Ringer by C.J Duggan

Author:C.J Duggan [Duggan, C.J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: C.J Duggan
Published: 2014-03-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

RINGER

“Well, that’s strange.”

Steve glanced in the rear-view mirror of his four-wheel drive. I followed his line of vision.

“What’s that?” I asked, turning to look back down the street.

“I could have sworn I saw Bluey’s old Land Cruiser parked back there. What’s he doing in town on a Sunday night?”

“Well, I’m guessing there’s no late night shopping.” I cast my eye around the desolate main street of Ballan, if you could call it a street, more like a strip.

“Yeah, not exactly. The only thing you will find open on a Sunday night is right here.” Steve did a U-turn, swinging around to park directly in front of a double-storey brick building. The brick work was painted a deep burgundy that made the neatly penned white lettering ‘The Commercial’ stand out all the more. “He’s probably inside having a quiet one before he heads tomorrow.” Steve spoke mainly to himself.

I paused from opening the door. “Why don’t you come in and say g’day?”

“Nah-nah, better not, the Mrs already has the shits from me having a few beers yesterday.” Steve looked longingly at the floodlights that lit the front of the hotel.

“Fair enough,” I said, hopping out of the car and shutting the door, thanking the heavens above I was my own man. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Hey, Ringer.” Steve leant over the passenger seat. “Don’t have a big one, hey? I know this will be your last bout for a while, but we have a full-on day tomorrow.”

“No worries, watch is synced. Courtesy bus departs at eleven.” I winked.

Steve nodded, pleased. “Good on ya, mate, have one for me, and tell that no-good drunk, Bluey, to get home.”

“Will do!” I said, tapping the bonnet of the car before Steve backed out and sounded a cheerful blast of the horn as he veered off back down the street.

The muffled sound of Cold Chisel’s ‘Cheap Wine’ filtered from the hotel. I leant casually on the verandah post, as I took the singular cigarette from behind my ear and flicked it into my mouth, before lighting it up and puffing it to life.

So this was Ballan’s ground control, I thought, looking up at the pub: the place where Farmer John would meet up, and the local young blokes would converge on a Friday night to chase a bit of skirt. Seeing as it was Ballan, the male population no doubt outweighed the female, as any female within their right mind would surely flee this place at the first given opportunity. Just like Miranda had done.

My brows pinched together at the thought of her name; it had a way of weaving its way into my skull at any given moment, and I wasn’t entirely happy about it. I had played with fire today. The line I had drawn in the sand had become blurry, even more so when I found myself thinking about Miranda Henry and her perfectly … perky body.

Ah Christ!

I took a deep drag of my cigarette and flicked it to the bitumen, twisting it into oblivion.

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