Free The Glass Kingdom by Chris Flynn

order?’
    At the bar I opted for the steak and bacon pie with chips. Steph wanted a salad. She was on yet another weird diet. This time she had convinced herself she was allergic to gluten. Last month it was dairy. I supposed next month it would be oxygen. Didn’t stop her having a glass of Sauv Blanc, I noticed. As I paid the haggard-looking barmaid, the door to the pub swung open to admit a gaunt young fella wearing a baseball cap that was way too big for his pinhead.
    I watched him in the mirror behind the bar. He stood by the door for a minute, scanning the room to see who was there, then proceeded to the booth where the other young bloke was sitting. He tugged at the crotch of his loose jeans as he sat opposite, nodding a cursory greeting and pulling the rim of his hat down over his eyes. Fucken ridiculous. He might as well have been wearing a badge that said DEALER.
    I carried the glasses back to our booth. The young bloke who’d just arrived looked me up and down as I neared, but I blanked him and sat just out of sight. He was right behind us, which suited me fine.
    â€˜The only thing about this course in Melbourne is that it’s pretty exy,’ Steph said as she sipped her wine.
    â€˜How much we talking?’
    â€˜Eight thousand.’
    I waved my hand. ‘Don’t worry about it. Book yourself in and I’ll shout you.’
    â€˜Really? Just like that?’
    â€˜Whatever makes you happy.’ I was about to ask her how much time she’d need off from the Kingdom when she abruptly raised a finger to shush me. The blokes in the booth behind were deep in conversation and some detail had caught her attention. I sipped my beer and listened.
    â€˜Look, I could only get seventy-five.’
    â€˜I told you it was a fucken hundred.’
    â€˜That’s all I have. Sorry.’
    â€˜Fuck. You’re such a little bitch, homes. You know this is good glass, right? You gets what you pays for.’
    â€˜Sorry, Matt. I’ll have the rest by Saturday, promise.’
    â€˜You fucken better. Here. Now buy me a pot, ya cunt.’
    We drank in silence as the first guy went to the bar. I tapped my fingers on the table and raised my eyebrows at Steph.
    â€˜Does he work for you?’ she whispered.
    I shook my head. ‘Not that I know of. Not yet, anyway.’
    â€˜We should follow them.’
    â€˜You’re getting into this, eh?’
    â€˜You got something else on this arvo?’
    â€˜True. And I did just spend eight grand on knievelology, so…’
    â€˜ Kinesiology . Jeez, you’re such a dickhead.’
    â€˜A dickhead with deep pockets.’ I leaned across the table and spoke quietly. ‘You want to see how this works? We’ll go after him when he leaves, see where he’s holed up. Probably just a backyard lab, but still. Worth a look.’
    Our lunch came, and the dealer seemed content to continue humiliating his client for a while with barbs about his uselessness. He was just asking for someone to step in and take over his business. I’d come across a hundred like him, small-time entrepreneurs who thought that just because they could cook a decent batch they were Walter fucken White. The two blokes left together and I had to gather up the remaining half of my pie in a napkin. Steph shoved a few of my chips in her mouth as we got up to leave.
    As we emerged into the harsh sunlight, a filthy old Toyota was pulling away from the kerb, smoke pluming from its exhaust. The recipient of the deal was walking away down the street in the opposite direction. I didn’t care about him—the dealer was my focus. We climbed casually into the ute.
    â€˜Keep your distance,’ Steph told me as I struggled to eat the remains of the pie while steering.
    â€˜I know how to follow someone.’
    â€˜You’re getting crumbs on everything.’
    â€˜It’s my car.’
    â€˜He’s turning left.’
    â€˜Since