The GWH held him with those cold grey peepers — no, Jack changed his mind, mark them down as refrigerated.
“What’s the scam?” he hedged, equally ruffled.
In response, the GWH barely moved. “Scam?”
“The rort — you know, what’s up?”
“What makes you think anything is up, Southern Cross?”
“So, you invited us down bright and early for drinks and polite conversation?”
The Brick raised his head. “That sounds half my cuppa. Drinks — without the yabberin’.”
“You two fools are incorrigible. No wonder you get along well.”
The Great White Hope sighed, loud and long. It appeared the whole of Heropa disappointed him.
“I had hoped you would learn the proper ropes, Southern Cross, our true calling — not the self-indulgent gutter paths trod by your ‘mate’ here.”
“Dunno, ol’ boy. I’d call self-indulgent the amount o’ time you spend on yer hair every mornin’.” The Brick guffawed his rumbling, heavy bass laugh. “Oh, yeah — an’ what about the pristine wardrobe, huh? How much dosh an’ effort do you waste there?”
The Great White Hope stared at the ceiling. He apparently had nothing to say.
“So, anyways, where’s this hooch you promised?”
“What hooch?”
“The hard stuff, el firewater, capiche?”
Jack laughed. “Gotta admit, I’m pretty thirsty myself.”
The GWH did his menacing-stare trick as he again focused on Jack. “Well, you can’t drink.”
The announcement caused him to shrug. “I know we can’t — I’m only kidding round. No Capes can drink alcohol here, I remember.”
“No,” the Great White Hope said in a smooth, honeyed tone bordering on contemptuous, while he slipped silently across the floor, “I’m not referring to the general alcohol restrictions in Heropa. You, my boy, would not be allowed to imbibe anywhere.”
This made Jack’s heart skip around a bit — he wasn’t sure if it sped up or slowed down.
“Whaddaya mean by that crack?” the Brick demanded on his behalf.
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, you blockhead, but the meaning is clear enough,” continued the GWH. “Southern Cross is too young to drink. Back in the real world, he’s only fifteen. Young enough to be your son, my cobblestoned friend.”
Jack glared at his leader. “How the fuck do you—” Like a shot, his hand covered his mouth, far too late. The profanity had slipped out before thinking.
Yet nothing happened.
He didn’t eject or unboot or whatever the hell they called it. There was no slap in the face back to Melbourne. His eyes darted over to the Brick’s, who appeared equally astonished.
“What?” Jack whispered.
“Fuck?” the Brick said in a soft, testy tone. Then he smiled in broad fashion. “Fuck!” he threw to the ceiling, his head tossed back. “Shit, bloody, anal…CUNT!”
Nothing.
The three men stood in a circle beside the table, in the middle of their headquarters in puritanical Heropa, and it now looked like they could swear like sailors on shore leave.
“You sly dog,” the Brick suddenly decided, appraising the GWH anew. “You set up some kind o’ force field round this room, so’s we can get away with murder while in here — about time we put our powers to good use. You sly bugger.”
The Great White Hope held up his right hand. “Not me. But, as you can see, the rules have changed. Things are in flux.”
“Yeah? That so…? Luv’ly. Or should I say ‘shit a brick’? You know how long I’ve been meanin’ to throw down that quip?”
Stomping over to a trunk covered with a beautiful throw-sheet, the Brick yanked off the material. There was a padlock beneath, instantly broken to smithereens, and then the man delved inside the box for a bit.
Finally, he stood up straight — with a silver cocktail shaker in one mitt and several unopened bottles in the other.
“Well, if the ol’ restraints are passé, I’m fer havin’ a drink. Wanna join me?”
“I told you. This boy is a minor.”
The Brick stopped to study the Great White Hope. “So, who cares? How old’re you again, kid?”
“Fifteen,” Jack admitted, embarrassed and reasonably humiliated. It felt like someone had wrenched away his gut. What if the GWH somehow got word to Louise? What if she found out?
Panic set off alarm bells somewhere in his belfry, and in the middle of them darted the flashback again, his eyes close to hers, the slight hint of peppermint and citrus. “You mean the world to me,” he’d whispered, just as frightened, and he meant it.