Here Come the Dogs Read Online Free Page B

has a grudging respect for Albanians.
They may all be criminals, but at least the proceeds of their crime go back to their country, back to the cause.
He thinks with shame of some of the Macos here, who are Macedonian by name only, so eager to become like the Aussies, the
kengurs
(based on the word ‘kangaroo’). Like Julian, the local car dealer. Aleks can’t stand people like him: Macos who won’t speak their own language, who know no music or folklore, who never go back, who keep stacking money higher and higher as if it would make a staircase to God.
If every Maco in Australia went back to the homeland with even $20,000, it would save the failing economy,
he thinks.
    Aleks pulls up at a nearly completed block of new apartments next to a barren soccer oval. He gets his gear out and climbs the stairs, nodding at the foreman on the way up. A day of hard work ahead, but he looks forward to it. His work ethic is what ensures his and his family’s survival.
    His partner is already there; a young skater in his late teens, who Aleks knows had some problems with heroin but is now on methadone. He works for half the price but twice as hard. Aleks lets him play his ownmusic on a paint-splattered radio, because it helps him keep up with the latest shit. Today, it is mostly a jumble of Odd Future’s lo-fi, off-kilter horrorcore and Yelawolf’s mercurial drawl.
    â€˜Seventy-five per cent of painting a room is prep – always remember that,’ says Aleks. The boy nods.
    They lay plastic sheeting on the floor, check the wall for discrepancies with a light and sand away the few they see. They put down the base coat with a paintgun. Then they begin painting the trim of a bedroom. Aleks is careful but moves with ease and is soon finished. He stands back, admiring his work with pride. Flawless.
    His phone lights up with a message. Number unknown.
    Well well look at the big boy comin in2 the playground. how dare u come here and steal all my friends?
    Aleks smiles. It could only be one of two people. He pauses, then types back with two thumbs.
    I dont giv a fuk whoz playground it iz. Ne time I wanna drink from the bubbla, Ill do it and theres fuk all u can do bout it.
    Send.
    Then he starts to paint the dry walls with a roller, keeping a wet edge to avoid lap marks. Where these apartments now stand there was once a big block of land where an old Croatian couple lived and tended to their flourishing vegetable garden. All summer there would be a grapevine covering the whole fence, free for all who passed. The boys would gorge themselves and do chin-ups on the old plum tree that hung over the fence. All of that was gone now.
    His phone lights up again, this time with the message,
we’ll see bout that cunt.
He texts back immediately –
lets talk pursonaly. meet me tmorro at the old cemetery. i got a proposal for ya.
He clicks send then switches the phone off. He’ll deal with all of that later – there’s work to be done.
    At lunchtime, he makes an excuse to his co-worker and drives a few blocks to meet Solomon. There are barely any people on the street, and those few cast no shadows. A red-brick pub stands on the corner and Solomon is lounging outside, in the middle of telling a story to two Tongan blokes.
Aren’t Samoans and Tongans supposed to hate eachother?
Solomon is wearing a singlet and honey-tinted sunnies and is gesticulating as precisely as an orator, his face serious. The two men are rapt, eyebrows knitted. Suddenly Solomon says something with a final jab of the index finger and the two men begin laughing hysterically. He leans back in his chair, smiling, rubbing papaya ointment into his lips and then his elbows.
    Aleks and Solomon order chicken schnitties and mash with schooners of draft and sit inside to escape the sun. The pub had once been a notorious, sweat-reeking, liquor-soaked bloodhouse. There had even been several murders in the rooms above it. However, it had