Luck In The Greater West Part 12

-Yo, Abdullah's voice answered.

-Hi, Abdullah?

-Yeah. Who's this?

-It's Mia.

-Mia. Baby. Ya numba's comin' up as silent. What's up?

-I just want to talk to you.

-I can come by later. About ten if ya want.

-No. No, I just need to talk to you. The thing is - I think we shouldn't see each other for a while.

-Huh? What do ya mean?

-Maybe we should just cool it for a bit.

-You've said that before. What the f.u.c.k do ya mean?

-I dunno. Just not see each other for a while. Have a break.

-What the f.u.c.k for? Why are you being a b.i.t.c.h? What's ya f.u.c.kin' father said?

-It's not him, Abdullah, it's me. I just need a break- -You f.u.c.kin' some other c.u.n.t?

-Abdullah, don't be like that. It's not about other guys- -I'll be 'round in ten minutes. Be at the bottom of your street.

-Abdullah, no- He'd ended the call. She tried his number again. It went straight to his message bank. f.u.c.k.

Mia sat in her room deciding whether or not to give in to the nausea. She called out to her brother, and waited until he'd come in then shut the door.

-I've just broken up with Abdullah.

-Good. I mean, if that's what you want.

-It is.

-I don't think he's suited to you. Or you to him.

-I guess.

-He's not faithful to you, Mia.

-What?

-I think he - sees other girls.

-a.r.s.ehole.

Mia's phone rang.

-Mia. Where the f.u.c.k are ya? Abdullah barked.

-I'm not going to meet you.

-Bulls.h.i.t. Get down here.

-No.

-f.u.c.kin' b.i.t.c.h - Mia ended the call.

The WRX pulled into the driveway and the high beams flooded the front windows. The driver sounded the horn.

Mia and Charlie looked out her bedroom window and watched their father approach the car. He leant into the car window and then shook his head. He then brought his mobile up to his ear as the WRX backed out.

It would be a long night of explaining and then re-explaining. Her father never accepted anything the first time when he was p.i.s.sed off.

Something shattered one of the double-glazed windows of the formal lounge as Salvatore Testafiglia climbed the stairs to his daughter's room.

He couldn't go home. His dad would p.i.s.s him off. Just lookin' at him. He didn't want to see any of his mates. They wouldn't know how to act. He'd chucked that piece of garden tap through the b.i.t.c.h's window. Her dad's a f.u.c.kin' cop, too. She better explain to him that it's her fault for trying to dump him. He dropped the clutch through the intersection and saw the cop car, its strobing red and blue lights triggering his heart to beat in hot, involuntary unison. He pulled on the handbrake and punched the sun visor.

The ink wouldn't wash off. The cop wore rubber gloves when he took the fingerprints. At first Abdullah a.s.sumed the cop put the gloves on because the stupid skip didn't want to touch him. But the cop knew the black s.h.i.t wouldn't come off. Then he had to have his photo taken. And a photo of his tatt. He flexed when the cop took that one. And the charge - Malicious Damage. That b.i.t.c.h's father is lucky I didn't damage her and him. Did damage her though. And she loved it. She'll be feelin' that f.u.c.kin' sorry now that her father'll be down here droppin' the charges very soon.

-Senior Sergeant wants to talk to you himself. He'll be here shortly, the cop said. You're either one very unlucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d, or one very stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

-That guy says he's your boyfriend, Mia. Your boyfriend.

-He - he was.

-What the h.e.l.l do you mean, was? You were sneaking around with that?

-I don't know - yes, I s'pose.

-Jesus, Mia. What did we decide about you having a boyfriend? Do you remember?

-You decided.

-That's right. I decided that my daughter can go out with a boyfriend when she's finished school. And your mother and I should meet him.

-You wouldn't like any boy I brought home.

-Can you see why? Jesus, girl, that guy, your boyfriend is - what is he? An Arab? An Arab and a b.l.o.o.d.y criminal. Have you seen the window? An Arab, Mia. An Italian boy, at least. I would have thought you had some taste.

-Daddy. I'm sorry. She began to cry.

-Mia. I don't know. I don't know what to think. You lied to us. And not just a little lie. And look what's happened.

Salvatore moved closer to his daughter.

-I'm sorry, she said, checking her eyes in the mirror. I swear, Daddy, I'm sorry.

-Mia. You won't see this guy again, will you? I'm serious, Mia. This ends here and now.

-I promise, Daddy, I was trying to break up with him. That's why he did this.

-I thought as much. Mia, I know boys are asking you out. But you have to say no. Look what's happened. You're beautiful, and boys will fall in love. But you don't want this, do you?

-No, Daddy.

-There'll be no more going out on your own, Mia. Not for a long time.

Mia hugged her father. Just a few weeks ago she couldn't even look at him. Now she didn't want him to leave. Because she knew if he left, when he came back he'd have that look again. It was pure hurt. She'd hurt him so much. Just a few weeks ago she wouldn't have cared if her father had gotten upset. He would have deserved it - for limiting her freedom. But now he was the answer. The situation with Abdullah was difficult but she knew Daddy would fix it now. She'd never have to see Abdullah again. She could feel completely sure that it was over. And she could live with whatever punishment her father had for her. And she could begin to win back his devotion.

Her father released his hug as his mobile rang. He grunted and ended the call.

-This boy won't bother us anymore. He's down at the station. I'll have a talk with him.

The boy was not even good-looking. Those dark, lying eyes. Skinny little Lebanese. He must be a good liar to have convinced Mia to go out with him. It hurt. Lurking in the back of his mind was the possibility that Mia might have slept with this thing. He couldn't ask her. He'd rather not know, now that he was faced with it.

-You've got a court date next week. I'll see you there. But between then and now, and every day after that I don't want to see you. And my daughter will never see you.

-She wanted to see - -You're lucky I'm a cop, mate. You've got a chance to put this behind you and never think of my daughter again. But if you choose not to put it behind you, I know some people who aren't cops who would love to have a word with you.

-What the f.u.c.k does that mean? Abdullah retorted, rubbing his shaved head.

-I have to leave now or I'll rip your f.u.c.king face off, Senior Sergeant Testafiglia said as he waved a threatening hand just centimetres from Abdullah Najib's nose.

He left the interview room. The blood vessels in his neck, pounding like a mudslide, were bringing him to the verge of vomiting.

TWENTY-THREE.

Fadi tilted the load and felt the back end of the forklift jump from the weight. You should never lift two pallets stacked on top of each other, but f.u.c.k it. He cleared the pallets from the side of the trailer and transferred them into the receiving dock. It was his fifth semi-trailer this morning, and he'd had enough. The other two forkies - f.u.c.kin' Aussies - were the biggest f.u.c.kin' bludgers. Even d.i.c.ko, the foreman, admitted it. Aussies'll do anything to get out of work. That's why they'll always be losers. But are they losers? Is simply being Lebanese the key to being better, smarter, tougher than everyone else? He'd never thought about it. Why would he? Everyone he hung out with thought the same. Lebs are unbeatable.

But something deep inside him had been damaged - was slowly bleeding, he felt - since that last girl they'd been with. With the other girls they'd done it to, there'd been a kind of shared energy that had erased any misgivings about what they were doing. They were doing it, the Punchbowl Leb boys, so it was right, it was tough, it was showing these Aussies that the Leb boys could do what they wanted to, it was getting laid - f.u.c.k, it was even funny. But that last one, she'd shown him something. Or maybe exposed something in him that had become vulnerable for that moment when he was on top of her. He couldn't work out exactly what it was, but since then his whole life - the way he'd been living it - seemed askew.

In fact, he'd not been able to get her out of his mind. She'd freaked when he'd pulled the starter pistol on her. He'd thought that her fear would turn him on, but instead, it seemed to transfer to him. He'd tried to mechanically go through with it - 'cause the boys were there - but he'd felt sick, was about to spew, and had had to get away from her before the fear she was giving to him overwhelmed him. Then Ali had jumped straight on her. When he thought about it now it filled his veins and his neck muscles with icy hot acid.

But there was another feeling. One that was more intimate. One that was a comfort and quite opposite to the other one. She was so pretty. He kept thinking of her. Not in the situation they'd put her in, but natural, with her prettiness unchanged by that expression of terror. He'd actually almost seen her like that, in the flesh, when he'd first gotten in the car with her. Sure, she'd looked p.i.s.sed off, and maybe a little scared, but still bright and alive. That f.u.c.kin' pistol had wiped that vitality from her. And he wished so much that he could have that moment back, and not have brought out that stupid gun, and become her rescuer. He'd nearly cried a couple of times when he'd thought about it. f.u.c.kin' rapists, she'd said. Yelled it, crying.

He'd driven her and her friend back to the mall afterwards and he'd looked at her every chance he got, at red lights and that. She was beautiful - like a child with sticky tears on her slightly chubby cheeks. Abdullah had taken her mobile, and Fadi had asked for it. He had it at home. He kept it on and checked it constantly just in case she called it. No one had called it. He really wanted to see her again. He couldn't bear the fact that she must hate him. He wanted to at least apologise. He tried not to think about her, but he noticed something of her in nearly every chick he saw. And there must be a chance that she didn't hate him, mustn't there? Just like her fear had rubbed off on him, mustn't what he'd been feeling have made an impression on her?

After morning tea he was going to go home sick. f.u.c.k those two Aussie d.i.c.kheads; they can handle the rest of the day.

His mum was ha.s.sling him. He hadn't been eating much lately and she was convinced that it was the reason he'd come home sick.

-I'll make you some eggs, she said. The third time now.

-No, Ma. I'm orright. Done worry about it.

-I'll make you some. You probably caught something off those swine-eaters you work with.

-Ma.

He shut his bedroom door and sat on his bed. He picked up her phone. He'd tried to ban himself from thinking about her. He'd started to love her name. And it filled him with a hot, thick, sick feeling that he couldn't identify whenever it snuck into his head. He didn't even know her name when he'd - been on top of her; Abdullah had told him later. Tennille. But maybe it was okay. It didn't feel as bad as usual. Because he was going to talk to her. He had to.

He'd scrolled through the phone's address book a hundred times. There were some names in there that f.u.c.kin' cut him. Brad, Davo, John, Mick, Scott. Aussies. All Aussie guys. She could be f.u.c.king one of them. All of them. He hated that she knew so many guys. But there was also a number that held promise. Work. It must be her work.

He brought it up and pressed dial.

-This service has been cancelled. Please call Telecomonopoly inquiries on 13 13 - Of course, he sighed. She would've cancelled her phone. He brought up the details of Work to get the number.

-Ma. Bring the phone will ya!

His mother brought him the phone and told him not to be long. She said the same thing every time anyone used the phone. He doubted she even knew what it meant anymore.

He dialled the number.

-Hollywest Cinemas, the voice said.

Fadi waited in case it was a recorded message.

-Hi. Is Tennille there?

-Can you tell me what section she works in, please?

-Ah - nuh.

-Okay. Tennille is it? Tennille who, sir?

-I dunno her last name.

-Please hold.

He waited and scratched his back. He was doing it. He was ringing her.

-h.e.l.lo.

-Hi, he said. He wasn't sure if it was the same chick he'd just been talking to.

-Who's this?