“There is that,” Jack agreed, focusing on his single hotdog. The mustard created a minor nose-rush and the bread seemed stale. His teammate was right. This was eating like a goddamned king.
The Brick had already finished his third round and sat back to observe the kids over by the water.
“Y’know, we have this game I like t’play when I’m bored — which can be too bloody often in this stuffy glen.”
“Go on.”
Jack ring-pulled a can of Tarax Dixi-Cola while the Brick tore open a pack of something named Cracker Jack.
“It’s Whaddaya Reckon This Person is Really Like Out There? — a mouthful, I know, but by that I mean the authentic, real-deal us.”
“Back in Melbourne?”
“Yep, merrily kippin’ while connected up into them idI machines.”
“In a pool of pee.”
“Got it.”
Jack followed a radio-controlled yacht tacking across the glassy pond, which narrowly avoided a water lily. “How does this game go?”
“All about hypothesizin’, really. Fer starters there’s our Pretty Amazonia. Towerin’, voluptuous, gift-wrapped, tresses down to her toes. In actual fact, prob’ly a mousey, frail little librarian lezzo, with short hair, glasses, an’ tiny tits — sportin’ a name like Lula Mae Barnes.”
“Man. You are a terror.”
“Did I ever tout otherwise?”
“Not really, except for when you bat your baby blues.”
The Brick leaned back, a triumphant look on his face. “Part o’ me effervescent charm.”
“Part of something, that’s for sure.” Jack glanced at his partner. “Anyway, speaking of PA, you know she was all eyes on Saint Y? A man. There goes your theory.”
“Really now? Good t’see the dear move on.”
The lapidarian Equalizer stuck into his gob a great handful of molasses-flavoured, candy-coated popcorn and peanuts. Jack had to look away from the bedlam.
“Back to this guessing game. What about the Great White Hope?”
“Weak-sister nobody, cruddy dress-sense — oh, wait, that described ‘im perfectly well here in Heropa, rest his blamed soul. Well. Whaddaya know?”
The Brick held aloft a plastic ring he’d apparently found in the box of snacks.
“The prize in the Cracker Jack. Want it?”
“Uh-uh — you’re more likely to need a ring than me.”
The Brick’s blue eyes flicked over. “That so?”
“I’m poking fun,” Jack said, perhaps too quickly.
“Go lightly, kid. Not sure either comment soothes me soul.”
“Brick, what do you think about love?”
The Equalizer didn’t blink as he gazed at his partner. “There’s somethin’ socked outta leftfield. This some kind’a Bizarro World test?”
“No. Just curious.”
“So it’s legit? Nuts — I reckon the thing’s overrated.”
“You don’t believe in love?”
“Hard to. Makes me feel ill, thinkin’ ’bout the implications, let alone saying the word out loud.”
“Well, yeah, yeah, I know it can come across pathetic. But seriously, if we look at the general concept, do you think it can overcome — well, barriers?”
The Brick narrowed his eyes. “What kind o’ barriers?”
“In general, like I said.”
“Then lemme give you a general response: hippy shit. And yer defo askin’ the wrong slab o’ cement.”
The man shoved the ring into his overgrown coat pocket.
“Gettin’ back to the game, which is far more fun, there was this Rotter before yer time, name o’ El Stencho. Pretty crass. As his name implies, he used obscene odours to win friends an’ influence people, got round in a stinky sombrero. Had very li’l in the way o’ teeth. Prob’ly he’s a dentist in Melbourne. Dunno what happened to him — haven’t seen ‘im in a while. I’m wonderin’ if dentistry got more attractive than Heropa.”
“How about you in the real world?”
“Hmm. Lemme get back t’you.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Not really — the game’s all ’bout guessing. I know who I am. You give it a shot.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin, unless the main idea is to be insulting.”
“Ahh. Quick learner.”
Jack remembered the drinks his partner had put together the other day, the cocktail recipes he’d flouted. “Bartender?”
“Brother is. Go on.”
“Okay. Weedy and couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper-bag. Desperately craving a cool car, but the only wheels you have are a hand-me-down bicycle from that brother.”