‘Shut up, dopey,’ said Skinner, punching his shoulder. ‘We’re listening.’
Madison again declared Murphy and Jack’s innocence, and then the stream ended. The sound of the fire crackling and Butch taking deep draws on his joint filled the silence.
‘Well,’ said Skinner, ‘someone is on your side. Her support should go a long way. But I wonder why someone is trying to pin it on Michaels?’
‘One of the only men in this town who couldn’t have done it,’ muttered Murphy. ‘Vouched for by all the little schoolgirls. But I wouldn’t argue with someone who wanted to set that mob onto him.’
‘You’re still sore about the seeds, are you?’ said Skinner, overly casual.
‘Of course we bloody are,’ said Butch, glaring fiercely. ‘You know how long it took Dad to breed our strain? There’s a reason you can sell for so much – because it’s bloody good. Jack bloody well stole our seeds and you bloody let him!’
‘I didn’t know he would, did I! In his defence, he got rid of them all – he’s always asking to buy more weed,’ said Skinner. He held up his hands to cut off the protest he knew was coming. ‘I know, I know – I haven’t sold him any, have I? But he’ll just get it off someone else. Tom North and him are good mates, and Tom buys more than enough from me.’
‘Then stop selling it to Tom,’ said Murphy.
Skinner laughed, but it was forced. ‘You wanna lose that much income? Honestly, Jack made a mistake – a stupid mistake – but he’s good now.’
‘We welcomed him into our house. We treated him like a little brother,’ said Butch. ‘And how did he repay us?’ He stood up, staggered, sat back down. He swiped at something in front of him.
‘Everyone goes a little crazy over money, Butch, and we all know he was struggling for it.’ He eyed Butch uneasily. ‘Mate, you’re burning yourself.’
Butch stood again, chest puffed up. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Bloody hell, mate. What have you got in that thing?’ Skinner snatched the joint away from Butch’s finger and licked it. ‘You put angel dust on this thing. How much?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Butch, scowling at the wall. ‘Although . . . that would explain the freaky shit I’m seeing.’
‘I think you’ve had enough.’ Skinner opened the fireplace and tossed it in.
‘Hey,’ roared Butch.
‘I told you the other night not to go to heavy on the stuff: even that tiny bit made you aggro.’
‘Come off it. Weed never makes me aggressive,’ said Butch, standing over Skinner.
‘But angel dust does a bunch of crazy shit.’ Skinner glanced at Murphy. ‘Murphy, help me calm him down, would you? Shit, you haven’t had some too? You were bloody scary the other night.’
‘Butch, take a seat,’ said Murphy.
Butch sat back down, ‘Where’s my phone? I’m calling someone over.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ said Murphy to Skinner, ignoring Butch. ‘All I did was fall asleep.’
‘Fell asleep.’ Skinner laughed. Butch was on his feet again and lumbering around the shed, muttering to himself and scowling at the walls. ‘You went apeshit, bro. Started talking about your dead wife and Jasmine.’
‘What?’ said Murphy. ‘I don’t remember any of that.’
‘Amnesia, mate. It’s part of the package with angel dust. We thought you’d gone to bed, or maybe you were off somewhere still chatting with your dead wife. Didn’t Butch find you on the ground? You probably passed out. You weren’t naked, were you?’
Murphy’s mind spun back. Waking up to Butch’s voice, freezing and wet on the ground, wrapped up in his hunting jacket.
Butch yelled at something invisible. ‘I can’t breathe, I need water.’ He smashed the line of empty beer bottles they’d built over the course of the night.
‘Butch, mate. It’s alright,’ said Murphy.
‘I’ll go get some water,’ said Skinner, ducking out of the shed.
‘There’s bloody tiger snakes climbing up the walls again,’ said Butch, tears forming in his eyes. ‘I bloody hate the bloody snakes, mate. Where’s Jasmine gone? I can’t lose her . . .’
Butch slumped into Murphy’s arms and began blubbering into his shoulder. ‘I gotta tell her I’m sorry. I’m so sorry . . .’ His hands gripped Murphy’s back. ‘There’s a bloody demon hanging from the ceiling. He’s showing me his ass. I’m gonna kill him.’ He pushed Murphy aside and groped for something that wasn’t there.
The door flew open and Skinner pushed a bottle of water into Butch’s hand.
‘Potion . . .’ moaned Butch. He began drinking the water, then nestled into the couch, still seeing things that weren’t there.
Murphy glanced at Skinner. He looked a little guilty – Murphy didn’t know if it was from remembering the incident with Jack or because of the angel dust, but one way or the other, Skinner was off balance. Murphy grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. It was now or never.
‘I need the list,’ Murphy said, without preamble. ‘Everyone around here you sell our weed to.’
‘You know I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘Goes against my code. Distance keeps politics out of it, stops people from going to the cops if things go south. You’ve got enough heat on you with that corrupt copper watching your every move. And everyone knows it. No one would buy your product if it wasn’t for me in the middle.’
‘Someone you sell to was in Cierra’s room —’ began Murphy.
‘I watch the news too, mate. She was taken from a mountain, not her bedroom,’ said Skinner. ‘Mate, your bush bud is the best around, so there’s a lot of people on my lists.’
Butch howled inside the shed and something else smashed. Murphy dug his toes into his shoes, fighting the urge to run back to his brother. Drugs haven’t killed him yet . . . ‘If I was able to convince you, you could show me the list right now?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got it all on my phone. Encrypted obviously, so don’t try anything funny, but . . . mate, I’d need more than weed and condoms in a teenage girl’s room. There are rules, man.’
‘I’ve got proof,’ said Murphy. ‘In the dry room.’
Skinner’s eyes went wide. ‘You’re gonna show me your dry room? I’m honoured.’
‘I just need to get something first.’ Murphy stepped inside the shed, seeing Butch curled up on his side. He crouched down behind the couch and pulled the Glock out of its hiding place. He tucked it into the back of his belt, then grabbed a key off the hook beside the door.
‘Really, I’m honoured, mate,’ said Skinner when he came back outside. ‘Truly honoured —’
‘Just have the list ready,’ said Murphy. He wondered if Butch was going to lose his shit if he found out Murphy was showing someone else where their dry room was: it was almost as bad as showing him their crop, it gave Skinner too much power over them, but he couldn’t see any other way.
At the end of a concrete path down from the house, lit by the porch light, was a Hills Hoist, empty save a line of rusting pegs. Murphy cranked the handle until the arms of the clothes line were vertical.