The Legend of Kevin the Plumber (13 page)

Kevin groaned. ‘What will you need?'

I felt something crawling on my forehead and slapped it away.

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘I'll have to cut out the chewed bit. About sixty centimetres of pipe, a couple of those joiner thingys and the oxy.'

‘Right. Sit tight.'

A shadow moved in the darkness. Two shadows. A low growl.

‘Kevin! Bring a torch.'

The three minutes it took him to collect the gear felt like three hours. One of the dogs sat in the gloom and I could feel it watching me. I could hear it breathing. The other dog lay near the exit to that underworld, crunching bone.

Kevin handed tools through the slats. He had to pull grass away from the wall to find a place big enough to
thread the torch in. I fumbled and clicked it on. The dog's eyes glowed briefly green. Its lips smacked. Nice clean teeth. It took a step closer.

‘Stay. Good dog.'

I took the bits from Kevin. The gas bottles rested against the outside wall but the oxy torch itself fitted through. Kevin opened the taps.

I opened my nostrils and couldn't decide if the pong was gas or a mix of dogshit, damp earth and rotting flesh.

‘Is this going to blow up in my face?'

‘Should be right. Know what to do?'

‘Sort of.'

Kevin squatted and one of his knees cracked. He peered through the slats and gave me step-by-step instructions. What he said made perfect sense. Every sentence made a picture in my mind. When I lit the oxy to finish the job, the dog in the dark jumped. I made the flame blue but not too hot like Kevin had shown me and pointed it at the dog. It bolted — tail straight — out into the morning. And when I brought the flame to the job, a dozen dangly cobwebs fizzed and shrivelled in the heat. With a smile on my lips, I cleared the cobwebs from my headspace with the oxy. I only stopped when one of the big bits of wood holding the house up popped alight and wouldn't be blown out. I slapped it, sending a shower of sparks to the cool earth beside my knee.

‘Careful,' Kevin said. ‘Then again, that'll probably get the oven hot.'

I finished the weld and turned the oxy off. It made a crack like a gunshot and I bumped my head on the floor above. The shadow of a dog moved. It growled.

I flicked the Eveready on and stabbed the beam at the growl. More green eyes. Coming closer. It had something in its mouth.

‘Nice doggy.'

I stuffed the tools back through the slats. I kept the torch.

‘All done?' Kevin said. ‘I'll turn the gas on. Wait there.'

I shone the torch behind me again but the dog was already lit by the daylight coming through the slats. In its mouth it carried the mauled remains of a kangaroo's head, the fur flattened with saliva and blood.

‘Go on. Piss off.'

The dog stood its ground. Kevin handed me the battery drill, some screws, two pipe saddles and a spray bottle.

‘Spray the joint all over. Soapy water. Watch for bubbles.'

No bubbles.

‘Use the saddles to anchor it to the joists. Make sure the dogs can't get at it again.'

The dog grumbled as I changed position. I could hear it breathing again. I slipped off a screw and drilled my finger with the screwdriver point. I swore but eventually managed to secure the pipe.

I passed the spray bottle back to Kevin but kept the drill.

‘Good doggy.'

Hurrying, the hair prickling on my neck as the dog behind me let off a couple of muffled barks, I managed to dive my bare hand into a nest of dogshit. I gagged as it squidged between my fingers like an overripe banana. Held my breath.

I wiped my hand on one of the posts and kept holding my breath until I felt faint. When I got out I dropped the torch and the drill, unplugged a rotten hose with my clean hand and washed until the skin was raw and the dogshit had gone.

Kevin arrived. ‘The oven works fine. Well done. Let's get out of here.'

I breathed in puffs through my mouth and followed him out to the van. I chucked the drill and the torch in the back and I slammed the rear door.

Kevin scowled.

We sat in silence most of the way to the rough-in job. Kevin looked across at me occasionally, half a smile on his face.

‘You right, Gary?' he eventually said. ‘You did well back there. Good job.'

I shivered. ‘That was fucken disgusting. I can't believe people actually live like that. How totally fucken feral.' I looked out my window. ‘I stuck my hand in dogshit. I can't believe someone had a dead kangaroo on their kitchen table. That's fucken disgusting. They were totally off. Imagine that poor little kid. Imagine what she's going to grow up like. People like that shouldn't be allowed to breed. That's fucken feral.'

Kevin's smile flattened until it was his average scowl.

‘If we lived in a decent society, people like that would have been smothered at birth.'

I crossed my arms. They were my words all right but as soon as they were out I couldn't believe that I'd said them. Couldn't believe that they'd tumbled out of my mouth.

Kevin glanced at me with a look of total disbelief on his face. He looked at me again and again. He shook his head.

‘What?' I said.

‘You sound like Homer,' he said.

As far as possible we gave each other the silent treatment for the rest of the morning. Kevin grumbled a few orders, I asked a few questions, but every word was a huge effort.

We sat in the van at lunch. I was chowing into my Vegemite and cheese sandwiches and Kevin kept looking across at me.

‘What?' I asked.

‘Could you please chew with your mouth closed?'

I moaned and turned the radio on to Triple J. You're not my fucken mother, I thought. After I finished my sandwiches, I pulled my hat over my eyes, crossed my arms, rested my chin on my chest and tried to go to sleep.

I felt the van rock as Kevin left. I sat there for a half-minute, my eyelids fluttering under the brim of my hat, before I was overcome by the desire to go back to work. Get that:
desire
to go back. The job was fun and I kept forgetting to be pissed off. I felt the sun on the back of my shirt and caught myself whistling. I didn't want to be a Homer.

We finished the rough-in just before 2 pm. I packed the tools and asked Kevin where we were going. He said we were going back to the depot. That he had to leave early. Doctor's appointment.

We had a pee stop at the park where we'd eaten lunch the day before. The park with the seesaw table seats. I decided I could go a squirt.

Kevin used the cubicle. I peed at the piss trough. It was an old concrete urinal; clean, dry and unused. I drew random shapes with my pee. A triangle. A squiggle. Then an H. ASH. I'd written her name in piss. I blushed and scribbled it out with my last burst.

Kevin stood in the cubicle making little grunts of effort. I'd finished, shaken three times and tucked myself away and Kevin hadn't even started to pee. I wet my hands at the sink and as I was stepping through the door back to the van, I heard a trickle. A solitary splash of piss into the toilet.

That was it?

There was a little grunt and another splash. Grunt splash. Grunt splash.

I swung into the van and put my seatbelt on. I hoped Kevin was going to the doctors to see about his stage fright. Or get his piss valve checked.

He came out five minutes later, a few dark drip marks on his overalls. Poor bastard looked like he'd had a tooth removed with his face all screwed up and his eyes narrowed to slits.

We pulled into the depot car park at 2.36 pm. Kevin looked over his shoulder to the rear of the van.

‘Can you smell gas?'

I sniffed and my lungs filled with putrid air. I could smell gas all right but it hadn't leaked from any bottle. It wasn't oxy or acetylene or butane or LPG. It was butt gas. It reeked of the septic tank that had done me over the day before.

Kevin's face cramped as he struggled to hold down a smile.

‘You bastard,' I groaned, and pinched my nose. ‘That's disgusting. You need to see a doctor.'

I dived through the door and frantically waved clean air at my face.

Kevin chuckled, and vacated the van himself. ‘Yes. I'm going, I'm going. Only he's not going to be looking at my bum, thankfully. He'll be looking at my ankle.'

‘Careful you don't fart in his surgery or they'll put you in jail. That would be manslaughter. Worse. If you squeezed it out, that would be murder.'

I went to the back of the van. Kevin opened the rear door and fart gas rolled out onto the ground and straight up my nostrils again. I spun, fanning my face.

Kevin laughed properly that time. Bent over and shook with real happiness. It was a warm, breathy laugh that was deep and kind of musical. It suited the big man and was easy to listen to. He shook his head but still managed a smile when I started collecting the tools with one hand, the other clamped over my nose and mouth.

‘When you fart, Gary, you've got to be proud.'

‘Right,' I said. ‘Must remember that.'

Kevin handed me the battery from one of the drills. ‘I'll take the rest of the stuff. Stick this in the charger in Phil's office.'

I walked through the shed into the reception area. Pip wasn't at her desk. Phil's door was closed. I heard furniture bump in Phil's office and I smiled.

‘Hello?' I shouted, and there was a flap of activity
behind the door. I'd managed to bite my smile when Pip emerged from the closed office, cheeks flushed. She wiped her mouth and peeked at the back of her hand.

‘G'day, Gary,' she chirped. ‘What's up?'

‘Kevin asked me to plug this into the charger in Phil's office. I —'

She held out her hand. ‘Yep, I can do that for you.'

‘No, it's fine,' I said, and stepped past her into the office.

Phil sat at his desk with a pen in his hand. He was huddled over a blank piece of notepaper. He looked up and smiled, flashing more teeth than a grey nurse shark.

‘Gary! What can I do for you?'

I showed him the battery and he pointed to a row of chargers on a shelf beside the door. I plugged the battery in. There was a little red light and a little green light on the charger and I hoped like hell that was all I had to do. I'd seen all the evidence I'd needed and I tried to make a casual exit.

‘You guys are back early today,' Phil said, as I stepped through the door.

I stopped and turned. ‘Kevin's got a doctor's appointment.'

‘Ah yes. You got something to do until knock-off time?'

‘Yes, Kevin's got a job for me,' I lied.

‘Good-oh.'

I jogged through the shed and out to the van. Kevin was wiping his hands on a bit of torn bed sheet.

‘They were at it again,' I said.

‘Who?'

‘Pip and Phil.'

‘Yeah?'

He sounded like he couldn't give a shit; cleaning his hands seemed far more important.

‘What, did you . . . see them?' he eventually mumbled.

‘No, but I heard them. They were in the office together.
Door closed. I yelled then Pip came out all flustered.'

Kevin raised an eyebrow.

‘It's true,' I said.

He nodded. ‘I believe you. Just none of our business.'

‘Hasn't Phil got a wife?'

He nodded. ‘And two little kids.'

‘Arsehole.'

Kevin was scowling again. ‘He gave you this job, didn't he? Like Mrs Hunter. Can't afford to bag people like that. Just got to let them live the way they want to live. Sleep with who they want. Wear their hair how they want.'

He threw the rag at my head. Not in an angry way, just to make his point. He'd obviously missed
my
point.

‘Think about the kids. Imagine how it'll stuff their lives. It's wrong.'

He paused and stared, his dusty blue eyes slapping at me. Challenging me. ‘What happened to your dad?'

‘Moved to Queensland.'

‘With another woman?'

I nodded.

‘Did that stuff your life?'

‘No. I'm going to live with him after I've finished here.'

His eyes widened in triumph. ‘
You
think it's wrong. Maybe even
I
think it's wrong, but don't bag them for it. Don't waste your energy bagging anyone. One day it'll be their shout.'

‘Right,' I said. ‘I'll remember that. You're full of wisdom today.'

He smiled again. ‘And wind.'

He lifted one foot slightly and gave birth to a fart that rattled and honked for a full second. I held my face and ran low like a commando into the shed.

Kevin set me up sorting bits from a huge box of scraps. He found me a spanner and a hammer and told me to salvage every fitting from the box.

‘You right for a ride home?'

I hadn't thought about it until he asked. ‘Yes. Mum's got a salon in Christmas Bay. I'll walk down and go home with her.'

‘You sure? I'll come back and get you if you like. I just don't know what time I'll be done.'

‘It's fine. Fanks anyway.'

‘Pick you up in the morning then?'

I nodded and thanked him as he left.

Unpredictable bastard, I thought. One minute he's telling me I've done a great job, next he's telling me off for chewing with my mouth open. One minute he says that I sound like Homer, next he's organising me a ride home. And bloody rock scissors paper . . .

I walked to the salon. I said hello to Mum and collapsed into one of the leather waiting chairs. At first I didn't recognise Mum's client. She was just another head with hair until I looked twice. It was Ash.

She blushed and wriggled under her wrap. ‘Gaz, you're not supposed to see this part, only the finished product.'

‘I promise I won't tell. Who's the lucky guy?'

She snorted. ‘No guy. Just getting my hair done.'

‘Should go for dreads, mate. Low maintenance, cheap . . . '