Mordialloc. James Maclean

       For Dougie; who never made it out the other side!

      “Young man, lost and adrift in the sea of life, you aren’t alone.”

      PART 1

      Melbourne

      November 1988

      CHAPTER one

      The taste of stale tobacco finally woke him; that coupled with an eternal thirst. Trying to swallow, the strain of a swollen tongue glued to the roof of a fetid mouth caused him to cough. An SOS went out immediately. The old girl was listing badly; it wasn’t going to be pretty.

      The mild stench of stale urine filled his nostrils. Floyd McGuinness opened his eyes to reveal the overhang of a low bridge; Victorian, wrought iron, large solid blocks, pitted texture, quality. Reflex kicked in as he felt for his wallet (check), and then onto his cigarettes, two battered cowboy boots and a faded denim jacket. His watch had stopped but the sun was up. The experience wasn’t new. The trains would be be running. He could make it if he hustled.

      The stares and snide remarks of early risers were a badge of honour. He made his way in the direction of Flinders Street Station. The path less travelled could be a lonely journey indeed. A battle weary soldier returning from the front lines, the spoils of war unclaimed.

      Resources had been slim when he decided, on a whim, to head out the previous night. The idea of a wing-man was abandoned due to it being a Tuesday. All of his so-called mates had seemed more concerned with passing their final year exams than being “shot out of a cannon.” That didn’t deter him. Shit, it had provided the catalyst.

      He powdered the breech.

      Alone he’d taken on all they could throw; jumping the train, shooting tequlia, even scoring a little hot passion pressed hard up against some seedy hotel bar. An over zealous bouncer was the end of that. Running low on options, he’d finally aimed for the Waterside Hotel. It was an end of the road slaughter house ‘only for the brave’, if finances or luck were keeping the nightclubs of King Street out of reach.

      Hardy, seasoned dockworkers putting a bit of spring back in their step, and men to whom freedom had become a recent commodity, made up the brunt of the clientele. If you drank hard though, pissed straight, and kept your eyes down, your odds were slightly better than even. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in such dire straits, Floyd knew the score.

      The joint was steaming; misery always attracting a pretty good crowd. A couple of tough old bandits even took him under their wing early. It was smooth sailing from there.

      ‘Bundy, bourbon and beer!’ they had all toasted repeatedly. It must have been well after midnight. ‘The education they don’t teach in schools anymore!’

      He’d drunk to that alright. He drank till he couldn’t recognise his own twisted mug in the cracked bathroom mirror. Then, when the conversation had inevitably turned towards the settling of the bill, he’d legged it out the side door. He sprinted till he dropped.

      CHAPTER two

      ‘Where on God’s green earth have you been?’ exclaimed Helen McGuinness angrily. She’d spotted him from the overlooking kitchen window as Floyd made his way gingerly down the side of the house. ‘Don’t you have school today?’

      Christ, not only school but a biology exam, thought McGuinness. He tripped slightly on a rusting old lawn mower. With a struggle, he regained his balance. Knowing better than to engage his irate mother, he kept his head down and his feet moving until safely locked in the back bathroom.

      Temporary respite from the thumping headache and blurred vision, fresh thirst-quenching liquid flowing over furry teeth, the ceremonious washing away of the sins; the beauty of the cool shower couldn’t be overstated. It’d been a big night. It also provided a lengthy opportunity to reflect.

      Not much to teach Floyd McGuinness anyway, he mused, cataloging the previous night’s events. Just accounting for my performance with the old bird up against the bar last night they should be presenting me with an A. It’s only a matter of time before they add “dry humping” to the curriculum.

       So she wasn’t the prettiest girl in the place; probably closer to my mother’s age than mine, and breath a tad nasty. It was dark. She did have a big old rack though. Yeah, I’d probably drop a few points for presentation but definitely an ‘A’ for prac. work!

       Exams; totally over-rated. They should be reserved for the blokes that can’t get the runs on the board – Oooooh yeah!

      Finally shutting off the faucet and reaching for his towel, the nausea and cramps subsiding, Floyd McGuinness was feeling quite accomplished. A well-oiled plan; beautiful in its simplicity, brilliantly executed. If they’d been handing out medals, he’d have taken two.

      The clean school uniform was a blessing. Stuffing in a piece of toast to cushion the hand full of pain killers and deaf to the barrage of abuse from his tired, frustrated mother, Floyd scampered out the door. Finally putting some distance between himself and his antagonist, he really wasn’t feeling too bad. Shit, if he could just get his head to stop spinning he might actually pull this one off.

      The

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