monitoring device we think of as sanity had developed a malfunction. Maybe she should have been locked up, but I was the last person to judge her.
I checked my mail. Nothing. As far as my family were concerned I was a non-person, had been for a while now. I told myself it didn't matter, that it was better to be numb than consumed with helpless rage.
Not long after Joyce dumped me for the dentist I'd stood in the bathroom looking into the mirror and discovered I couldn't see my face. That was the day I seriously considered walking in front of a train. Fast and certain.
Joe had convinced me to keep going, but I'd discovered just existing wasn't enough. Life had to have some point.
Right now, music vibrated through the walls of flat two, where Joe lived, reminding me that I owed him a visit. Not today. I was running late.
Out the back of the flats, I took a shortcut up the lane past the punk rockers' place. As I picked my way through the rubbish and puddles there was an incredible whine, like the roar of a wounded bull elephant. I winced. No wonder Mad Moll complained.
'You don't care about me!' a girl screeched.
A guy swore at her, vicious cruel words. My stomach clenched. I waited, straining to hear above the electric guitar. He must have said something else, real soft, because she gave a wail of frustration.
The sound made me sick. It always had - I could never forget Dad belting Mum and my impotent anger. It was the alcohol that had turned him into a monster.
Come on, have a drink mate. Sure, then go home and bash the wife and kids.
I should have walked past the broken back gate of the terrace house, instead I entered the overgrown backyard. As I expected they were at it again. Framed by the uncurtained kitchen window Genevieve and what's-his-name looked like they were in a kid's puppet show. But this was not TV, and when he shoved that frail girl she went flying. Her hip hit the kitchen table and she ricocheted off, her splayed fingers closing on a wine bottle. But it could not anchor her and she took it with her as she sprawled on the floor. He strode across the room to stand over her.
My hands closed in fists. If he made one move to hit her I'd be in there in flash.
He stared down at her. I was like a coiled spring. Go on, do it. Just give me a reason.
What's-his-name muttered something contemptuous then turned his back on her.
What Genevieve did next surprised me. Her dark head bobbed up as she sprang to her feet, bringing the bottle down on his skull. He'd already been moving so it was only a glancing blow, but it was enough to stun him. He staggered. She shoved past him, darting out the door and down the hall.
'Run little sparrow!'
I chuckled to myself and headed off to get the cab. Round one to Genevieve, but I knew the odds were against her. And I knew I couldn't sit back and watch him bash her without getting involved.
Tuesday
By 2 am Tuesday morning I was thinking of calling it a night. Too many cabs cruised looking for fares down Fitzroy Street and I already had too much unpaid mileage after driving around looking for the latest runaway.
Every driver has his favourite suburb and mine was St Kilda, and this time it paid off. A tall, thin figure stepped out from between two parked cars, helping a girl who looked drunk or stoned, probably both. I nearly drove past. The last thing I needed was someone throwing up in my cab. But business had been slow, so I double-parked for them.
The back door swung open and I swivelled in the seat, recognising Suze, one of the Street girls I hadn't seen for a while. She was followed by the dyke, Trigga, someone I knew by rep but not to talk to. The dyke slammed the door, muttering under her breath.
'Where to?' I asked.
'O'Toole? Hey, O'Toole!' Suze sat forward, hanging over the front seat. She was obviously off her face, speech slurred and rambling. 'It's O'Toole, Trigga.'
Trigga grimaced and named an avenue which was several blocks away, but still within the triangle of Acland, Barkly and Fitzroy Streets. Some clever journalist had dubbed it The Devil's Triangle because this was where the drugs and prostitution were concentrated.
'-baby, cutest little thing,' Suze mumbled.
It fell into place. 'Thought you weren't due for another month or so?'
'She wasn't,' Trigga answered. 'Baby's premature. Still in a humidicrib.'
I waited to pull out into the traffic. A foursome stepped out of the dark maw of a nightclub. I recognised the punk rockers from next door. A beautiful girl with impossibly white hair hung on what's-his-name's arm, while Genevieve laughed up at a tall, thin boy with orange hair. They'd been living next door for three weeks and I still hadn't sorted out who was with who. Maybe they were all with each other. Kids!
I sighed. At 20 I'd been a father with a family to support.
Suze slumped against my shoulder - the hit was taking effect. Sparing a hand from the wheel, I pushed her back into Trigga's arms.
'How long before Suze can bring the baby home?' I asked. My own daughter had been born premature. She'd been a mistake, and Joyce couldn't have any more, but I was grateful for my Jem. Of course, neither of them were speaking to me now.
'Tryin' to take me baby away. Won't gimme me baby!' Suze rocked back and forth, hugging her body, repeating her mantra. Weak sobs shook her, the emotion no less real for being partly drug-induced.
'She won't get the kid until she can prove she's off dope. So, what does she do? Scores some caps!' Trigga snarled. In the rear vision mirror I could see her scanning the footpath. 'If I find Moon Face-'
'He's back?' I went down a side street. It didn't make sense, Moon Face dealt in pills, not the heavy stuff. We passed number 60. It was doing a roaring trade - just another symbol of the rot. I'd been inside, I'd seen the little cubicles the girls rented for a fortune each night. There had been four deaths from overdoses in the last 12 months. Two of the girls had come to me and I'd taken them to Des's halfway-house, but they'd gone back to work.
'Yeah, Moon Face's back.' Trigga's hard eyes met mine in the rear-vision mirror. 'And he's dealing.'
Slowing the taxi to change down a gear, I took the corner. The wheels rolled over the cobbled gutter, making the car shudder as we stopped. Suddenly Suze moaned. Trigga threw the door open and the girl lunged across her to vomit into the gutter. Considerate of her.
'Friggin' hell,' Trigga muttered, patting Suze's back. 'She's got a urine test tomorrow. At this rate she'll never get the baby.'
'Aww gawd,' Suze whimpered, as the retching subsided.
'Out,' Trigga thumped her, all sympathy. 'Get out. And you better be through upchucking, 'coz if you throw up in my flat, you gotta clean it.'
Giving a heartfelt groan, Suze staggered onto the footpath and promptly passed out.
Trigga cursed under her breath then turned to me. 'How much?'
I told her and she tossed the notes in, tipping me in her rush.
I sat there watching her try to
