1. The Starting Concoction

My name's Hunter, I’ve gone 22 years without smoking Meth. My older brother wasn’t that fortunate. I loaned him fifty bucks three months ago and hadn’t heard from him since.

That was up until half an hour ago when he texted me off a random cell phone telling me he could pay me back. 

I didn’t care about the money, nor did I care to see my brother Maverick on a regular basis—I did however want to see him once in a blue moon to see if he was doing any better than last time. For the last 3 years it’s been a rollercoaster.

Thick rain plummeted across my windscreen as I rolled down the street checking Mailboxes for Number 35. The neighbourhood seemed cold and uninviting. 

Most houses looked worn down and abandoned, with boarded windows and fire damage. One that stood out had an overgrown lawn with a flat screen TV that had been pushed through the front window.

The house's mouldy curtains fluttered in the wind, exposing a lounge full of depraved graffiti and rotting walls.

 “25…27…” I counted quietly, rolling along.

All of a sudden I came to a large housing project, it looked like a handful of flats that’d been jammed together. God knows how many people lived there; it was perhaps the only building on the street. And perhaps the only one somewhat  suitable for living. 

Its front door was secured with a rusty security cage. The front lawn was long and unkempt, a bog had begun to form in one particular section. 

I dialled Maverick’s number to make sure he’d given me the right address, but I was pretty certain. 

Sadly, but as expected, he did not answer. His phone didn't even ring. So instead I began sounding my horn in a rhythm, in the hopes that he would crawl out of his cave.

What a fuckin dump, this is. I thought to myself, as the rainfall began to cool off.

All of a sudden a row of knuckles knocked on my window, it scared the piss out of me. I turned to face the culprit and found none other than my estranged brother Maverick, with short black hair, a filthy grey t-shirt, ripped denim shorts and a plastic bag twisted around his finger. He signalled for me to wind my window down, so I did.

“Shit, I didn’t expect you to come so early.” Maverick stated,  as he began to unravel the twisted plastic bag, “Do you want a lolly?” He asked me, offering forth a small bag of sour Feijoa lollies.

“Nah I’m good.” I laughed, as my brother hopped in shotgun.

He chewed down on one of the lollies. Then suddenly stopped, spat out the mangled mush of sugar and held his jaw tightly, eyes pressed shut.

“Shit, toothache?” I asked, watching his meek jaw writhe in pain. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a bad tooth.” He acknowledged, as he tucked away the bag of lollies. 

Although his grey shirt was baggy, I could see the frame of his bones quite evidently. Dark bags under his eyes. And a week long goatee growing on his gaunt face.

He was wet head to toe. But he didn’t seem to phased by the cold.

“Shit man, do you want a jumper or anything?” I asked, looking into the back.

“Yeah, alright.” he replied, digging into his plastic bag and retrieving a pack of unopened cigarettes. I passed him my work hoodie and he put it on quickly.

 “Want one?” he offered me, holding out his pack of darts.

“Nah man, I quit.” I answered, feeling a slight pique in craving.

“You don’t mind aye?” he asked, tucking a cigarette into his mouth.

“Nah, go ahead.” I stated, as I rolled his window down.

Maverick sparked his cigarette, then inspected the logo on his hoodie, “You’re roofing now?” he queried.

“Yeah man, for the last year or so.” I answered, with a slight smile.

“Was about to say your arms are getting pretty massive now.” he said, slipping his pack of darts into his pockets.

“True that? I am?” I said, flexing my arms.

“Yeah, your stomachs still a bit fat though.” he laughed, toking on his smoke.

I smirked, “Yeah well, I still drink on the weekends.” 

Maverick shrugged, “We’ve all got our vices.” 

I paused for a moment, “You’re still on it then?” 

Maverick clicked his tongue, “Yeah, can you tell?” 

‘I sure can.’ I thought to myself. “A little bit, not too much.” I said aloud. 

Maverick rattled his lighter against his doors armrest, “You want the dosh?” 

“Yeah, but I’m in no rush.” I answered, reclining my seat. 

“That’s good, because I still need to sort it somehow.” Maverick stated, puffing his cigarette.

My stomach began to turn as I breathed in second hand cigarette smoke. I asked him “You don’t have the cash on you?” 

Maverick shook his head, “Someone upstairs will have it. I just don’t have it on me right this second.” 

‘But you have enough to grab yourself a bag of goodies from the dairy?’ I scoffed internally. 

I then turned my head and looked up at the second story of the housing project. “How many of you live up there?” 

Maverick turned his head also and began to calculate in his mind. He thought long and hard. “I don’t know man, maybe 7 or 8?” 

“Seven or eight? in that one flat? Or in the entire upper floor?” I asked, turning back to face the windscreen.

“There’s only my apartment on the second story. But people come and go. It’s hard to say how many are up there.” Maverick replied, chuffing back the filter puffs of his cigarette.

“Throw that thing away man, you’ve got a fresh pack.” I scoffed, my stomach feeling ill.

Maverick did as I said, stuffed the cigarette out in my cars ashtray. But kept the butt inside his fresh pack. He spotted the old cigarette butts in my ashtray from my workmate and began collecting those also.

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“Don’t grab those man, you’re acting like a fiend.” I said to him.

“My missus needs chop.” He replied, collecting the last of them in a solid handful.

“C’mon man. You don’t need all that.” I insisted, tapping on the ashtray.

Maverick looked at me, exhaled deeply and placed the cigarette butts back into their grave. “Alright then, happy?” 

“So how often are you using it?” I prodded, rolling my window down.

Maverick thought for a moment, “Depends, if other people are buying I end up doing it more. But if they aren’t, not as much.” 

I nodded, and looked back at the upper floor of the housing project. This time I could see a couple people peering at me from behind a curtain. 

I looked around at the neighbourhood, familiarising myself with our unpleasant setting.

I clicked my tongue, “Do you wanna head up there and come back down when you get the cash?” 

“Might be easier if you just come up.” Maverick advised, opening his car door.

“Are you sure?” I shuddered.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Don’t sweat it.” He laughed, stepping out on the road. 

I looked back at the window, and noticed that the two strangers were gone. Then I turned to face Maverick who was leaning into my car, “Yeah alright. Let’s make it quick though.” 

Mav looked up and down the street. “Just park round the back bro.” Maverick advised. 

“Why the back?” I asked him.

“Ah, there’s homeless people that wander around and stay in the houses nearby. You’ll get a window smashed if you leave it here.” He stated.

I looked along the housing projects lawn and spotted a cracked concrete driveway that led to the rear of the building. “Yeah, alright man.” 

I put my car into drive and crept towards the driveway. I turned into the narrow driveway and noticed a double carport with hung bedsheets occupying one half of it. 

I parked in the empty side and hopped out of my vehicle. I pressed my keychain lock and double checked it was locked. 

I began pushing my way through the bedsheets. When I pushed through the last one I was startled at the sight of an aging woman with bright red lipstick that only partially covered a scab that ran over her upper lip. 

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!? WHERE’S MY FAGS!?” she cursed.

I was confused and stepped back as she made her way towards me. She stood barely five feet but held her own. 

Maverick pushed in from behind me and tossed her the pack of opened darts. 

She quickly clambered for her first cigarette and lit it ablaze with a torch lighter, she quickly inhaled and held the smoke in her lungs. With a weak voice she said to Maverick; “Why is it opened?”

Maverick pressed his thumb into his chest, “Because I’m the one that went and got them. That’s finder tax you goof.” 

She exhaled a storm of smoke and coughed relentlessly, “CARLORE WANTS TO SER YOU, YOU’VE BEEN THIEVING HIS STUFF AGAIN, HAVEN'T YOU!?”

“He’s all shit, he probably smoked it himself!” Maverick cursed.

“Whatever you bloody Toe rag!” The woman cursed, puffing on her cigarette. 

Maverick scoffed and moved past her towards a gate, “Ignore her Hunter, she must be off her meds again.” 

I approached the woman and gave her an awkward smile, “Nice to meet you, I’m Hunter.” 

She raised her eyebrows quickly, “Diane’s my name, likewise.” 

I followed after Maverick and Diane waited behind as she enjoyed her cigarette next to the bedsheets.

I joined Mavericks' side as he walked towards the back door of the housing project. “Don’t listen to that bitch, she just likes to get under my skin.” 

“Sounds like you opened her pack.” I replied. 

Maverick shook his head, “She takes smokes off me all the time.”

Maverick pressed his thumb into the door buzzer, “Yo, open up!”

“You’re not welcome here Maverick. Go mooch someplace else.” replied a static voice.

“Mooch? You guys didn’t call me that when we were puffing up last week!” Maverick scoffed.

“All you do is lay around until you get paid, and then you blow it all on gear…who’s that with you?” The static voice asked.

Maverick frowned. Then looked up at the overhead window pane on the upper floor. A guy about my age with a thick beard and glazed eyes was looking down at us.

Maverick flipped him off and began thumping on the door buzzer; “LET US UP YOU KNOBBIT!” 

The door unlocked and Diane pushed beside Maverick. Maverick cooled his head instantly and we followed her through the door and up a staircase.

The inside of the building smelt like burnt wood, match heads, and mould. I could see ancient faded posters that looked as if they’d been plastered there last Millenia.

As we reached the upper floor hallway I noticed ‘Danger tape’ laying on the old stained carpet. I folllowed Diane and Maverick inside their flat and braced for impact.

The door was shut and locked behind me. The first thing I noticed a snarling pitbull on its chain as a bald tradie held him in the corner by leash.

A couple of young men sitting on a couch beside me, both of whom were dressed in bright colours wearing discount knockoffs of brands in style ten years ago. One of them had Viking like braids and the other had a tooth missing.

The bearded stoner from before was in another corner begging for a cigarette off of Diane while holding a Powerade bottle bong, she shooed him away.

Lastly I spotted a young woman sitting on the edge of a couch by herself. Dazing into space.

I looked around in search of Maverick, but couldn’t see him anywhere. 

So I planted myself next to the young woman who was gazing into oblivion. 

“Hey, I’m Hunter.” I greeted the room. 

No one replied. 

I began tapping my foot and scratched the back of my head before I thought of what to say next.

“How do you know Maverick?” asked the young woman. 

I debated internally whether I should let the flat know of our brotherhood. “He’s an old friend.” I said.

“Who would wanna be friends with that fuckwit?” laughed the toothless bandit.

“I ask myself that sometimes.” I laughed awkwardly. 

“Might wanna reevaluate your life choices there bud.” agreed the Viking, itching at his face. 

“Damn, you look real familiar.” The glazed stoner said to me.

“Hard, actually.” replied the toothless bandit. 

“Actually yeah I know you. I met you in Odyssey house, you’re Tony aye?” Asked the glazed stoner, tapping a gold coin on a coffee table.

“Nah, pretty sure my name's Hunter,” I replied, tapping my foot quicker.

“Have you been to Odyssey house before?” the glazed stoner investigated.

“Can’t say I have, what’s that?” I replied. 

“Ahh forget it. Not Tony.” said the glazed stoner, dropping the coin and returning to his bong.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

“I’m Hunter.” I said.

“Oh yeah true, I’m Winton.” said the Viking.

“I’m Bando.” said the toothless bandit, “That’s Alice.” he added pointing to the girl beside me, “ that’s…” he paused for a moment looking deeply at the distracted bald tradie.

 “What’s your name bro?” Bando asked. But the tradie didn’t hear.

 Bando then flung a bic lighter that bounced off the tradie's bald head. 

“Oi!” Bellowed the bald Tradie.

The pitbull began to bark and spit and scratch the carpet up as it tried to get loose. But the tradie held a tight grip and pulled him back.

“What’s your name bruv?” asked Bando, with an infuriating grin. 

“Mike,” he growled, his face blood red. 

Bando gave a quick thumbs up and began flipping the lid of his Zippo. Mike looked at us all with a challenging glare. Then loosened his grip on the dog leash. 

“Easy!” Bando ordered, crawling up onto the couch. 

“Not so funny now is it?” Mike gritted, letting the dog off bit by bit. 

“Relax you bald headed fuck!” Bando stuttered, climbing the couch. 

“Yeah, I will. So long as you do too.” Mike smirked, slipping sharkies over his eyes.

The glazed over stoner placed his bong on the floor, “Oh yeah, I’m Carlore by the way.” 

I nodded and looked around the room at the bizarre paintings of Elvis Presley that were sprawled all over the walls. Some of which were tame, and others surreal and abstract. 

Mike the Tradie tied the dogs leash around the large schoolroom styled heater. He then picked up and empty dog bowl and brought it through to the kitchen and returned with a bowl full of water.

“Where’d you fill that up?” asked Bando.

“Where do you think?” Scoffed Mike.

“Wasn’t the kitchen sink, was it?” asked Bando.

“Where else?” spat Mike.

Bando rubbed his Jaw and threw the Zippo lighter towards Mike's head. But Mike ducked and the Zippo shattered the Stained glass behind him. 

Diane emerged from the deck with a filthy look on her face, “WHAT THE FUCKS ALL THIS!?” she growled, making her way across the room to inspect her window. 

“FUCK ME! THAT’S GONNA COST A GRAND TO FIX!” Diane exclaimed, throwing her head into her hands. “Who did it?” she cursed.

“It was Carlore, Diane,” said Bando, laying a hand on her shoulder.

“Get fucked Bando, she saw it was you!” Carlore argued.

Bando rubbed his frown, “I was trying to hit Mike!” 

Mike gave Bando the stare of death, “Yeah? Well, you just broke a window instead, you moron!.” 

Mike turned to Diane, “I can fix it for free, just get Bando to buy the glass.” Mike offered to her.

“I don’t have the money!” Bando wailed.

“For a guy that nicknamed himself Bando you don’t have a grand?!” Mike spat.

“No, not on me. Maverick still owes me from last night. We’ll get it off him.” Bando replied.

Diane stomped her feet and pointed dualy at Bando and Winton, “You two! I want you both out until you come back with the money to fix my window.” 

“What!? But we’ve got nowhere to go!” Winton protested.

“Yeah! You want us to be homeless!?” Bando cried, raising to his feet.

“I don’t give a fuck what you are, you aren’t here until that windows fixed!” Diane spat, digging her pack of cigarettes out of her handbag. 

“Just calm down. Relax.” Winton continued,

“No I won’t calm down, now fuck off!” Diane scorned, moving out to the deck. 

Mike folded his arms, “You heard the lady.” 

Bando looked at Mike with a dark glare, and then backed towards the locked door and left, followed by Winton. 

I wish I knew where Mav was. I needed to get the fuck out of this nuthouse.