“Got it, boss.”
And then, a thud, thud, thud, down the stairs as Franko returns to his office.
“Got the day off,” I whisper. “Whatever shall we do?”
I have a few ideas.
Bang bang bang.
Someone knocks on the door, pulling us from our reverie.
“Porter. You awake?”
“Fuck,” he mutters, wrestling the sticky sheet to cover me as best as he can.
Damien opens the door without a second knock.
Stumbling across the room, Porter creates a diversion.
He leads him out into the corridor.
“Day off, kid. No deliveries today. Too much flooding.”
“Righto,” I hear him say.
That blokey voice again.
The voice he uses down in the kitchen.
“Better give our country boy a holler.”
Bang bang bang.
I freeze beneath the sheet as he knocks on my door.
What will Damo say if he finds my bed empty?
“Hey... hey... let him sleep,” Porter bluffs.
“Why?”
“He was feeling crook last night. Probably naked.”
An awkward pause as he corrects himself.
“Knackered. Probably knackered.”
He fumbles to change the subject.
“We got power downstairs yet?”
“Nah, mate. Whole street is dark. Franko's gonna crank the generator to keep the food chilled. But I'd say we won't be doing much til the sparkies sort it later.”
“Busy day to be a sparkie, that's for sure,” Porter laughs. “Cold showers too, I guess.”
“Nope, fuck that. I'd rather stink than freeze my nuts off,” Damien groans. “Heard the footy field's still open though. Keen for a game?”
“Pulled a muscle in my leg,” Porter lies. “Better take it easy.”
