Blue Moves Breukelaar Ch 3

8/14/2019 Blue Moves Breukelaar Ch 3

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Blue Moves

J.S. Breukelaar

CHAPTER THREE: Two at a time.

Bennet Scott claims to be related through a genealogical quirk to a Federation outlaw

who went by the name of The Cooper and did terrible things to children and who, legend

has it, conquered a debilitating fear of dogs by eating them. He thinks of these things

more often these days, now that the diabetes has got him good and hes reduced to

clearing drains and filling cracks and plugging all and sundries back passages until they

bleed.

In other words, not a man to be kept waiting for his Sunday breakfast.

So when Fulton swims back into consciousness on the divan he doesnt need to

touch the dampness down there or the sticky drool from his mouth to know that both are

blood. He presses one eye into the ridged upholstery and the other blinks into swirling

dust motes, one arm bent winglike beneath him. From under the shutters, pale streaks lap

at the edges of injury, injurious night having given way to day. He concentrates on

minimizing movement aware of a small patch of dried blood on the edge of the coffee

table and just visible in the half-light and no way of telling if that blood is from last year


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or last night or Yes. Getting home late for the old mans breakfast and the old man

with the devil in him and thats all there is ever to remember. He carefully mobilises his

free arm and inches fingers deep into the old couch, past snaking springs, matted stuffing

and assorted debrisbottle caps, rubber gloves and bread crustsfor his stashnot

breakfast exactly but brunch. Percodan, Dexedrine and tetracycline forever and ever

amen, because the goddess knows he deserves every bad thing that has ever happened to

him. There can be no other way to explain it.

Fulton blots the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. This sends an

arrow of pain up his nose to the back of his eyes. Concentric circles of red beat against

his retina like bloody wings. He takes his hand away. Dirt is thicker than water, the old

man always says and he says a lot of things, like the dirt he had on the bosses was enough

to set him up for life, before the sickness got him and he became a single parent, and

doesnt he deserve a decent breakfast on his one day off from spoon feeding the

ungrateful little spaz of a son who he should have had put down when he had the chance.

Lazy flies orbit the couch like dark moons around a ruined plant. He wishes he

didnt sleep so deeply, like the dead, because hes late for work. The grin of white light

beneath the shutters widens like a mouth as he staresas if to swallow him whole. But

spits him out instead into the waiting world, where by lunchtime hes perched, showered,

changed and self-medicated on a milk crate at Fus IGA and is glad he chose to die

another day.

Yao guai, sniffs his boss, Betty Fu. Filthy man. Bad spirit. And she fans her

hand back and forth across her face as if she can smell his shame. A bright crimson

birthmark wings across her right eye and up into her temple. He thinks it is the most


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beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The first time hed turned up late for work after a round with Bennet, shed fanned

her nose but all she said was that her own stepfather would not have laid a hand on her,

and even if her mother got a little slap-happy after The Change, it was nothing like this,

she said, not like with him. He rests his chin on his knees and pendulums the labeller

back and forth over his feet. Once Betty gave him some soap her mother sent over from

China. It was a deep rose-brown block wrapped in flowered paper and sealed with a gold

sticker. It was too beautiful to be taken to the flat so he hid it in a special cave at the far,

southern end of the point. He couldnt use it, not on his own guilty skin. So then she gave

him some special tea to flush the harm out of his body and to protect him against evil. So

far so good.

Her birthmark flushes a deep purple and her hard baby-mouth quivers a little as she

watches him work. She shakes her head.

You look like a ghost today. Why do you stay? You should leave. LookBay

Road. Easy, but not for you. I know. Me too. A boy like you with no speech. Something

missing up here, she points to her head. Ghost boy.

He was in the eighth grade when Howard Fu brought his child-bride back from

China and installed her at the IGA along with a new bank of freezers leased with her

dowry money. Having no children of their own, they staffed the store with Howards

many nephews and nieces who mostly live on the other side of the gorge, at West Falls.

Fus IGA stands attached to a small row of shops below second floor offices and

storerooms on the west side of Bay Road. The shop next to the IGA, separated by the

main entrance to the building, is Peninsula Hair and Beauty and next to it is, Peninsula


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Credit Union, and the pharmacy, Peninsula Drugs. Above the IGA, on the first floor, is an

empty room sometimes used by Ms Kleets yoga group and behind that, Spankys Bar.

Across the street is the new Plaza Building, a cheesecake coloured hexagonal built by

Time Out, with office suites and a rooftop gym and a record store and more stores on

street levelthe Mayors office and real estate agency, a drycleaners, Syds Vidz, the

Hitten Run sports store and a hardware store. The Brakaleg Internet Cafe, named for a

long-gone repertory group, is on the corner of Bay Road and Crescent Street. Down a

block is Lonnies Collectibles, which sits by itself. Walk a block or two in the other

direction, toward the highway and you get to Busters Smash Repairs and beyond that a

half a block, Haven Aged Care, This is Falls Point Village.

Are you scared? Bettys eyes pin him to the crate. Bad boys coming back.

Fulton shifts on his crate. It is not like her to interrogate himboss-lady and man

boy comfortable together in shared hurts for which there is no name. His muscles burn

and his bones grin against each other and he sits bent up like a mantis. At the beginning

everyone in Falls Point talked about her strange birthmark, a disfigurement, they called it.

If it werent for that she would have been as invisible as Fulton. Howard made a big joke

about it to the customers. Beauty, hed say pointing to himself. And the beast.

Pointing at Betty. Childless. Friendless. Fulton watches her write letters home to China,

the script dancing up and down pages decorated with alien cartoons, the secret billfolds

dug out of her smock and stuffed into the envelope.

She turns back to the shelves and starts pushing moisturizer into rows.

Howard is up at the meeting, she says casually. Up there bosses fight over

everything, isnt it? The dog they dont care. He can hump a hole to China, they got other


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fish to fry.

He sits up a little straighter on his crate. She lifts her arms to fix a plastic clip in

her hair, smiling as he tries not to stare. But then her masked eye shifts to something

behind him that freezes the smile on her face and darkens her birthmark. Her eyes slide

back harder and he smells an abrupt whiff of cold medicinal metal and there is a new

hard twinge at his temples. Mrs Mueller has come down the aisle behind him and Fulton

backs off the crate at a crouch, because, being the head of the Dangerous Breeds

Committee, Mrs Mueller should be upstairs at the meeting. Whatever shes doing down

here, it cant be a good sign. He turns his head away and turns his eyes inward, but like

Ms Kleet, Mrs Mueller appears oblivious to the boy with the tangled hair and unwashed

facefilthy as a penitent, the janitors son mute and clearly disabled whose name she

cant remember. Whose face no one can bring to mind. Whose pure singing tenor has

never been heard. She sinks down on the vacated milk crate. Fans herself with the agenda

she prepared for the meeting of the Dangerous Breeds Committee. Fulton catches sight of

a column of bullet points under the heading Bull Terrorin bold with a smiley face on

either side.

I sent advance copies to each member of The Triumvirate, Mrs Mueller wiggles

two fingers from each hand in the air. But they havent got to it yet. The dog is a crime

against nature. Can no one see that? Mrs Muellers hair has grown back coarse after a

recent bout of chemo and sits like a thatched roof atop her slick and hairless face, flushed

fish belly gray from the special colloidal silver she buys on the Internet.

Sodomy or attempts thereof. Mrs Mueller continues. Its all here. Many of the

dogs in the community appear traumatised, she reads from the agenda. In addition we


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note a marked increase in sexual deviance among the canine community: fathers coupling

with sons, daughters with brothers and so on.

Betty makes tut-tutting noises and Mrs Muellers fading eyes brim. Thank-you,

the sick lady says. I appreciate that coming from someone for whom dogs are a delicacy.

Served over rice. Maybe Belle Maye should just move to Korea and be done with it.

China actually, says Betty. Im from Shanghai.

Maye is vagitarian, says Fatty Fu from the other end of the aisle. She eats pussy

not dog.

Betty replies sharply in Mandarin to her nephew but there must be something in her

meaning that is in contradiction to her tone because Fatty breaks out into a fit of high

pitched giggles and his tits jiggle beneath his uniform just like on DJ night outside

Spankys with his flesh rippling beneath the designer mesh and a cool sheen of sweat on

his jowls as he spits out the beat.

Can I turn the radio up, boss?

Yes, but no talk, says Betty.

Howard has teased Betty for not liking Talk Radio: Too Aussie, he explains to

the customers. She likes Chinese music, launching into a falsetto rendition of some

Mandarin pop song.

Distract the customersall that talking, Betty had explained good-naturedly.

No music, just blah.

But under cover of Howards high-pitched pantomime, shed said in a voice only

Fulton could hear and with eyes blank and furious:

Enough blah you lose the will to live.


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But from her nephew, at least, there is no argument.

Dont worry Auntie, no talk.

Mrs Mueller opens her mouth to speak but Betty cuts in.

Everyone is on somebody's side isn't it, says Betty. He admires the way Betty

takes control of the situation without appearing to. Betty can summarise the entire history

of Falls Point in one clipped sentence which makes him wish there was someone besides

the nobody of himself on Bobs side.

You should go back up to the meeting, she waves Mrs Mueller up from her chair.

Very important.

Lined up like the infantry, nods Mrs Mueller. The Triumvirate closing ranks,

and Garth and his lot squaring off against them.

Rising Sons, says Betty.

Excuse me?

Men give names to everything, says Betty. Garth calls his gang Rising Sons. He

likes Japanese influence. Bujitsu champion.

Do you sell Goji Berry juice? says Mrs. Mueller, by way of bringing the

conversation back to herself. Its very hard to get.

Rising Sons are no match for bad boys survive fifteen years on big-broken boat,

Siberia, isn't it? Maybe bad boys be unsinkable.

No one is unsinkable, my dear girl, says Mrs Mueller with a sigh, getting up off

the crate. And I dont know about Joobitso but it isnt Siberia. Its Nigeria.

Fatty giggles again. Tastes like chicken, he whispers after the sick woman.

But Mrs Mueller is rattling her agenda too loudly to hear.


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Betty walks to the end of the empty aisle near the registers. She reaches both hands up to

fix a plastic clip in her hair shaped like a bow.

Make sure you switch back to Uncles talk station in one hour when the meeting

finishes. 106.1 FM, Say What! Im going home for a while.

Then she comes back to Fulton. Her blue birthmark is flushed with blood. Lets

go, she says in a voice so low he doesnt recognise it.

He looks up at the shelves, anywhere but at Betty. He presses closer to the

protective produce, the bright packets and logos. A trickle of sweat snakes down his ribs.

To the meeting, Betty says. You have a right to know. If they get rid of the dog,

what will you do? He is your guard dog. Without him, then what? They wont tell you.

Find out for yourself.

Her sad eye stares at him from behind its winged mask pulling him toward

something and away from it at the same time.

My mother used to say, Betty says with her hot lips close to his ear. That God

punishes us for what we wont imagine. She would not believe they would take me away

from her.

When he doesnt move, she tut-tuts and is gone. No one else in the aisle now. He is

alone with the oozing and the squirts and the punishment that never ends. The bruises that

wont heal. Leaving him alone with no time but this one filled by the looming presence of

the old man hurled like a zombie raver from the shadows filling the space in a rising red

tide that tastes like metal and smells like excrement. The school counsellor asked him to

describe the raw shocks but she didnt see the ones on his body, the black and blue shapes


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like pumpkins playing guitar, he wrote.

Wait!

He runs after Betty through the door of the back office that leads to a musty

hallway and catches her halfway up green-painted internal stairs, deep drifts of dust at the

edges. She turns back to him once and smiles then keeps on going up the stairs. They stop

on the first floor landing and Betty quietly unlocks a door to their left. She motions him

in and then shuts the door and locks it again from the inside. They are standing in the

storeroom to Spankys Bar. Lambent metal shelves stacked with bottles and boxes bisect

the small dark room into narrow corridors and at the end of one, a windowed door swings

through to the bar. In the door is a small window that is a one-way mirror. You can see

out but not in. They look through it to the bar and beyond the counter, the assembled

council members. She silently shows him how when she pushes the door open just a

crack they can hear everything that is said. Her eyes are a lovely ink behind her mask.

He finds a box to pull up to the window so Betty doesnt have to stand on tiptoe

and together they look through. Light from the terrace windows streams onto stacked

stools and scrubbed tables. The sky over the bay is leaden with unfallen rain. Fulton does

a dazed roll call.Everyone here is either on the Town Council or on the board of TimeOut Developments or both. One man stands out partly because of his bright red hair and

glossy sideburns but mainly because of the way he holds himself, puffed and beefy and

entitled, Falls Points founding father, Dr Lance Clowe MD.

Lance Clowe clears his throat partly to call the meeting to order and partly because

he hasnt had a cigarette in fourteen years but the cough is a part of who and what he is

a man of formidable self-discipline and monumental sacrifice. Like the DJ, he wears


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sunglasses but they are big and brown and non-reflective and he pulls them off and

pockets them in his shirt. From his pants pockets he pulls out a pack of Nicabate, pops a

tile into his mouth and begins chewing and soon his small pink eyes begin to hop. Fulton

can see the tip of a dermal patch stuck to the freckled skin on Dr Clowes big upper arm.

He squares knurled shoulders beneath his polo shirt and flutters white lashes at his

flunkiesDaniel J Sweet, LLB, to the left of him and Mayor Bernhard Pitts to the right.

The Triumvirate. They own this town and everyone in itblood, bones and above all,

guts. Fulton has often wondered how Spike and Mike Hegarty got away from the bosses

and he figures no matter how bad Nigeria is, it has to have been an escape as lucky as it

was unlikely. Why they would come back is anyones guess and everyones fears but

nothing good can come of it, which is what this meeting is all about because no one

knows better than the folks of Falls Point that there is no statute of limitations on the

malice of the past

All we need is a majority vote, croaks Mrs Mueller above the stampede toward a

tray of coffee and muffins. And that dog is out.

But her pleas are muffled by the lewd clink and suck of spoons, mouths filled with

sugar and cream. BULL TERROR may have been on Mrs Muellers agenda but it isnot on anyone elses.

Leaning coil and elegant against the pool table, is Garth Du Chesne, the towns up-

and-comer, president of an under-thirties business association called the Rising Sons. His

top dogs flank him on both sides. To Fulton, the light seems condensedintensifiedin

the air around their expensive haircuts and branded T-shirts. They talk in low voices silky

with entitlement. In their dreams and two hundred dollar jeans, they are the generation


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that will bring Falls Point into the 21st century. In reality they collect series box sets and

run a betting syndicate out of the rectory, where Garth lives with his uncle, Reverend

Allan Du Chesne.

On the other side of the room beside the dance floor, is Brett Clemensbarely

eighteen and partly lameand a small gathering of slightly older men with stained

fingers because they are graffiti artists and the closest thing to a counter culture in Falls

Point. They call themselves the Graffitia, but having covered all of the designated graffiti

walls that no one ever sees like the one down at the disused ferry wharf and at the

abandoned refinery, they spend most of their time huddled over their cell phones trying to

magic up a life.

But this is not the graffers show nor the Rising Sons. Fultons head begins to

pound. In the darkness of the storeroom, he looks down to where there is no space

between Bettys shoulder and his own.

Clowe-show, whispers Betty because it is the only one in town.

Dr Clowe licks his lips with a fat pink tongue and looks up at the ceiling. The Council

appreciates your input, Sandra, and commends the actions of the Dangerous Breeds

Committee. All those in favour of reconvening on the dog-humping issue until such time

as we have addressed the more urgent matters at hand, say ay.

Rain lashes the bay.

Hear hear, says Juliana Kleet, frisky from her morning romp with the old man.

There is a collective checking of text-messages. The Risings Sons blink into their


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phones and the Graffitia scowl into theirs.

So. Were all on the same page now? Sandra?

She hasnt been on his page since he told her lump this big was a milk bud,

whispers Betty in the dark. At her age. He tries to breathe soundlessly through his

mouth, concentrates on trying not to cry. His welling eyes slide across to Betty who is

staring discretely through the window, but now he sees that this is what she brought him

up here to seethe unfolding of events infinitesimally influenced by their attendance on

them. Of course she read the signs long before he ever could. It hits him how her social

simper is a lie. She knew what would happen with Bob, just not when or how, and she

wanted him to know, but there is something else. She cocks her head to the window, as if

reminding him to pay attention, but all he is conscious of is the melodic tinkling of her

bracelets.

Now thats settled, Dr Clowe is saying. We can move on. Dan

The lawyer Dan Sweet, a restless, loose-limbed member of the SSAA with a mouth

like a broken zipper, taps his pencil on the table.

Newsflash people: we dont owe those boys a thing. This is something they just

dreamed up and in return for us cutting them some slack when we could have just shut

them down theyre coming back to make trouble and what are we going to do about it?

Yao guai, whispers Betty. Fulton nods. Hes heard the stories too. How the

Hegartys got sloppier and sloppier and the old man had to keep cleaning up their messes.

Until the only mess left was the Hegartys themselves and then the powers that be

deprived Bennet Scott of the pleasure, dispatching them one night on a Zodiac to parts

unknown.


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Falls Point is my town, Doctor Clowe begins. This place is my birthright and if

two-bit goons Spike or Mike or Anyone Else wants to come back they will find me

waiting for him.

Anyone Else is the one and only Club King an entertainment boss up at

Nickerston who has had his eyes on the ruins of the refinery down by the foreshore there

forever. Public Enemy number one waiting to pounce the moment theres a whiff of

Trouble in Paradise.

Ill bow down and kiss Regis Kings tired old ring before I give him an inch of

Falls Point real estate, and the same applies to those lunatic crackheads, says Dr Clowe

and beside him, Dan Sweet nods sagely.

It is through our tireless efforts alone that this secluded getaway has not fallen into

the hands of soulless bottom feeders with ambitions to cash in off the next Antipodean

Ibiza, the lawyer says So hands up those who want to let those boys run roughshod

over everything we hold dear?

No answer. In the storeroom, Fulton feels Betty flinch. Doc holds nothing dear,

she says this in barely a whisper, moving her baby mouth in the dark like a prayer or

incantation, the answer to the question of Falls Point: Doc holds nothing dear.

His pulse quickens at their inadvertent participation in the Town Meetingtar

baby and the house-slave in the belly of the beast. He pulls back a little from the window,

and he can see their pale faces faintly reflected in it. Her crimson mask. His ghostly one.

This was her purpose. Brave Betty. Fulton wonders how many other Town Meetings she

has spied upon, sat in on alone with no one to share the burden and the power of her

knowledge.


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You all remember. After the the events. Yours truly got the Hegarty boys a

transfer, the Mayor says. Wasnt easy to do, takes a village, we all did our bit. Pulled

strings and whatnot. Good jobs in the petrochemical industry are hard to find and West

Africas a nicer place than you think. Cant fault the weather. Those boys owe us, if you

ask me.

But the Mayors vigorous nodding lacks conviction.

Except, says Brett Clemens. What the hell you promise them the land for?

Thats a pretty big bonus you ask me. Who wouldnt come back for a chunk of this prime

foreshore?

Mayor Pitts rocks nervously on Italian loafers.

We didnt promise anyone anything, the doctors fat finger picks at another

dermal patch on his thick neck. At least, we didnt mean it.

Do we know for sure theyre coming back, Lance? Julianas hair still matted at

the back where the old man had her pinned down and Doctor Clowe wrinkles his nose

like he can smell it on her.

The buttons on her cardigan twinkle. Light flashes off the bobby pins in her hair.

Her lipstick is a dead cat red. A war between fascination and repulsion wages in the

Doctors pale stare, trying but unable not to imagine Bennets legendary wang feeding

the hungry space between Ms Kleets dimpled ass, said ass bent on more than one

occasion over his own examination table.

Its Time Out Developments job to protect its investmentsand by extension its

investors. Were all family here, Juliana. I have no reason not to trust the company

informants who tell us that Spike and Mikes West African contracts are well and truly


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expired and they touch down at 6:50 am on October 30. Its a short ride from the city to

Falls Pointhalf a day. You know the rest.

With all due respect, Doc, not sure we do, says Garth, his yellow eyes flashing

and his feathered hair feathering. Last we heard, Spike and Mike got picked up by a

Zodiac and the rest is mystery. Theres some of us beginning to wonder if its not those

boys youre afraid of. Its what they know about this town. That right, doc?

Fulton presses his face closer to the mirror. The room has darkened a little. The

faces gathered in the metallic shadows around the bar all look a little wrong to him:

animal featured and floating. His chest hurts. Their shared terror has sucked all the

oxygen from the room. Bettys shoulder feels hot against his arm.

There is nothing to know, says Clowe, calmly stroking his sideburns with a fat

freckled finger. Apart from the fact that those boys, under the influence of an Oxycontin

slash crystal methylamphetamine cocktail, took matters into their own hands in such a

way as to threaten the future development of our community.

After that the decision we made was the best we could for us and for those boys,

says Sweet between clenched teeth. Lance here got them a transfer to a good job in an

exotic location...

My ass, sneers Garth, is an exotic location. A West African rig is a bitch.

Point is, says Dr Clowe. None of us expected them to be back.

There is a clotted pause.

So, like the gim like Brett says, says Garth nodding toward Brett. Everyone in

the room trying not to stare at Bretts one big shoe. What did you expect? Theyre

impoverished and bitter after a decade and a half on some godless rig somewhere. You


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made some deal with them about that future development at the old refinery, a piece of

the action if they did what they were told? Theyve got back pay to claim, Doc. Get used

to it.

Dr Clowe seems to not be paying attention anymore, methodically unwrapping

another piece of gum and adding it to the wad in his cheeks. The point is that Spike and

Mike did not carry out their duties as instructed, he says thickly.

Sweet steps in: And as such have forfeited in perpetuity any claim to entitlements

now or in the future.

Perpetuity, beams the Mayor. Means forever.

Garth rolls his eyes.

Hatred is the only thing that lasts forever, he says. And those boys have grown

gills to breath it in

Clowe-Show, whispers Betty but Fulton hearsif hatred is forever then there is

no limit to what power can give or take away. Those boys gave away their land when

they threatened the power structures of Falls Point.

Theyll be back any day with pipe bombs and outlaw hordes and I guess this

said with a sigh of infinite patience, like a parent to a child, We all get a say in what

were going to do about it.

Well my say is let them have the land if itll shut them up. Hell, maybe theyve got

something we all need, connections in the real world. Lets talk to them

At that Dr Clowe breaks into a fit of shoulder-jerking chortles and the Mayor joins

in and Dan Sweet rasps emphysmic guffaws at Garth. Fulton almost feels sorry for him.

Talk to them? says Dan Sweet, in exaggerated incredulity, wiping his eyes. To


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brain-dead drug addict bikies wielding AKs and pipe-bombs?.

Right, chimes in the Mayor, a little uneasily.

Ill tell you what kind of connections, Dr Clowe says, suddenly serious pointing a

fat freckled finger at Garth. Connections with guns. Connections with explosives.

Connections wholl rape your sisters and eat your pets. Connections on big Jap bikes and

balaclavas coming in on Zodiacs. Ever tried to negotiate with a private militia, son?

And everyone in the room, including Fulton and Betty and probably Garth can

picture it then: Falls Point erupting in flames and flying patio-furniture, molten swing sets

and flapping title-deeds. Front yard fountains turning red.

Garth flounces back to the pool table.

Well, if you think you can throw more cash at this? he waves one of his small

hands above his head. And itll go away, youre wrong. Dead wrong.

Fulton takes his mind out beyond the talking heads to the bay and a patch of blue

between the horizon and the low-lying clouds.

Oh grow up, says Dan Sweet. He flicks lank hair off his face and almost picks his

nose.

Its OK now, whispers Betty, putting a hand on Fultons arm. And it is. It is OK

to be shaken by her touch, by the simple, shaking beauty of their arms now softly

touching.

But then what, says someone who Fulton cans see, do we do?

Dr Clowe sighs. He asks Dan Sweet to explain to the committee how their lands

office hasnt spent the better part of a decade keeping unscrupulous developers like the

Club King from getting their environmentally incorrect hooks into the foreshore to have


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to turn it over to a low life like the Hegartys. Before you know it, theyll set up a biker

compound, or a pornographic film sound stage or a meth lab the size of an airplane

hanger. Ive worked long and hard to attract the right kind of people to our little

dominion. Ive given it my soul. I am the spirit of the place ...

And so forth and so on, Garth is backing himself into a hole and his little group

shifts uneasily and keeps their eyes on the ground. Word on the street is that youre just

trying to distract attention from how you got them addicted to whatever it was and then

lost control of their Bogan arses. That youre not as afraid of what theyll do to this town

as what theyll do to you.

Fulton pushes his mind out further than the sky, above the clouds so that they block

the memories.

You know youre right, says Clowe with a vague nod. Except for one thing. I

am this town. Whatever they want to do to me, they want to do to all of us. You too, and

your mother and sister and cocker spaniel.

Lance stands to one side of the doctor with his legs spread. Maybe thats what you

want. You and your Rising Sons. Heres an idea: lets turn our little piece of hard-earned

heaven into a drug-riddled, electro-dance hell with the great unwashed legions sweeping

in to suck us dry. Why not. Lets take a vote. All in favor of flushing Falls Point down the

toilet say Ay.

The Mayor rocks ecstatically back and forth in his small leather heels. The

Triumvirate are more than the sum of their parts. They are not Falls Point. They have

consumed it and it grows in them, what it could have been, what they wanted it to be.

Like a maggot.


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Clowe-show, says Betty again with a shake of her shiny hair.

Garth brings his hands together. Clap clap clap. Silence falls down on the room like

a snow dome recently shaken and now it is Garths turn to laugha sensual chuckle.

You seriously believe that because youve put, what, some guy who shoots pigs

he points at Sweet in charge of security, and our local pawn broker here cocks

his head at Lonnie McGurgen in charge of supply, and our very own video store

owner in charge of training, you can take on a standing army that by your own definition

is equipped with weapons-grade attitude?

Clowe wipes a trickle of sweat from below a carroty sideburn and smiles brightly

around the room, but like the winter sun, his smile fails to reach the dark corners. What

else do you suggest?

Depends, someone says. On if theres anything else they want.

Doctor Clowe beams. Now what would that be?

What? Something we could give them? Something instead of the land?

And Clowes not smiling now. He looks over the assembled heads to his own

reflection in the mirrored tiles behind the bar. He nods. Something, he says. But

what? He shakes his big square carroty head like its on the tip of his tongue. Then fixes

Garth in a friendly pink stare. A watch beeps.

Go on, son. Spit it out.

Garth looks momentarily confused. Then he pulls himself together and says in a

restrained voice, Whatever else they want, if the brothers are still kinky for that room

with a view you promised them fifteen years ago before you called in a favour from your

old pals at Natura and had them packed off on a Zodiac C27, if memory serves, and if


20/26

you refuse to talk to them, then unless you've got those title deeds prepared, Mr Father,

Son and Holy Spirit, all Im suggesting is this: we find someone who can talk to those

boys in their language. Give them what they want. Or at least what they need. And Im

not your son.

Behind the door Fultons heart starts to chop like a propeller. He wants to duck and

Betty freezes beside him.

Any of you know anything about that DJ caused all the trouble last night?

It has come to this. He should have seen it coming.

Shes here for some music festival at Nickerston. Couldnt get accommodation or

something according to text messages on her phone, says a mans voice from behind

lawyer Sweet. Which we retrieved while she was incapacitated due to the ingenuity of

our resourceful publican here.

Who is she?

DJ Person or Poison or something.

I think I heard of her. Shes that technique-era burn-out?

Techno.

Clowes expression changes with the mention of the name and Fulton cannot read it

but whatever he sees makes him want to turn away, as if the face he sees through the

glass has become tainted in some wayinfected. Soul-sick. He glances solemnly at Betty

so she wont look either but it is too late. The terror in her eyes tells Fulton that she has

got what she came for. The boxes and bottles in the storeroom begin to pulsate around

them. Fulton feels a drop of perspiration tickle his ribs. Betty nudges him and points to

her husband madly texting on his cell phone.


21/26

He blames me, she whispers in a dull voice. But its him.

She looks up at Fulton. He shakes his head.

Howard is shooting with blanks, isnt it, says Bettythe despair making a mess

of her English.

Howard backs up toward the alcove to take a call. Fulton looks back at Dr Clowe

whose cheeks are lumpy from all the gum hes stuffed into them so that he resembles a

large pink squirrel.

Now wait, someone says. Weve always looked after our own affairs here. Why

involve a total stranger and a mental one at that?

The strangers not the danger, says Garth, regaining his confidence as if hes

found another point of entry into the machinations of the game. We know more about

her than she knows about us. Shes the one should be scared.

He has begun to pace piratically back and forth in front of the pool table. His hair is

gelled into a loveable tussle. There is a pause. The cloud-chased sun washes into the

room without reaching its dark corners.

Vicious Jesus, pipes up Tahnee McGurgen from the record store at the plaza.

Aren't they that bikie gang out west? says Brett doubtfully.

That time it's Tahnees turn to roll her eyes.

They're the band she's here to produce. Up at Nickerston. Could have biker

connections. Certainly linked to some pretty heavy traffic.

You mean Osama Bin Laden? someone says.

Could be, Syd says. Indirectly.

The Russian mafia? someone says.


22/26

The Chinese mafia, says Howard. I bet.

In the storeroom, Betty claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes dancing in the dark

and his dancing back.

The Triads, says Juliana. I heard

It's Triad, not Triads, Garth sneers.

Yakuza, says Dale. Is what I heard.

The Yakuza? says Garth as if hypnotised. What do they want with bands?

Operation Chaos, says Tahnee. Or similar. Yakuza got their fingers in a lot of

pies.

Operation what?

Why would a band be that bent?

Look at Frank Sinatra, says Syd.

Brett says, Who?

Bent my ass, says Tahnee, an American of about fifty-five with seriously

complicated hair. Ruby tips flashing in a mane of caramel and tawny blonde. Has no

one hear heard of Operation Chaos? The music industry has a history of organised crime

affiliationyou know, Mafia or Cosanostra, Yakuza what have you. Its all about the

moolah. Artists earn millions. That makes them dangerous. That makes them targets.

Look at Hendrix. You think the powers that be were gonna sit back and watch him donate

money to the Panthers? You think his death was an accident? Enter Uncle Sams bee-otch

the Mob. You back a band that earns a quarter billion dollars US on tour, you got

enough cash to buy all the guns you want, and a built-in courier system to boot. Couriers

to get the drugs out, bring the guns in.


23/26

Well, if thats all we know about her

Fulton searches the crowds face. If only hed seen this coming but he was in a

blind panic over Bob. Betty staring up at him with no expression, the white of her eye

stark against her mask. And without warning, Lex looms in the one-way mirror, abruptly

behind the bar. Betty lets the door swing shut and they step back into the shadows.

I know enough about that dyke runt to know she better watch out when I come

after her with the hospital bill for my boys.

Betty looks up at him and smiles, waving her hand in front of her nose. Her

laughing eyes gleam like river stones in the dark room, the crimson wing sweeping up

into her left temple like a medieval mask. Fultons lips are dry. A married woman.

Lex. Easy. Well send a contractor round to look at building the ramp for Luthers

wheelchair tomorrow. Cant say itll be covered by company insurance The

Triumvirate members exchange choreographed glances.

Whats your point? says Garth.

Still ignoring him, Clowe nudges lawyer Sweet.

Well? says Sweet. Aside from the obviousall that stuff about her being DJ

Person, then DJ Poison or something. Then she got into some kind of trouble

Point is, interrupts the Doctor. Theres the damages bills to consider. Upwards

of half a mill and skyrocketing as we speak. The medical bills aloneforty grand.

Whoever she is, she trashed the wrong place. This DJ Person or Poison, cute kid, but she

should have thought of that before throwing her weight around.

We should give her an opportunity to repay her debt in kind. Help us with our

little problem, and well forgive and forget.


24/26

You like the idea of connections, says the Mayor. Well, here are your

connectionsit should be no problem for her to call in a favour or two from her

connections in the industry, assemble a formidable deterrence for the Hegartys, the

Mayor emphasises the word industry by wiggling his fingers in the air.

The industry loves to get behind a good cause. Remember Band Aid, Live Aid,

Kool Aid? says Tahnee.

Fulton shudders. The word industry used by the council members sounds like

another word for their salvation.

Are you high? says Garth. Equipment hire? Lighting specialists? What aid?

Cool? Shes not even on the radar for cool any more. Connectionsshes nobody.

Its common knowledge she has or had connections in the criminal slash musical

what have you underworld. Maybe still has.

Affirmative, says Syd. All there on her phone. Suppliers, dealers, drop-offs

Bravo, says Garth. His birth mouth lifts in a disgusted curl. Some connections.

Got her half dead in a ditch in Jersey.

Fulton eyes the door to the hallway because it hits him. The keys she gave himin

Personwere just a test, probation. Bring me the grail, she means to say, and I will make

you a Knight of my Realm.

Dan Sweet pushes lank yellow hair over his bald spot.Listen. So what? So shesmade poor choices. I can work with that. Im a criminal attorney.

Environmental, whispers Betty. Environmental lawyer once.

Bretts wet rag of a mouth hangs open. We all talking about the same chick? he

says. The hundred-ten pound bee-otch turned up the other day on some outdated ride?


25/26

Right, says Garth. The fifty kilo DJ who put two men twice her size in hospital.

But his eyes are pale in defeat.

While beyond fucked up, someone puts in.

Right. Lexs boys didnt have a chance. Shes probably on steroids.

My boys are on steroids, wails Lex.

It's not your fault, Lex, says someone.

That DJ is something special, alright.

Been a while since we had a stranger like that around here.

Your boys did their best.

But she owes us, says someone.

An eye for an eye, says the Reverend, with a fearful nod at his nephew.

Two, snaps Lex. She owes me two.

Use her or lose her.

We can make her disappear here.

A Herculean display, echoes Clowe. In anyones language. My suggestion is

we pay this Person a visit. Everyone laughs and it is his turn to wiggle his fingers, fat

and freckled and stained with nicotine no matter how hard he scrubs. He orders a round

of cleansing ales from Lex, and Garth starts a game of pool.

Betty is still staring through the mirror. Fulton backs away toward the outer door to

go warn the DJ before its too late. Hes not used to thinking on his feet, on time, about a

life beyond his own and Bobs. He is not quick enough. Betty sees where he means to go

and stops him.

Not yet, she whispers.


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In the shifting light of the storeroom, among the metal shelves stacked with bottles

and boxes, she takes his hand and leads him behind a tall shelf. She turns to him and he

helps her onto a stack of boxes. She lifts her smock and spreads her legs. Her knees shine

in the soft light. Her sad eyes smile up at him behind her beautiful broken mask and she

says his name.

Blue Moves Breukelaar Ch 3

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