Omar Musa - Here Come the Dogs

b-boys performing between acts.

‘I miss b-girling.’

‘Yeah. The atmosphere. The smell,’ says Solomon.

‘Deep Heat?’

‘Yeah. Someone working their arse off on a move and then nailing it at a battle.’

We’re at a Thundamentals concert.

She wanted to go,

even though it was sold out.

She went along the line and eventually wrangled two tickets,

one for free.

She matches me drink for drink at the bar.

‘Pool? I’ll kick your arse. I’m a real tomboy.’

Afterwards,

I tell her that I let her win.

She wants to talk about the race riots,

but that’ll bring the mood down.

Word is that

a young boy is in a coma.

Still unclear what happened –

seemed like a free-for-all.

Scarlett guides me through the door

with one hand on the small of my back.

It feels weird.

‘Oi. Loverboy.’

Jimmy is in a new polo.

Rather than looking hurt,

as usual,

he seems chilled as.

‘Pity more good acts don’t come through here, ay?’

Scarlett seems to cautiously like Jimmy.

He shouts to be heard over the music.

‘Deadset bro, I swear when I look him in the eye —’

‘Ha.’

‘Yeah, yeah. When I look him in the eye,

it’s like he understands my thoughts,

and I can understand him too.

I send him messages, mental pictures in my mind.

Saw a doco, right, where this chick could do it with big cats.

They can understand heaps, bro, even complex ideas.

Animals are way smarter than we give em credit for.

They just have different, um, different frames of reference, bro.

Like this thing I was watching, right —’

I haven’t seen him so excited since the last Wu Tang album dropped.

They rib me about not looking after Mercury properly

and I laugh and buy a round.

A young black guy called Remi is warming up the stage

with a DJ and a drummer

and while it’s sampled beats,

they sound fresh,

unlike anything else at the moment.

Rarely see a black dude in Aussie hip hop.

It’s troubling, ay.

Scarlett notices, too.

It’s her first time to an Aussie hip hop gig

and she is looking around between sips.

‘So many white people here. Not like this in Auckland.’

‘Yeah. Aussie hip hop is pretty bloody white. There’s more women than

there used to be, but,’ I say, a bit defensively.

‘Not on stage.’

She once told me

that NZ has problems with racism, too,

but they can always point at Australia

and say, ‘At least we’re not as bad as them.’

When the dude finishes his set,

there is just the drunken chatter of the crowd.

Scarlett tells Jimmy a dirty joke

and he cracks up.

She has a bold, open-mouthed laugh

that shows her white teeth.

I’m observing her too closely to laugh

and she notices and whispers,

‘Scared of a little rude joke, Solomona?’

‘Nah, I think it’s you I should be scared of.’

These Thundamental dudes put on a hectic live show,

bobbing and weaving

over a mess of leads.

Haven’t seen them perform in ages.

Tuka has a skater/hippie swag,

bouncing one-footed

off speakers into the air.

Morgs is mean on the cuts.

Jeswon floats at the back of the stage,

coming forward for his verses,

attacking the beat with vicious sixteens.

Something in the water up in the Blue Mountains, ay?

The soundman is fucking the levels

but it doesn’t matter.

The vibe’s there.

They do their big love song, ‘Smiles Don’t Lie’

and as the crowd sings along,

Scarlett and I kiss.

‘Are we cheesy or what?’ she says.

‘Yep,’ I reply.

Jimmy waits for Scarlett to go to the toilet

then leans over.

‘Oi. Guess who I bumped into?’

‘Who?’

‘My old man.’

I suddenly feel sober. ‘Bullshit.’

‘Serious.’

‘The fuck he want?’

‘All right, I didn’t talk to him. I saw him outside work, sitting in the back of a ute.’

‘The back of a ute?’

‘I think he wants to talk.’

‘The fuck for?’

‘Dunno. I reckon he wants to make amends.’

I know that look. Somehow wounded, somehow excited by the danger.

‘It doesn’t make any sense. No one’s seen the bloke in years,’ I say.

‘I know.’

‘ Pssh. If it is, we should beat the cunt senseless,’ I say.

‘Yeah. That’s what I reckon.’

‘Let’s do it. I’ll come with ya.’

‘Nah, nah. I just wanna see what he says. I got it under control.’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘Just be careful, James.’

I can’t concentrate on the rest of the show.

* * *

Scarlett’s place doesn’t have air-con.

Against the doorframe,

she takes my dick out of my jeans.

She squeezes it between thumb and forefinger

and a droplet appears.

She teases it with the tip of her tongue.

I try to hold her head but she keeps unfastening

my fingers from her hair,

undressing me with one hand.

Her back is covered with purple tatts,

stars and swordfish and coral reefs.

On her legs are scars,

razor marks at perfect intervals,

twelve per leg,

moon coloured.

She climbs on top of me

and guides me in.

She’s not very wet.

We begin to move slowly

and she parts her legs to accept me deeper.

This room is so hot.

I touch her nipples,

long and dark and pierced.

With her right hand she holds my throat

and with the other she slowly begins

to slap me on the right cheek,

once every few seconds.

We’re moving faster now and she’s wetter.

She tightens her grip on my throat.

The slaps become harder

and more painful,

but with the same regularity –

each slap turns my head further to the left.

Something anchored deep in me rising.

My face is scalding.

Her teardrop tattoo becomes liquid,

runs down her face in a single trail,

falls onto my chest

and evaporates with a sizzle.

I’m losing my breath.

Now the pain on my cheeks

blade-sharp and my skin unbearably hot.

I’m holding her breasts tight.

When I come it is painful and explosive

and I lose breath completely.

Her eyes have been closed the whole time.

We’re lying in bed,

not touching.

It’s too hot.

And something’s wrong.

‘Why did you buy the greyhound in the first place, Solomon?’

‘Dunno.’ What’s she driving at? ‘To be honest, I wanted to show the boys that I could be responsible for something, look after something. Fucked it up.’

‘Ah, yeh. The boys.’ She’s staring straight up. I suddenly crave a cigarette and think about getting up when she speaks again. ‘Do you have any female friends?’

‘Course.’

‘Ones you haven’t slept with?’

‘. ’

‘Your group of mates is a cock forest, Solomon. Admit it.’

‘It’s not that bad. They’ve been my mates forever, what do you want me to do?’

We lie in silence.

Unlike with Georgie, I don’t want to argue.

Then she says, ‘Don’t you hate people who are all style over substance?’

She’s been dropping shit like that all night since the concert.

I try to smile. ‘Ouch.’

‘I’m serious. If you don’t contribute anything, anything at all, what’s the point?’

I realise she’s for real. ‘Why do you keep seeing me, then?’

‘Because you’re a good fuck.’

‘Jesus.’ Whatever she’s doing, it’s working. I’ve never been more angry or turned on.