Hard Cuddles. James Harding

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СКАЧАТЬ complained because their takings were way down. I asked him if I was going to get a high distinction, instead he told me to wrap it up after lunch because it was out of control; I was amazed at how the kids would rather gamble their money, instead of buying food. Money was flying in and I loved every minute of it. I upped the ante and doubled everything on the table for the last ten minutes. ‘That’s right guys any prize is paying double,’ I yelled. The crowd went mad; people were screaming and pushing each other to get their bets on.

      Then out of nowhere this little fucker, who had a head like the guy on Mad Magazine, landed his coin on the 2 x $20. That had been doubled, so he was due to collect $80. What I did was look at where the coin had landed, it was good but I quickly moved it, so no one got the chance to see it. But this little prick was adamant he had landed a good toss. Now he was yelling—or trying to yell, his voice was breaking and he was making a terrible noise. He yelled, ‘I want my money back,’ over and over again and he got louder. I grabbed two of my boys and told them to take him over near the bushes and out of the way a bit, just hang back. The Mad Magazine kid was bad for business, so with him out of the way the punters kept punting.

      I marched over there and grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him out of sight, then I told him in my most threatening voice, ‘I’ll give you $5 and that’s it, if you continue with this shit you won’t get a cent and I’ll punch the fuck out of you. Your choice.’

      He took the money and left. The key to the lesson I learned was that the threat of violence and a little bit of cash is very effective when it comes to negotiation. Gambling is an amazing way to make fast money. I have never seen anything like that day and it was only a coin toss board, imagine a casino. With a business that involves cash money and illegality you have to be ready and willing to go to extreme lengths to get what you want. But the most important lesson: be quick on your feet and even quicker to act.

      LOST INNOCENCE

      ‘Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.’

      —Henry Rollins

      Carlos and I were sixteen and the song on the radio that summer was ‘Breakfast At Tiffany’s’ by Deep Blue Something. We were all off to a house party in Ormond and it was the night that would change our lives forever. Carlos, who was always working at the local pizza shop, managed to swing a night off. The party was set to be huge. I had my tall, blonde, leggy missus there—she was a bit of a show-stopper, even at that age. The Flower (my missus) had a lot of Maria Sharapova about her and tonight she was wearing this short, black, skin-tight, Quicksilver dress and white sandals. She was the original surfer chick.

      As we walked to the party from my place I had the feeling that it was going be a special night. When we arrived at this beautiful two-storey period home, our gang Ramey, Duey, Carlos, Tiles, Ripley, the Flower and myself, said hello to everyone and settled in for a good night. We knew everyone there as we were friendly kids that didn’t look for trouble. I never used to drink, which gave me the opportunity to observe with a clear mind. Carlos and the Fainter were getting stuck right into it. Carlos’ dad would drink to oblivion, so it was no surprise that Carlos was doing the same. He was paralytic in a short space of time and was hugging me and telling me how much he loved me. I used to get around and talk to as many people as I could. Being a teetotaller was fun because you got to see how the drink would make certain people happy or sad or aggressive. It didn’t bother me; I enjoyed talking to people and connecting. What I did find interesting was when people got drunk they found it easier to be honest and real with their emotions. So even though I wasn’t drinking, it was the honesty and vulnerability that I enjoyed sharing with people at the party. Once I had connected with someone, I would eventually find myself talking to other people. As the evening wore on and the alcohol began to flow, so did the hugs and kisses. It was pretty cool.

      I guess you could say I was reasonably tuned in to people’s moods and I had a good understanding of how to read a situation. My intuition has always been a great strength of mine and, as luck would have it, I could sense things happening. That night seemed no different but there was a sinister feeling I couldn’t put my finger on.

      The Flower’s dad picked her up from my place at 11pm, so we would walk home at about 10 to give myself plenty of time to work my night moves. We would both get into my back bungalow and start throwing shapes. Then, sure enough, at 11pm you could hear the rumble of the vintage V8 Statesman her dad had; what a beautiful car the old Statesman was. After the Flower left I went back into my bungalow and lay on my bed for a little while, contemplating calling it a night. Something I felt deep inside called me to get up and go back to that party, so I did.

      When I arrived back, I noticed it was in full swing—there was a new bunch of guys there, guys I had never met before. There was one particular bloke, an older guy who was really agitated, Charlie.

      Being the outgoing type, I made my way over to introduce myself and gauge his temperament. Charlie was a lean, Arabic-looking bloke with light eyes and an unsettled vibe about him. He had a Lebanese cedar tree earring in one ear. Charlie told me that no one would let him play his song on the juke box and it had upset him. Some other guys I knew, blokes that you would call young hoods, were making it clear to Charlie that his presence wasn’t wanted. There was definitely going to be a fight if Charlie stayed, so he did the smart thing and went home. Little did anyone know how seriously Charlie took his song playing and selection at the juke box. We were about to find out. As he left I crossed him in the hallway and asked him why he was going, he said ‘Yeah those guys are being racist and won’t let me play my song’, so we said goodnight and left it at that.

      Timing is an incredible thing: a couple of seconds here or there can make a lifetime of difference. Carlos and the Fainter were steaming drunk and completely unaware of what they were doing, so I slowly started rounding them up to take them home. I could have easily just walked home by myself, picked up some Maccas and been home within half an hour. But big Carlos felt compelled to say goodnight to every single person at the party, including people he had never met before.

      We were all now out the front and rejoicing at what a great evening it was. Carlos rarely got out so he was enjoying the last moments of a night on the town. At last we managed to break free from the throng and walk down Park St towards McDonald’s. Part of me was thinking, ‘Okay we are on the home stretch here we can just relax and enjoy the drunk talk’, which was always one of my favourite parts of going to a local house party. Another part of me was still very much aware that there was still a bit left in the evening.

      Three-quarters of the way down the street towards Maccas is where it all went down. I was just a little bit ahead on my skateboard when I turned around to see an old, greenish Celica right behind Carlos and the Fainter. Much to my shock that car drove over the top of Carlos. All of a sudden, Carlos screamed, ‘Hey Cassa! It’s me Carlos, it’s Carlos.’ Poor Carlos was so pissed he didn’t realise he was in danger. He thought it was one of our mates Cassa. It was clear to me then and there that this situation was about to get real. I picked up the skateboard as a weapon and prepared myself for what was about to take place.

      Both the passenger and the driver doors opened and the assailants stepped out of the car. It was dark and even though the lights were shining brightly from the car, they were shining towards us. I couldn’t see that one of them had a large pruning saw and the other had a blunt object. One of the assailants charged towards me and the other towards Carlos. I held the skateboard like I was about to swing it and started walking backwards quickly. So quickly I launched backwards over a brick fence and lay there.

      As I lay in the garden bed, what came out of Carlos are noises that I can never forget. Cries and screams of pain and innocence were lost as Carlos rolled around drunk on the road while the two armed maniacs attacked him. The sound of metal grating against the road, when the man with the pruning saw slashed at my sixteen-year-old friend. Carlos screamed and, as much as I wanted to be the hero, СКАЧАТЬ