Start reading Eden by award-winning author Mark Brandi

Part One

Chapter Three

(edited extract)

There are rows of red and white wine on the shelves, spirits behind the counter. The woman watches me with hard eyes. 

‘Help you with anything?’

‘Just some beers.’

‘Fridge down the back.’

I try to remember the brand Len was drinking. It had a red label, but it wasn’t Melbourne. None of the beers in the fridge look like it, but I decide on Coopers. I pick up half-a-dozen, realise it’s too expensive, decide to get two instead. 

‘Just those?’ the woman says.

‘Yep.’

She rings up the cost. The register opens, and I quickly eye the cash. A few fifties, more twenties.

Could I do it? Maybe get a knife or something? What if she puts up a fight?

I pay for the beers. 

‘Thanks,’ I say.

The woman nods, eyes me warily.

*

The hostel man is still behind the counter. I think about complaining about his directions, decide not to.

‘Can I grab my stuff?’

‘No luck then?’ 

I don’t answer. He reaches down, passes me my bag. 

‘Is Len around?’

‘Do I look like his secretary?’ 

I sling my bag over my shoulder, head for the stairs.

‘By the way, someone was here before. They were asking for you.’ 

I look back over my shoulder. 

‘Who?’ 

He shrugs. ‘Didn’t say. Some bloke with a limp. A real Keyser Söze type.’

‘Keyser who?’

‘Forget it.’ 

‘What’d you tell him?’ 

‘Told him you’d already left, which was pretty much accurate. Just thought you might wanna know.’

I slowly climb the stairs. 

‘Don’t hang around too long, right? We’re not a social club.’

Who would come looking for me? There’s only one bloke I can think of.

*

It was almost three years ago.

He came to my cell with a violent reputation, worse temper. Ali the Turk, they called him. He’d done seven years for manslaughter, but was just a few months shy of parole. He was known for extreme paranoia and for holding grudges over nothing – a bad combo, whichever way you sliced it. 

He was dealing smack when it happened. The gear got chucked over the fence into the yard once a fortnight, packed inside a tennis ball. Most of the screws turned a blind eye.

A random search of our cell got him pinched. He didn’t see it coming. They found his stash, cuffed him.
He glared at me as they dragged him down the hall.

‘You f*cken dog. I’ ll get you for this. Inside or out.’ 

He got moved to Acacia Unit. Max security. He didn’t get parole, last I heard. I also heard from another  prisoner that he blamed me for it.

‘You’re all he talks about,’ he said. ‘Won’t shut up. Reckons he’ll torture you first, then chop you up into little pieces.’

As long as he stayed in Acacia Unit, separated from mainstream, I knew I was pretty safe. From him, at least.

He’d be out of prison now, though. Definitely. 

He never had a limp, but maybe something happened in the years since. Still, he couldn’t possibly know I was at the hostel. Unless he has a connection inside, someone who knew where I was headed. 

I push the thought away.

*

Len stands in the doorway of his room, arms crossed. He eyes my bag.

‘You’ve come to say goodbye?’

‘Yeah. And I wanted to pay you back for those beers.’ 

I pass him the two cans in a brown paper bag.

‘That’s all?’

‘That’s all I drank.’

‘What about the interest?’

‘I’m pretty short. Someone robbed me last night.’

‘Serious?’

‘Yeah, they stole my wallet from my room. While I was here chatting with you.’

‘How much?’ 

‘About six hundred.’ 

He shakes his head. ‘That’s f*cked, that is. But why the hell did you leave it there?’

‘My room was locked. And I thought it was pretty well hidden.’

‘Guess you won’t make that mistake again. Listen, why don’t you keep one for the road?’

He passes me a beer.

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I hate Coopers anyway. Tastes like piss. So, where you headed?’

I push the can into my back pocket. ‘Reckon I’ll rough it tonight, figure out the rest tomorrow.’ 

He nods. ‘Fair enough. Spent a bit of time on the street meself after I got out. You want some advice?’

‘Sure.’ 

‘Don’t hang around the city. You’ll get rolled for sure.’

‘I haven’t got much worth stealing.’

‘Even worse. They’ll kick the shit out of you, just for wasting their time. Listen, this might sound a bit weird, but why don’t you head up to the cemetery, the old one in Carlton. It gets locked up at night, so you won’t get hassled. It’s safer than the parks.’

‘You’ve stayed there before?’ 

‘For a few nights, yeah. There’s parts undercover. Rotundas and the like.’

‘Righto. Thanks.’ 

‘Keep a low profile, though. If the staff spot you, you’ll get turfed.’ He gives me directions.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘And I hope it all works out.’

He frowns. ‘What works out?’ 

‘With the cancer.’

He shakes his head. ‘How do you think it’ll work out?’ 

I shrug. ‘All the same.’ 

He nods. ‘Yeah, all the same.’