The Glass Kingdom (5 page)

Deafened by the explosion, I stumbled down into the crater and immediately regretted it. The first thing I saw was a single boot sitting in the dirt. Jutting up from inside it was a jagged red shinbone. I stared dumbly, knowing what it was yet unable to process the information. My stomach started doing somersaults.

Next to the boot was the head and upper body of Sergeant Ludowyk. Her right arm and legs were nowhere to be seen, and her lower jawbone was hanging by a gory thread of flesh. I stood there, gawping at the charred corpse of my friend for five uncomprehending seconds and then I was in the air, knocked off my feet by a second impact that I didn't even hear.

I came down next to the thing that had once been Paulina Ludowyk and rolled onto my side so I didn't have to look anymore. It felt like God had reached down and swatted me with his fist.

That's when I saw the second Hummer, the one I had just crawled out of, roll weirdly onto its side at the lip of the crater. It had been ripped down the middle by what could only have been a direct RPG hit. Maybe I was concussed, I don't know. I lay there in the muck, unable to move, watching it crumble like a tower of Lego knocked over by a kid having a tantrum. I couldn't look away.

One of the back wheels popped off the axle and pinged straight up in the air, the burning rubber leaving a trail of black smoke against the clear blue sky. The passenger-side door whooshed high over my head, a smoking frisbee. The whole thing happened in one second flat, maybe two, but every detail was clear.

The fuel tank ignited then and a beautiful orange jet of flame blossomed outwards, reaching down to caress me. I scrabbled feebly back in the dirt. The fire loomed over me like a phoenix finally freed from its egg. Then it fell upon me, claws tearing at my flesh.

I jerked awake, slick with sweat. Instinctively I placed a palm on my chest and concentrated on slowing my breathing. The scar tissue was hot to the touch, tender. I traced the raised lines with my fingertips.

Steph was next to me, splayed on her back, one arm over her head clutching at the pillow. There was a faint patch of stubble in her armpit and her face was partially obscured by her mop of blonde hair. She was dead to the world, a ragdoll. Once she was out, you practically had to spray her with a hose to wake her.

The sheets were a tangle around Steph's knees, kicked off in the night. It had been a hot one. I took in her elongated body, and stroked the smooth burn mark on her hip. It was the only real blemish on her body—she complained about her arse, like most women I know, but I couldn't see a thing wrong with it. Her burn had been obtained in less dramatic fashion than mine, while ironing in the nude, long before we met.

She didn't stir, even when I let my fingertips skate over the skin of her belly to the top of her trimmed pubic hair. She kept it short in summer and grew it out as winter approached, then went back to a fuzzy strip or some other shape in spring (a downward pointing arrow one time—she isn't the subtlest of girls). I traced figure eights on the sharp bristles but she didn't register until I pressed further down. Then she exhaled and turned her head towards me, opening her eyes slowly and smiling, then closing them again.

‘Morning,' she breathed.

‘You awake?'

‘I am now.'

I was going to tell her I'd had the dream again but she arched her back and reached across to start stroking my dick. It was how we began a lot of mornings, and as she made me come the lingering memories of the burning were banished.

After, as I stared up at the stains on the ceiling of her trailer, a dull pain began pulsing in my left ear and I remembered what had happened the night before.

I stood up gingerly, a series of aches becoming instantly apparent. I'd taken a few knocks, though nothing like what Mikey had copped.

I'd come to sleep with Steph after bedding him down in my trailer. I wouldn't normally let anyone other than Steph in there but I could hardly have taken him back to the communal bunks. Steph was still awake, just, and she had cleaned me up and rubbed one of her magic ointments into my arms and back. I don't know if it did any good, but I slept well enough after that and a couple of Panadeine Forte.

Mikey was badly shaken up. He was bleeding from the nose and mouth, but not so heavily as to suggest internal injuries. I'd seen that before—there was no mistaking a ruptured organ. His blood had mingled on my chest with that of the bloke I'd fought as I carried him across the silent alley, picking a path through abandoned fast-food wrappers and ticket stubs. He was even lighter than I thought he'd be, little more than a gangly teenager. I'd carried a couple of guys like that out of harm's way in Uruzgan too. Decent kids, but fucken useless. Incapable of taking care of themselves. There'd always be some twitchy young fucker like Mikey who ran the wrong way or forgot to duck. The trick was getting them cas-evac'd before they bled out. They made it half the time, more or less.

Mikey wrapped his quivering hands around my torso like he was trying to suckle at my tit. They'd really got stuck into him for whatever he'd said. And it was hard to believe he hadn't deserved it, to some degree. But no one ever steps in anymore to call a stop to a beating. Blokes just keep kicking until they hear something break and then it's emergency rooms, brain scans and half-hearted apologies blaming the piss or their mates for egging them on. Way I see it, if you're going to take it to that level, it had better be worth it. The guy better have raped your wife or murdered your daughter. Otherwise, just get a few digs in and then step the fuck off.

When I set Mikey down outside my trailer he couldn't stand up. He'd caught a few blows to the face that looked worse than they were. Nothing seemed broken. I figured a hot bath and a couple of day's rest would do the trick. Within a week he'd be bragging about the fight and showing off his bruises.

I put my arm around his shoulders and helped him inside, walking him to my bed. He slumped down on the doona, clutching his guts and moaning. I asked how he was feeling and I knew from his sarcastic reply that he wasn't that bad.

‘A thousand f-f-fucken per cent, dawg.' He looked around the room, taking in my spartan digs. ‘Nice bunk.'

Even though it was hot he was shivering and I was worried he'd gone into shock. I took my old army swag out of the cupboard and unrolled it. He lay back on the bed, and let me take his sneakers and jeans off.

‘Hey, no funny stuff,' he mumbled as I helped him into the sleeping bag. I didn't want him wrapped up in my sheets. He wasn't all that clean. His face was a mess, so I soaked a towel and wiped the blood off. Snug inside the swag, he finally stopped shivering and his eyes began to blink shut. Satisfied he was going to sleep, I grabbed my wash kit and left, leaving the door unlocked so he could crawl outside and piss if he needed to. I hoped he wouldn't soil the bed.

I stood in the warm night air for a while after that, wondering what time it was. The light was still on in Steph's trailer so I tapped gently at her door, wincing at the pain in my knuckles. She was half asleep when she let me in, and didn't ask what had happened. She knew better.

I left Steph dozing in the crumpled sheets and padded to the front of her trailer to get a better look at my face in the make-up mirror she'd nailed over the breakfast bar. There were cuts on my cheekbones and bruises forming right across my brow. My eye sockets were dark and sunken. I dabbed at the wounds with a cloth, flinching each time.

I'd been lucky, Mikey even more so. I wondered what had happened to the three army trainees—if they had visited the emergency room, if coppers would come knocking at the door any minute now. The show was due to run a few more days in Wodonga. I really didn't need to spend that time banged up in the cells because I'd broken the teeth of some prominent local's favourite son.

A sharp pain flared up in my thigh and I stepped back to look at the bite. It was red and angry, despite Steph having dressed it with antiseptic. I took in my full reflection in the mirror. I looked like I'd been through the wars and I resolved to take it easy for a week or two, to spend more time being loved up by Steph, to avoid fraternising with Mikey and the other dedicated drinkers. There was a whole summer season to get through and I knew that if you sought out trouble in small towns, it would surely find you.

Steph's trailer was a mess. There were clothes scattered everywhere. Make-up and tiny bottles of essential oils were stacked haphazardly on every available surface, creating an overwhelmingly sharp scent that made my nostrils tingle. I peered back along the corridor. Steph snuffled and turned on her belly, her arse poking up in the air invitingly. She'd been telling fortunes and giving massages on the Kingdom for two years. I didn't buy into the palm reading but my scepticism didn't bother her. She'd been forgiving of my confronting appearance and I was grateful for that.

I drew a glass of water from the sink, pulled the curtain back and cracked open the window. The smell of breakfast cooking wafted in and my stomach growled. I found my pants and boots, then remembered I had no shirt. Everyone on the show knew about my burns but I didn't exactly enjoy parading around bare-chested if I could help it.

I went to Steph's wardrobe and pulled out her robe, a silky black number that was way too small for me. I liked it on Steph, though. It was a little short for her too, but I didn't mind that at all.

I opened the door to a bright morning sky, shielding my eyes from the silvery glare as I stepped down. The hatch at Shark Bites was open, and Delia was busying herself frying eggs and bacon on the grill. A few of the hands stood around conversing. I loped across to join them.

‘Hey, Delia, can I get a couple of bacon and egg rolls?'

She looked me up and down and arched her eyebrows. ‘You boys tie one on last night?'

‘It wasn't too bad. I'm not hung, at least.'

‘No need to be ashamed. Hey, Steph was up early. She off visiting her mum for a few days?'

That caught me off guard. ‘Steph's still in bed.'

Delia threw her head back and guffawed, showing off the gaps in her teeth. Sweat trickled out from under her hairline. ‘Ooh, think you better check on the identity of the young lady you're lying with, Ben Wallace. Steph lit on out of here at sparrow's. I was up answering the call and I seen her car pulling out. Get to my age and you're up five, six times a night. If I didn't know better I'd think I was with child but Ron had the snip a few years back so I don't see how that's possible.'

I stepped to the side of the stall to look down sideshow alley towards my trailer. Steph's old Datsun had been parked next to my ute. Sure enough, it wasn't there. I walked quickly, my mind racing. From twenty metres away I could see the door to my trailer was ajar. A sick feeling began to creep into my guts.

The bloodstained sleeping bag lay draped across the bed. My stuff was in disarray, scattered over the floor. I stood there for a minute, surveying the carnage.

The cigar box was upside down next to the nightstand. Motherfucker. I didn't think anyone would be able to find it, but he'd had all night, and I'd carried the fucken little fox right into the chicken coop. I bent down to retrieve the box, turning it over in my fingers before chucking it angrily into the corner. There had been close to ten thousand dollars in there, in fifties and a few hundreds. Nine thousand seven hundred, to be exact. All I'd saved in two weeks. I'd been meaning to drop it off at the storage unit once I hit ten grand. That was how I usually did things.

The money was Mikey's now, along with Steph's car. She'd probably left the keys in the ignition, as usual. He was gone, and he had half a night's start. Mother
fucker
. I pushed the stained swag off the bed and flopped down, staring at the bruises forming on my knuckles.

I'm not one of those hoons who thinks it's clever to rev at the lights and do burnouts. The SV6 is way too classy a machine for that. Dual overhead cammies, eighteen-inch alloy rims, and she takes corners like she's glued to the macadam. A lot of blokes say you've gotta go with a V8 but I took a spin in the SS and it was all over the place. You're just buying it for the sound of the engine. If you're a fucken idiot, that is. The SV6 was the first thing I got myself when the money really started coming in. Bottle green. Huge tray. Which is just as well, since I have to lug all Steph's stuff round with me now too. The Target Ball stand I just hook up to the towbar, but even with all the extra weight it's not a problem. You can tow a house with this rig.

If Mikey had taken it, well, Jesus. Different story entirely, I suppose. I'd have hired a couple of boys to hunt him down and bring him back to me, preferably in an unspecified number of pieces. As for the ten grand, I'd made that back in less than a week so I wasn't down much. Still, it was my money and I wanted it back, even if meth's going gangbusters in these small towns. I can hardly keep up with demand. New customers everywhere I go now.