Somebody

Pete Moss is waiting for his girlfriend. He’s sitting outside at Big Mouth Café on Acland Street in St Kilda. He has just purchased a new type of pre-paid mobile. “Time”, a new mobile phone carrier, has just brought out these new disposable phones. You purchase the phone for $50 and receive that amount in credit and get a mobile number that expires with the credit. And after the $50 is used up you simply throw the phone away, like those old disposable cameras. Handy for his type of work. Pete’s a drug dealer who doesn’t want to be a drug dealer any more.

“What do you want to do?” she asks him.

“I could study. I could work at 7-11. I could be a chef. Work in a café like this one.”

“That’s better. You have all these different options.”

“Would you still go out with me if I worked at 7-11? No more free drugs. I’d probably have to move out of the apartment on Inkerman Street; wouldn’t be able to afford the rent any more. No more eating out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You like eating out and coffee and going to nightclubs with me, don’t you? Gonna dump me if I stop dealing?”

“I don’t go out with you because you’re a drug dealer.”

“Don’t you? What about the guy I buy the drugs off? What happens when I tell him I want out? I don’t want to do this any more. I make a lot of money for him. He’s going to ask me some questions about who is taking over from me. Can he be trusted? How am I going to compensate him if I can’t find someone? I deal to you ex-private school types with money.”

“Is that what I am? A type?”

He ignores her and goes on. “Are your friends going to trust someone else, and the friends of your friends, what will they do for drugs? I’ll be pretty much on the outer if I stop dealing.”

“No you won’t.”

“Why would your friends be interested in someone who grew up in St Albans and left school at fifteen and learned he could make money dealing drugs because one night when he was nineteen he got lucky with a girl who oozed money and good looks.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” she says laughing.

“You can afford to eat out without me and go out to clubs and live the good life, but the drugs, they’re the aphrodisiac, that’s why you’re with me. It’s who I am. What I do. All cachet is lost if I stop dealing.”

“If you’ll let me speak for a second.”

“Fire away.”

“I’ll love you whatever you do. Whatever you want to be. We’ll find someone to take over the dealing. Square everything with whomever you get the drugs from. I can think of a few people that might want to take over.”

“This isn’t like Jim’s Mowing. There’s a fair bit of bravado and the fear factor needed. Most of your friends are a little scared of me, right. So, there’s the fear factor.”

“There’s other ways, Pete. You never bashed anyone, did you?”

“Not since I hooked up with you.”

Julia, his girlfriend, showed him the right clothes, how to wear the cool clothes. Gone were the Target black jeans and jumpers. In came the black Levi’s and shirts from Country Road; Arthur Galan suits, one of which he wore to a Melbourne Cup party in the carpark at Flemington; cool jackets from French Connection and factory warehouses; shoes and boots from Windsor Smith; clothes bought online. Julia started following the men’s fashion blogs and bought clothes for him. The sex was the best she’d ever had. He was tall and rakish, long sinewy muscles in his arms and legs, body thick and strong. Acne scars on his left cheek. Head shaved. A powerful man.

Julia introduced him to all her friends. She told them he was a chef. The little joke about being a chef at Big Mouth a few moments ago. He started dealing to them. Spent less time in Yarraville and Footscray. Her friends would pay above the usual rate. Jess, the dangerous man he got the drugs from, was pleased. It was a relief. Pete was happy. But he wanted to be someone. All this wealth and ambition had rubbed off on him. All of Julia’s friends were professional people, bar one or two of them, and they were only killing time before their father kicked them up the arse and told them to get serious or they could be the one who falls through the cracks. They partied hard but they seemed to know when to switch off. When enough was enough. He ditched his old life. Found this cool apartment on Inkerman Street. Julia didn’t work. She was the wealthiest of them all. Her father wanted her to be happy. She wanted to design clothes and jewellery and she probably would one day soon. It thrilled him that every time he called her she came to him.

“Don’t worry so much, Pete. Do you want me to move in? I could just pay a share of the rent for you, if you didn’t want me to move in.”

He leans across the table and grabs her hand, “Shit yeah. I want you to move in. The sooner the better.”

“I will then, soon.” And already she’s wondering why she said it. “Where will we go tonight?” she asks.

He shakes his head to get all the information in order or to get it out of his head. He takes a deep breath. Lets it out. “Whooo. I don’t know.” He looks at her and thinks. I don’t want to lose you. I hope you’re telling me the truth. Let’s go home back to my place.”

“Oh,” Julia says, “I have to meet, Sally. Um, no, I’ll call her. You’re right; we’ll go back to your place.”

“No, go and meet your friend,” he says.

“I will, thanks.”

“Julia, I want to be somebody,” he says, almost pleading with her. “Maybe your father. He might have some connections to get me started somewhere.”

“Doing what?” she snorts. He gets an odd feeling in his stomach. His temper rises and she says, “Oh, work, you mean. Yes, I’ll ask him.” And they stand up and she comes around the table and kisses him openly on the street, unashamedly, and he hugs her close and she turns to go and he almost pleads again,

“Ask your father, please.”

She breathes a sigh of relief as she walks off. What on earth could he do? She doesn’t want to lose him. Why does he want to change all of a sudden? What’s got him thinking like this? You and your friends have got him thinking like this.

Pete calls Jess.

“Jess, when do you want me to pick you up?” That was his code to go over and pick up the drugs.

“D’you buy a new mobile?” Jess asks.

“Yeah, um, I’ll explain when I see you. You’ll like it.”

“Pick me up in an hour, two hours at the most.”

“I’m in St Kilda. I’ll leave now.” He calls a taxi. Pete hasn’t bought a car yet. He gets out of the taxi at Flinders Street station and takes the St Albans-line train. He thinks about Jess. The small white weatherboard house with the perfectly cut lawn front and back. The big wire gate down the side. The two pit bulls’ faces pushed up against the wire. Barking and snarling. Jess as big as a mountain. He lets the dogs in the house when Pete is there. Increases the fear factor and Jess controls them as if he has them on a remote control. Claps and hand signals and barked commands that only mean something to him and the dogs. How to untangle himself from Jess is the biggest puzzle of all.

Julia is twenty-two, with a round pretty face and cool black eyes, slim but strong and with a mane of chestnut hair. She was a good runner at school, a basketball player, not a netball player. She does have bold ideas about fashion and design. She will be successful when she puts her mind to it. She and Pete have been together for just over a year. She used to annoyingly correct his speech but she doesn’t have to do it any more. He’s whip smart, like a chameleon, the way he picked up on their way of talking, the speech patterns. How they move and act and dress. He’s had to defend Julia a couple of times in bars and nightclubs. He stared at her tormentors, gave them that look of his, and they backed away like frightened kittens. No match for her bad boy drug dealer.

Should she ask her father? What could he do, she wonders. Her father owns a chain of bakeries; pubs and clubs all over Melbourne too, and a whole raft of other businesses. Her mother runs a chain of fashion stores. Her mother is business, not creative. Where could Pete fit in amongst all that? She doesn’t think he’d be happy sweating it out in the back of a bakery. She calls her father and arranges to meet him.

Pete knocks on the door of the small white weatherboard house. The dogs go apocalyptic at the wire gate. Jess opens the door.

“Come in,” he says. Pete follows him into the lounge. They sit on a black leather sofa with chrome handles on the sides and the headrest.

“What’s this about the phone?” Jess asks, and Pete explains the phone.

“So, you’ll be changing your fucking number every few days.”

“You’ll get the new number straight away on caller ID. I think it’s designed for overseas tourists.”

“I don’t care, mate. I need to know what you’re up to.”

“You going to drive me back soon?”

“I’ll drive you now, extra big delivery today.” The only place where they talk directly about drugs is in his car with the music on loud. Pete sometimes thinks it’s a bit like the cone of silence on Get Smart. Jess drives a ten-year-old black ute, slowly, within the speed limit but not too slow, not too careful. He doesn’t take the dogs with him. Wants to draw no attention to the car.

As they drive, Jess says, “Ten thousand back to me within three weeks, might let you have a month. Good quality grass, plenty of E. Speed as always. Some ice because I know you’re always looking for new ways to get your friends high. They are your friends, aren’t they? Don’t screw anyone’s girlfriend, mate. Don’t use violence at all. These kids’ll rat you in to the cops. Whatever you think, you’re not one of them.”

Pete thinks Jess is probably right. Selling ice would be a mistake, though. He needs to get out of that. Fuck it. He’s getting out of the whole thing. He calls Julia. She’ll meet him at the apartment on Inkerman Street. Jess tells Pete his vision for his life. He’s going to be moving up in the world and the usual warnings about keeping his trap shut. And as ever, just before he gets out of the car,

“Don’t try and screw me, Pete. I go to jail you go to jail, and in there nobody can help you.”

Pete walks up the stairs to the first-floor two-bedroom apartment and opens the door. Breathes out and goes through to the bedroom. He’s wearing grey chinos and a light-blue polo shirt. It is winter but mild today. He stashes the drugs under the bed in a suitcase. He uses Jess’s logic. Never makes excessive noise, no loud music. He uses headphones for that. He crashes onto his bed then picks himself up and goes to the La Trobe University website. He has ideas of becoming like Julia’s friends. He spoke to this guy studying film and arts in general. A Bachelor of Arts. They all think he’s a chef, and the guy explained to him he could apply as mature-age student. Pete the drug dealer at university. He hasn’t told anyone. How can he escape from Jess and make this new life work? Jess doesn’t want to let him go because Pete knows everything: where the drugs are grown; the person with the pill press; the guy who cooks up the speed. Jess told him and showed him all this because it was entrapment. You know too much mate, can’t let you go.

Julia knocks on the door. He logs out of the La Trobe site and turns off the laptop.

“I have news for you,” she says.

“What news? It better be good.”

“I got you a job as a barman at a pub on Chapel Street. My dad set it up.” She sees the crestfallen look on his face. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it, to change your life? You could still deal and work too if you wanted too, you’d meet more people, new customers.”

“I had this idea I might like to study something.”

“Oh yeah, like TAFE, you could um, yeah, I don’t know, doing what, Pete?”

“I was speaking to your friend Vincent about what he studies at La Trobe.”

She shakes her head and laughs. “You left school at fifteen. No, you got kicked out of high school at fifteen.”

He looks hard at her as if he’s trying to figure her out all over again and then says, “You keep telling me how smart I am.”

“You are smart but I mean street smart. You adapt. University is … you have to have a high intellect. Vincent is brilliant, a genius.”

“And what about all the other students? Are they all in the genius category too?”

“You don’t get it, Pete.”

He smiles at her, shrugs and then goes and hugs her close. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m kidding myself.” She laughs and kisses him hard on the mouth and he kisses her back and then takes her hand and leads her into the bedroom.

In the morning he says, “You’re beautiful. I love watching you get dressed.” She turns and flashes a quick smile at him.

“Listen,” he says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I … uh, could you get me ten grand cash.”

“What!”

“I’ll pay you back fifteen grand, five grand profit in three weeks.”

“A drug deal?”

“What else. Can you get the cash?”

“Yeah, I have much more than that in my bank account. But listen, just pay me back the ten thousand. Keep the profit for yourself.”

I need it more than you, that’s what you mean, is what Pete is thinking, and he says, “Great. How about we walk down to Acland Street, you can get me the cash and then we can have coffee and I’ll go and see my man and buy the gear. I have some stuff for Vincent too and three or four of your other friends that I need to drop off. Could I borrow your car?”

“Yeah, sure. What about the bar job?”

“I’ll probably stick to what I’m good at.” And he gets out of bed naked and grabs her and she squeals in delight but he lets her go and goes into the bathroom and showers.

She gets the cash and Pete drops her off at her father’s house in St Georges Road, Toorak. He drives back to St Kilda and stops at his flat to get the drugs he’s going to sell and a jacket and then drives down the Nepean Highway. He goes into a used-car dealership. A salesman comes straight for him.

“Trading in the BMW?”

Pete looks at the cars in the yard and laughs and says, “Not here I’m not. I’m just gonna take a look around.” And the salesman backs off. He wanders through the small yard and comes on a 2007 Peugeot for $12,000. He asks to test-drive it and the salesman sits in the passenger seat while they take it around the block a couple of times.

“I like it,” Pete says. “Just need some time to think.”

Back at his apartment on Inkerman Street, his phone rings.

“Buying a car, mate?” Jess says.

“How’d you …”

“Tony saw you talking to a salesman in a car yard on Nepean Highway. He was on his way back from seeing his girl in Chelsea. What gives, Pete? I’m getting a bad feeling, mate. Like you don’t love me any more. These fancy new phones, looking at cars, these yuppies you’re hanging around with giving you big ideas.”

“I want to buy a car. Nothing sinister in that.”

“No, mate, nothing sinister in that.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Pete says. “I’ll be over to pick you up on Thursday afternoon. I’ll let you know if I get a new mobile by then.”

“Good, that’s good, mate. See you, then.”

Pete goes to see Vincent and then on to Miranda and Sissy, who put him onto Lionel and Victor, and he’s nearly sold half of the stuff Jess gave him. He drives home and makes a few quick calls. He waits at the apartment for an hour for three of Julia’s friends to turn up and he sells some more gear, pressures them into buying more than they want to, then he stashes the rest of the gear back under his bed in the suitcase. He drops Julia’s car back off at her parents’ place and leaves the keys with the gardener and gets a taxi to Warrigal Road, Moorabbin. He looks around two car yards and sees a 2000 Subaru Impreza, takes it for a test drive. The price is $8800. He gets it down to $8650. Big concession. And drives off. He buys two more of the new-style $50 disposable mobile phones and drives home.

In the morning he deliberately calls Jess at 7.30 a.m. because he knows he’ll be asleep. He uses one of the new phones and leaves a message.

“This is my new number; I’m still picking you up Thursday.” He flushes the rest of the drugs down the toilet, slowly. Wraps the grass in toilet paper in small bunches and flushes, all the pills flushed slowly. No traces left, but he cleans the toilet with Ajax powder to make sure. He deals drugs, he doesn’t use them. He paid the rent for another month a couple of days ago. The deal is month by month. He calls the landlord and they agree that he can leave after the month is up. He packs two small backpacks, leaving most of his fancy new threads in the cupboard. He packs all his shorts and jeans and T-shirts. Leaves all the shoes and boots behind except for one pair of black shoes, but takes all his runners. He starts out of the apartment but stops himself and smiles and turns back and takes one of the black suits with him. He leaves his regular mobile on the kitchen table and takes the two new disposable phones with him.

Jess doesn’t call him until Thursday afternoon and by that time he’s at a service station in Glendambo on the Stuart Highway, 592 kilometres north of Adelaide.

Jess says, “Where are you, mate?”

Pete smiles, “Just filling up at a servo on Kings Way. I won’t be able to pick you up until tomorrow morning though, I haven’t …”

“Mate, you get your arse over here soon, pronto! Now! Something’s not …” Pete turns the phone off and throws it into a bin beside the petrol bowsers. He fills the tank and gets into the car. He didn’t call Julia. She didn’t believe in him. The money is inconsequential. A lesson. He drives north up the Stuart Highway, sleeping in short spells and then driving some more.

When the chameleon reaches Darwin he changes his name by deed poll from Pete Moss to Brian Pattinson. The name means nothing. The blander the better. He enrols at Charles Darwin University but has to do a bridging course for six months before he can start his BA.

He stays at the YMCA for a while and then moves into accommodation on campus. He never saved much from all the dealing. It was, as he said to Julia, eating out for breakfast, lunch and dinner and then the clothes, the taxis everywhere, the rent on his apartment.

He survives for a while on his savings and the rent on campus is reasonable. The other students like him. He tells them he was a waiter in a restaurant in Northbridge in Perth and he wanted to change his life around, so he moved up here. He does well in his studies. After a while he runs out of money and takes work scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen of the cafeteria at the university. He’s a good worker.

Four years after leaving Melbourne, Brian Pattinson gets his degree and then commits to study another year and a half to become a primary school teacher. He does well and completes the course. On his first day at school in Minter, a suburb of Darwin, he enters the classroom and looks at all the different kids, different colours and shapes and sizes. He says good morning and the kids say nothing. He says,

“My name is Brian Pattinson. You can call me Mr Pattinson.” And he turns and writes his name on the blackboard, turns back to the class and says, “Good morning everyone.” And they say, “Good morning Mr Pattinson.” And he smiles broadly.

At lunchtime he finds a quiet spot and thinks about his life: the fifteen-year-old kid who got kicked out of school because he wanted to run with an older, wilder pack of boys. Meeting Jess and the beginning of things. Drug deals and easy money. The swaggering nineteen-year-old who somehow caught the eye of Julia. The drug dealer living the high life in a St Kilda apartment. The escape. Now this: legitimate; a teacher. Somebody. He can teach these kids a trick or two.