Joe calls us up, me and Jock, and says come over, so were like yeah, no worries. Well be there. Didnt know why, but hes our mate so we thought, why not?
When we get to Joes, theres a bunch of guys sitting around havin a grand ol time, suckin down a few bongs and beers, and I didnt mind if I did. After a while Joe comes over to me, puts his hand round the back of my neck, says I need you to help me with something. Joe tells me how theres this prick of a guy whos been raggin on one of his mates pretty bad. He says the guys stolen some of his mates shit too.
How do you know?
Have I ever steered you wrong before?
Ive known Joe a long time. Hes a good mate whos helped me out of a few scrapes, but I cant remember if he ever has steered me wrong or not. I say, Nope. And I wouldnt tell anybody if you had.
Joe smiles, Thats the spirit. Youre a good mate.
Thats what were all about. Thats what mates are all about, helping each other out, right? Itd be unAustralian not to, wouldnt it? If you havent got mates, you havent got anything in this country.
So me, Jock, and Joe head off to this pricks place. Takes about half an hour and I enjoy the drive there, hanging my arm out the window of Joes Monaro, letting the hot wind make me sweat, makes me feel real.
We pull up outside the place, a real shit-hole, as if itd be anything else. Dead car bodies are rusting in the front yard behind a peeling picket fence.
Joe knocks on the plain white, weather-cracked door and from the other side I hear a dog barking like crazy. It takes an age before the thing opens and Im already hyped up cause you know I dont like to be kept waiting, except its not a guy who answers but a prune faced chick who looks like shes just woken up. Probably a slut.
Joe just says to her, Get Bollo.
Her expression, blank, doesnt change and for a second I reckon she could be a retard, but then she shuffles off down the hall.
Another minute were waiting, and this is pissing me off, while the guy makes his way to the front door to see us. By the look of him hed be lucky to have enough brains to string a choko vine over a shithouse.
Joe speaks calmly to him. Wheres Dons gear?
The guy looks Joe up n down like Joes an alien, or hes speaking some sort of foreign gibberish. I dont have Dons gear.
Joes smoking, see, and takes the ciggie out of his mouth. I can see hes bein real patient with this dickhead. Joe says, Ill ask you again. Wheres Dons gear?
Jocks standin next to me and I hear his breathing get deeper and heavier. Jocks a good guy, been mates with him a long time now. He gets a bit fired up at little stuff, yknow, gets the shits too easily but sometimes thats an advantage. That breathing, I know, heard it before, means hes about to explode. Me and Jock, were not as patient as Joe.
I havent seen Don for ages. I dont have his gear.
Joes cool as a cucumber cause he knows weve got his back. Joe says Yeah, you do.
I say, Mate, make it easy on yourself. Just give us the stuff.
The guy says, Who the fuckre you?
And of course I say, Im a mate of Joes.
The guy says, I dont have the stuff so buzz off. All of ya, and goes to shut the door on us. Thats enough to push Jock into action. He steps up and kicks the door with a beefy size seventeen, flinging it back and the guy onto the floor.
Just because we can, we beat and kick the shit out of this guy, his screaming girlfriend who tries to stop us, and their yapping dog. Not a cattle dog. If it was I wouldve left it alone, and blueys can take care of emselves anyway. Dont know why anyone would want any other sort of dog. The adrenalin rush is so good, makes you feel ten feet tall.
We go through the place, but none of Dons shit is here. We nearly take the fuckin place apart searchin for this stuff, while the guy and his prune faced chick are bleeding all over the floor. I guess Joe mustve got it wrong somewhere along the line.
Joe shrugs, ah well. We dont have to clean the place up. Still, the guy didnt have to be such a fuckin dickhead about it, did he? He couldve just let us in to see for ourselves
Come to think of it, there were a couple of other times that Joe got me to help him out and it turned out he had the wrong dudes. Cant help bad luck, I spose. Ah, theres no use botherin him about it now. Your mates are your mates and you trust them. What else you gonna do? Dumb questions would only create bad blood, a bad situation between friends, wouldnt it? Youve got to help your mates out, right? No matter what, right? Never know when you might need em
Anyway, doesnt matter, Joe takes what beer and spirits the guy has in the fridge, and I pocket his ciggies. Jock does alright too, taking the guys pot.
We tell him not to get too comfortable. We might be back later.