That which exists without my knowledge exists without my consent (2)

With the exception of the bartender, the bar was empty. They approached him and ordered three pints.
“Of?”
“Sorry?” Axe said.
“Three pints of what?”
“Beer.”
“VB or Melbourne Bitter?”
Axe turned to JT, who shrugged.
“Let’s start with a whiskey,” Beattie said.
“A whiskey?”

“Three whiskeys,” he said. The barman, a tall man with hair so short you couldn’t tell what colour it was, reached up and pulled down a bottle. He poured them straight up. Beattie laid a fifty dollar note for the whiskeys and ordered the first round of beers. Then the three of them stood around holding the whiskeys in their hands, raising their eyebrows at each other, coming to some silent agreement. Then they threw them back, slammed the glasses down and found a table with their beers in their hands.

For a Friday night, the place was dead. They stood around a wooden leaner and drank their beers. JT looked about the place. There were a few tables distributed around and some space in front of stage where people might dance if there was some music, or some people who had a mind to dance. There was a television hung on the far wall that showed horse races. He nodded to himself. It was, he thought, the kind of place where nothing good had ever happened and nothing good would ever happen to them or anyone like them. It was typical that they would drive a couple of hours to find it, just typical.

He looked at Beattie and Axe. They surveyed the place for themselves. The bartender was watching something on the television with his arms cross.

“You know, Beattie, they’ve got holes like this we could have drunk at in Bendigo,” Axe said.
“What’s there to do around here?” Beattie called out, ignoring the question.

The bartender turned and leaned on the bar, angling his ear towards them.
“What’s there to do around here? Any clubs?”
“What sorta clubs you after?”
“Well you know,” Beattie said, turning to his half-brother for the word. “Like men’s clubs, strippers or something?”
The bartender smiled.
“Strippers or something?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a place, a private massage place, are you sure that’s not what you’re after?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned.
Beattie smiled and kind of nodded, looking down at his beer.
“No, you’ve got us all wrong.”
The bartender laughed. “I’m just messing around. There’s a couple of places in the city, something close by too. Goldie’s, it’s called. That’s about five minutes’ walk from here.”
“Yeah?”

The bartender stood back and folded his arms. He was still smiling. “Head down that way to the corner. Take a right on Station Street then walk along there for about five minutes. It’s a red brick building. If you get to the seven-eleven you’ve gone too far.”
“Thanks.”

JT took his empty to the bar and bought another round of beers. The three of them relaxed.
“I’ve heard about the girls down here. Like something out of a magazine.”
“That right?” JT said.
“Yeah, don’t worry we will pop your cherry.”
“My cherry was popped about nine months before you were born, Beattie.”
“That so? I reckon I would have been your dad if the monkey hadn’t beaten me up the stairs.”

They all laughed. The place wasn’t so bad.
“Let’s get over there after this round,” Beattie said.
“What’s your rush? I told you the anticipation is the best bit. The waiting.”

Beattie ignored his brother, he turned to JT. “What’s up with you, you’ve hardly spoken all night?”
“I’m good.”
“Yeah? You a little nervous.”
“Not me.”
“Don’t worry. They’re just girls, mate. I was nervous the first time I saw a nude woman.”
“I’ve seen my share of nude women.”
“Girls, JT. You've seen girls. We are talking about women now.”
“I’m more experienced then you could imagine. You’re the one so keen to get there.”
Beattie grinned, showing his yellow teeth. He liked JT more and more, he had an attitude. Not a bad one, just had one.
“Let’s see how you go.”

JT took another draft of beer and wiped his mouth with his forearm.
“This is my first time down here. First time in the city.”
Axe gripped JT’s shoulder. “Can hardly call this the city, mate.”
JT scanned the room. The carpet that looked damp, the dust on the window sill, the way the high hanging bulbs threw a feeble light. There was something different, an air about the place.
“I don’t know if this is the city but it’s nothing like home.”

“Let’s have another one,” Beattie said, rising. “Someone’s feeling a little homesick. Misses his teddy bear.” He went to the bar with the empties and drew a circle above them with his finger. The bartender pulled three more pints and set them out on the wooden bar. JT watched on from the leaner, he noticed the faded green tattoos on the barman’s hands, the scorpion on his neck.

“Look,” the barman said to Beattie. “If I were you, I’d save your money. You pay $50 for a lap dance down there. That’s about three hundred an hour. Just to get a hard on” – A deep laugh from the bowel – “You’d have to have more dollars than sense. Cost you at least twenty, twenty five bucks to get in the door. Then they kick you out if you don’t tip the dancers.”
Beattie picked up the three beers in two hands. He sipped one. “Well, what else is there to do around here?”

The bar man smiled again, his eyes wide, he suddenly reminded JT of an emu.
“What’s there to do around here? Well you think about that and let me know what you boys want to do?”
“Well you see my friend here has never been to the city?”
“This is hardly the city.”
“That’s what I said.”
Beattie turned to walk back to the table. The barman said. “Well let me know if you want to spend your money on something better than strippers.”

They drank their beer and quietly spoke.
“That’s a lot of money,” JT said.
“You are nervous, I knew it.”
“He’s right. That's more than I'm likely to spend in a month on the farm.”
“We could be in Bendigo now, and I know what we would be doing if we were there and it wouldn’t be costing three hundred bucks,” Beattie said.
“What would we be doing?”
“What a man should do on a Friday night, that’s what. And it would only be costing $150 and that’s only if I wanted one from the top shelf.”
“You don’t know what a man should be doing,” Axe said to his half-brother.
“Yeah? Well I’d be doing it about now. One way or another.”
“You’d be finished by now.”
JT laughed.
“Not me,” Beattie said shaking his head. “She’d be finished.”

It had only been in the last few weeks that the boys had started inviting JT to the bars. They’d been out a few times in Bendigo and JT could tell they were pretty new to it themselves. He’d turned eighteen and that was that, suddenly he was invited along. It wasn’t just that, before they would have been lucky to have a beer at the farm with the old man. He ran a pretty tight ship, paid them well enough but he expected men to act in a certain way, an old fashioned way. He never would have stood for it if he was in a better state of mind. There’s the pub round the corner, which was one thing. But the late night bars, the girls they stared at, the girls Beattie and Axe had worked down on price.

“I saw you go in the back room in Bendigo, picked the widest girl and you were back in less than five minutes.”
JT smiled then took a swig to hide it.
“You boys don’t know a thing, laugh all you want.” He stood. “Where’s your pisser,” he said to the bartender. The bartender pointed.

“You’ve met Beattie, now you’ve met Beattie pissed.”
“He’s not so different.”

JT was feeling drunk himself, when he rose to order another round, the ground was not so certain beneath him but one foot followed the other in the end.

When JT was at the bar, someone entered, a tall man holding a motor cycle helmet at his hip. He passed a paper bag to the barmen then left without saying a word.
“Three more,” JT said.

Back at his seat, JT looked through the stained glass windows, everything was warped outside, and only the occasional twin fires of car lights could be seen like two diamonds floating in the red glass. Nothing felt right about that place and he’d almost given up on the idea of getting laid, even the strippers seemed out of the question. He thought about their bedroom back at the farm, Old Gregor, sitting by the fire.

He thought about his Dad.

JT watched the barmen disappear through the door behind the bar then he said to Axe, “Gregor’s not doing so good, eh?”
Axe shook his head. “Don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“You think he might come right?”
“He hasn’t been right since the Mrs died.”
“Beattie says he’s gone already.”
“Rick Beattie says a lot of things. He’s hardly a doctor, so I wouldn’t take his word on it.”

Beattie crossed the bar to the leaner. His face although red in the cheeks had sobered.
"Come on," he said, jutting his chin toward the door.

JT nodded at the three beers, two half emptied since the time Beattie had gone to the bathroom.He looked over his shoulder toward the vacant bar. "Nevermind them, let's just get going."
"Hold your god-damned horses," Axe saidd, "let a man finish his beer."
Beattie eyed his brother like evil itself. He took the full beer by the handle and drank it all, his Adams apple bobbing and his eyes barely open. Then he put the beer down.

"I'm telling you, right now. I'm walking outside and I'm getting in that ute and I'm driving away whether you two are in it or not."
Then he turned and walked out the door not looking back.

“Three whiskeys,” he said. The barman, a tall man with hair so short you couldn’t tell what colour it was, reached up and pulled down a bottle. He poured them straight up. Beattie laid a fifty dollar note for the whiskeys and ordered the first round of beers. Then the three of them stood around holding the whiskeys in their hands, raising their eyebrows at each other, coming to some silent agreement. Then they threw them back, slammed the glasses down and found a table with their beers in their hands.

For a Friday night, the place was dead. They stood around a wooden leaner and drank their beers. JT looked about the place. There were a few tables distributed around and some space in front of stage where people might dance if there was some music, or some people who had a mind to dance. There was a television hung on the far wall that showed horse races. He nodded to himself. It was, he thought, the kind of place where nothing good had ever happened and nothing good would ever happen to them or anyone like them. It was typical that they would drive a couple of hours to find it, just typical.

He looked at Beattie and Axe. They surveyed the place for themselves.

The bartender was watching something on the television with his arms cross.

“You know, Beattie, they’ve got holes like this we could have drunk at in Bendigo,” Axe said.

“What’s there to do around here?” Beattie called out, ignoring the question.

The bartender turned and leaned on the bar, angling his ear towards them.

“What’s there to do around here? Any clubs?”

“What sorta clubs you after?”

“Well you know,” Beattie said, turning to his half-brother for the word. “Like men’s clubs, strippers or something?”

The bartender smiled.

“Strippers or something?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a place, a private massage place, are you sure that’s not what you’re after?” He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

Beattie smiled and kind of nodded, looking down at his beer.

“No, you’ve got us all wrong.”

The bartender laughed. “I’m just messing around. There’s a couple of places in the city, something close by too. Goldie’s, it’s called. That’s about five minutes’ walk from here.”

“Yeah?”

The bartender stood back and folded his arms. He was still smiling. “Head down that way to the corner. Take a right on Station Street then walk along there for about five minutes. It’s a red brick building. If you get to the seven-eleven you’ve gone too far.”

“Thanks.”

JT took his empty to the bar and bought another round of beers. The three of them relaxed.

“I’ve heard about the girls down here. Like something out of a magazine.”

“That right?” JT said.

“Yeah, don’t worry we will pop your cherry.”

“My cherry was popped about nine months before you were born, Beattie.”

“That so? I reckon I would have been your dad if the monkey hadn’t beaten me up the stairs.”

They all laughed. The place wasn’t so bad.

“Let’s get over there after this round,” Beattie said.

“What’s your rush? I told you the anticipation is the best bit. The waiting.”

Beattie ignored his brother, he turned to JT. “What’s up with you, you’ve hardly spoken all night?”

“I’m good.”

“Yeah? You a little nervous.”

“Not me.”

“Don’t worry. They’re just girls, mate. I was nervous the first time I saw a nude woman.”

“I’ve seen my share of nude women.”

“Girls, JT. You've seen girls. We are talking about women now.”

“I’m more experienced then you could imagine. You’re the one so keen to get there.”

Beattie grinned, showing his yellow teeth. He liked JT more and more, he had an attitude. Not a bad one, just had one.

“Let’s see how you go.”

JT took another draft of beer and wiped his mouth with his forearm.

“This is my first time down here. First time in the city.”

Axe gripped JT’s shoulder. “Can hardly call this the city, mate.”

JT scanned the room. The carpet that looked damp, the dust on the window sill, the way the high hanging bulbs threw a feeble light. There was something different, an air about the place.

“I don’t know if this is the city but it’s nothing like home.”

“Let’s have another one,” Beattie said, rising. “Someone’s feeling a little homesick. Misses his teddy bear.” He went to the bar with the empties and drew a circle above them with his finger. The bartender pulled three more pints and set them out on the wooden bar. JT watched on from the leaner, he noticed the faded green tattoos on the barman’s hands, the scorpion on his neck.

“Look,” the barman said to Beattie. “If I were you, I’d save your money. You pay $50 for a lap dance down there. That’s about three hundred an hour. Just to get a hard on” – A deep laugh from the bowel – “You’d have to have more dollars than sense. Cost you at least twenty, twenty five bucks to get in the door. Then they kick you out if you don’t tip the dancers.”

Beattie picked up the three beers in two hands. He sipped one. “Well, what else is there to do around here?”

The bar man smiled again, his eyes wide, he suddenly reminded JT of an emu.

“What’s there to do around here? Well you think about that and let me know what you boys want to do?”

“Well you see my friend here has never been to the city?”

“This is hardly the city.”

“That’s what I said.”

Beattie turned to walk back to the table. The barman said. “Well let me know if you want to spend your money on something better than strippers.”

They drank their beer and quietly spoke.

“That’s a lot of money,” JT said.

“You are nervous, I knew it.”

“He’s right. That's more than I'm likely to spend in a month on the farm.”

“We could be in Bendigo now, and I know what we would be doing if we were there and it wouldn’t be costing three hundred bucks,” Beattie said.

“What would we be doing?”

“What a man should do on a Friday night, that’s what. And it would only be costing $150 and that’s only if I wanted one from the top shelf.”

“You don’t know what a man should be doing,” Axe said to his half-brother.

“Yeah? Well I’d be doing it about now. One way or another.”

“You’d be finished by now.”

JT laughed.

“Not me,” Beattie said shaking his head. “She’d be finished.”

It had only been in the last few weeks that the boys had started inviting JT to the bars. They’d been out a few times in Bendigo and JT could tell they were pretty new to it themselves. He’d turned eighteen and that was that, suddenly he was invited along. It wasn’t just that, before they would have been lucky to have a beer at the farm with the old man. He ran a pretty tight ship, paid them well enough but he expected men to act in a certain way, an old fashioned way. He never would have stood for it if he was in a better state of mind. There’s the pub round the corner, which was one thing. But the late night bars, the girls they stared at, the girls Beattie and Axe had worked down on price.

“I saw you go in the back room in Bendigo, picked the widest girl and you were back in less than five minutes.”

JT smiled then took a swig to hide it.

“You boys don’t know a thing, laugh all you want.” He stood. “Where’s your pisser,” he said to the bartender. The bartender pointed.

“You’ve met Beattie, now you’ve met Beattie pissed.”

“He’s not so different.”

JT was feeling drunk himself, when he rose to order another round, the ground was not so certain beneath him but one foot followed the other in the end.

When JT was at the bar, someone entered, a tall man holding a motor cycle helmet at his hip. He passed a paper bag to the barmen then left without saying a word.

“Three more,” JT said.

Back at his seat, JT looked through the stained glass windows, everything was warped outside, and only the occasional twin fires of car lights could be seen like two diamonds floating in the red glass. Nothing felt right about that place and he’d almost given up on the idea of getting laid, even the strippers seemed out of the question. He thought about their bedroom back at the farm, Old Gregor, sitting by the fire.

He thought about his Dad.

JT watched the barmen disappear through the door behind the bar then he said to Axe, “Gregor’s not doing so good, eh?”

Axe shook his head. “Don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“You think he might come right?”

“He hasn’t been right since the Mrs died.”

“Beattie says he’s gone already.”

“Rick Beattie says a lot of things. He’s hardly a doctor, so I wouldn’t take his word on it.”

Beattie crossed the bar to the leaner. His face although red in the cheeks had sobered.

"Come on," he said, jutting his chin toward the door.

JT nodded at the three beers, two half emptied since the time Beattie had gone to the bathroom.

He looked over his shoulder toward the vacant bar. "Nevermind them, let's just get going."

"Hold your god-damned horses," Axe saidd, "let a man finish his beer."

Beattie eyed his brother like evil itself. He took the full beer by the handle and drank it all, his Adams apple bobbing and his eyes barely open. Then he put the beer down.

"I'm telling you, right now. I'm walking outside and I'm getting in that ute and I'm driving away whether you two are in it or not."

Then he turned and walked out the door not looking back.