The few choice curse words aren’t enough to settle my exasperation as I get to my feet, lips curling in disgust at the slippery moss coating the service jetty.
I adore my brother. Ant is the only family member I have left, the most important person in my world, but right now I’d happily strangle him. My ‘cheap’ phone is still a fortnight’s wages and I doubt the fishes will appreciate it the same way I did.
The view from here at night is spectacular, but I don’t have eyes for the fancy glass and steel houses built into the lakeshore cliffs or the city lights sparkling off the water. My interest extends to the drab and long neglected industrial building in front of me.
Silvery moonlight shines off the broken bottles and discarded needles strewn between me and the concrete window that is my destination.
If I thought running in heels was bad, hopping over the uneven ground in just one shoe is a hundred times worse. After a night of dancing, my tendons already hate me.
I tug the hem of my dress down as I bounce across the yard, then give the secret knock on the window, wrapping my jacket a little tighter, though the summer evening is still balmy, even with the breeze blowing straight off the lake.
“Smack?”
“Yeah, a bundle,” I answer, waiting for him to confirm the total before I count the cash out, scowling for show, secretly happy it leaves me with twenty bucks, enough to afford a burger on top of the bus ride home.
The money gets handed through a doggie door. A pretty name for a hole blowtorched from the base of the metal door, covered on his side with a slat of wood. I move along to the next window like it’s a drug drive thru, tapping my fingers on the metal slider until it clanks aside, and he tips the goods into the waiting receptacle.
As I reach for them, an explosion tears the quiet night apart.
I drop, ears ringing, flashes in my vision. Instinct overtakes logic as I cower, shoulder and knee pressing against the hard concrete wall.
Bursts of horrendously hot air puff through the slot above me, caressing the crown of my head. The ringing in my ears is replaced by a stuffed-to-bursting sensation, like they’ve blistered and if I jam in my fingers, they’ll pop and leak clear fluid.
Shouts gradually pierce through the dampened hum. The sounds of wood hitting plaster. Cackles of laughter and voices calling to each other, their tone high with excitement.
All inside. Nothing outside.
I cautiously straighten, risking a peek at the dispensing window.
Empty. My brother’s expensive habit has disappeared.
A loud crash echoes through the building. I hear footfalls running in multiple directions, probably dealers or junkies taking the hint and scarpering before they can incur a penalty.
One man inside whistles, the sound irritating my eardrums as they try to resume normal service. When I hold my nose and blow, they pop, releasing most of the pressure. An overload of fresh sounds pour forth to flood the gap.
A man screams. Then yells. Then pleads.
I’ve dealt with the hardened gentlemen who populate this establishment before. I don’t want to meet the person who could make them beg.
But I also can’t leave. Not without what I came for.
Ant is already in a state. He’ll be useless for days if he can’t get his dose, which means he can’t go out thieving or jacking or whatever-the-hell-he-does to earn his money. We are very much a don’t-ask, don’t-tell household.
We’re already scrambling. If I lose the baggie, we might never recover.
Steeling my backbone, I peer through the slot, scanning the floor.
Bull's eye. The bag sits on the bare concrete floor. So far out of reach, it might as well be on the moon.
I glance around, but there’s no handy stick resting nearby, and my arms would need to be a foot longer to reach the package. I hop a few steps sideways and kick out the wooden covering to the doggie door with my bare heel.
My body’s slender. I can probably fit.
Without giving myself time for second thoughts, I kneel and push my upper body through the gap, wriggling my shoulders through one at a time, forearms pulling against the grease and dirt encrusted floor. The scent of motor oil from the explosives fills my nostrils until I gag.
The baggie rests against two large filing cabinets, a metre to my right. Beyond that, my view is obscured.
I twist and stretch, my fingertips first scraping across the plastic like the world’s worst tease, then slowly, slowly gaining purchase until I drag it an inch closer, another inch.
