing through one nostril, and blood is rusty in my mouth. ‘I was… Me and Snowie…’
‘Yeah, no worries,’ Snowie says. ‘Thanks for that, Westie, we can sort it out.’
‘Looks like Harris needs a stretcher,’ Westie says. ‘Ando, why don’t you rack off for a bit, hey? Snowie, get us a towel.’
‘We were just foolin’ around,’ Ando says.
‘Well, you’re all pissed as farts, so I’m not surprised it ended in tears,’ Westie says. ‘Harris? Hey, Harris, mate…’
Snowie comes back with a bar towel. ‘Put that on his mouth. And Harris, I got your UDL.’
I take a slug of that first. Fumbling for the towel, I keel forward onto my left leg. A bolt of sheer agony streaks up from my toes to my neck. It makes me cry out. The world tilts at a crazy angle.
‘Whoah, there.’ Westie grabs me again. ‘Jesus. Are you running a fever, Harris? Mate, you’re a bit hot.’
I fight the urge to vomit, make a sick grin with my eyes closed. ‘Mark, if I’d known you felt that way about me…’
‘You dickhead.’ Westie snorts, pulls me away from the wall, steers me to hobble into the street where his black Hilux is parked a few bays down. ‘Snowie, I’m taking him to Ouyen. I reckon he needs the doc.’
‘I’m fine,’ I gasp. Westie’s bulk keeps the weight off my bad leg.
‘He said he’s fine!’ Snowie throws up his hands.
Westie shrugs. ‘Better safe than sorry, eh? Tell your dad I’ll drop back later.’
As Westie pushes me into the cab of the Hilux, I make myself give Snowie the thumbs up. ‘It’s all good, Snow. Don’t you worry. The legend will return.’
‘No hard feelings,’ Ando calls. ‘You’re all right, Harris.’
I nod my appreciation – he’s come around to my way of thinking – but that only makes me feel like spewing again. Westie opens the driver’s side door and climbs into the cab.
‘I’m missing something. I’m missing…’ I pat my front with one hand. ‘Where’s me crutches?’
‘In the tray.’ Westie jerks a thumb back behind us. ‘Come on, ya dopey bastard. Let’s get you to the hospital.’
I lie my head back. The car rumbles beneath me as we reverse out of the bay. ‘I’m sorry for the mess, Westie. And I didn’t mean to fuck up at the quarry –’
