Harris has lost weight.
He was looking stronger by the time he left hospital, better still after some time at Mark West’s. Now he’s been in Mildura for six days, and his face is getting that leanness again. In another week, he’ll look angular.
It bothers me.
‘What else happened?’ I ask.
‘That’s it.’ He spreads a hand. The other one is helping him to stay propped on the outpatient bed. ‘Leon calls me when he needs money or messages delivered. Or Snowie calls me if he wants to see Leon, or deliver something. Not product – I mean, if he wants to organise a meeting with Leon, or pass back cash, or put in an order.’
‘Why doesn’t Snowie just deal with this guy himself?’
‘Snowie’s driving all over town, seeing his distributors. He’s got folks lined up all over the place, yeah? So he’s busy. Plus, there’s limited direct contact. That’s the most important reason.’
‘So you’re the go-between.’
‘I’m the go-between, yeah.’ He nods at the floor. ‘I’m used to slipping under the radar. Dodging the cops. Being just another scruffy bloke on the street.’
‘This is a bit of a departure for you, isn’t it?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘Being the good guy.’
Harris scrubs a hand across his stubbled cheeks. ‘I guess.’
‘But you’ve worked with the police before,’ I say. ‘That quarry business –’
‘That wasn’t… I wasn’t working with the cops. Rachel had a problem, which the police were involved in. I was helping out a mate.’
‘Well, this is kind of the same. You’re just…helping my dad out. And a few other people in town who don’t quite know what’s good for them.’
His eyebrows lift. ‘I guess that’s true.’
‘So that’s it? Four deliveries, gold envelopes, four different places. You get the addresses written down?’
‘Here’s the last one.’ Harris scrawls more on the back of the pamphlet I gave him about post-op care, hands the pamphlet to me. ‘Tell your dad I’m just working my way in. If he goes gangbusters now, he’ll miss out. I haven’t seen anything solid, only cash in envelopes. That’s not what he’s after, I’m guessing.’
He looks tired. His blond hair has gotten longer, greasier, what Nani describes as ‘flypaper hair’. It’s flopping in front of his face, obscuring his expression as he talks. I don’t know what it’s like, the stuff he’s doing in Mildura, but it’s wearing at him. I wish I could push his hair out of the way, ask him how he’s really going.
I put the pamphlet in my pants pocket and wheel the tray over, plump the pillow on the right. ‘You want to lie down for this?’ The outpatient bed is shorter than he is, and quite hard, but he looks as if he could do with a lie down.
‘I’m good.’ He bites his bottom lip. ‘Can I, like, rest my back? Lean, or something?’
‘Recline.’ I smile. ‘You can recline, yeah. One sec.’
I adjust the bed so the head end is at a forty-five degree angle. Harris swings his legs up onto the flat end of the bed and leans his shoulders back as I wrangle the pillow. Close up, he smells of raw perspiration, unwashed clothes, cigarette stench. There’s dirt in his pores, and he’s warm. I’m tempted to put my hand on his forehead, check if he’s got a temp.
‘I came prepared this time,’ he says.
‘What?’
He grins, his lips thin and pale. ‘Found a pair of these at the op shop on Langtree. Didn’t wanna inflict my jocks on you again. Check it out.’
He reaches forward to the knee of his khaki pants, unzips at the leg. The whole bottom section of his pants leg zips right off. I help him tug the separated section away, pull it down towards his boot.
‘Nice.’ Then I open the dressing, see his wound. ‘That’s not so nice. It’s… We’ve kind of gone backwards here, Harris. What’s going on? I thought we had an agreement. You’re supposed to wipe it and re-dress it every morning, or I can’t –’
‘Amie, I live in a sharehouse shack with a bunch of drug dealers.’ He stares at me. ‘Roaches come outta the taps. Last time I was in the bathroom, there was a chick vomiting into the sink. Let’s just say it’s not a clean hospital environment, okay?’
That makes me blink. ‘Are you taking your medication, at least?’
‘I’m taking my meds, yeah.’ His shoulders release and his eyes close. ‘I’m doing what I can. But I can’t keep off my feet much as I should. And you don’t know these people. You show weakness, you’re roadkill. The leg – I tried to get some of those antiseptic wipes, clean it out and stuff, but if they knew how bad it was…’
