5 Abbey Road (Broken Streets #1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  A sudden outburst of barking made Sarah jump onto the grass fringe. The Powells’ Pitbull raced up and down the other side of the wooden fence, one that was completely covered with graffiti, the dog’s owners never painting over it. Their party was still going strong, the R&B song changing to a Tupac hit. The partygoers started loudly rapping along to it, blissfully unaware of what was happening further down the street. Or just not caring, the sound of sirens a regular backbeat, the blues taking over the rhythm in their neighbourhood.

  Sarah resumed running, feeling scared for both herself and her dad. Her parents had had her late in life, and since she was their only child they tended to be overprotective of her, rarely allowing Sarah to go out at night, let alone by herself. But she had no need to be scared for herself, because there were police cars and an ambulance further down Abbey Road. A crowd of people also lined the grass and footpath, their numbers growing as more neighbours came out of their homes to see what was happening.

  As Sarah drew closer, she heard a man telling a woman that someone had died. Her breath hitched, praying it wasn’t her dad. Her panic doubled as she spotted medics climbing out of the ambulance with a stretcher. Another ambulance stopped behind the crowd, which parted for it. Sarah slowed down to squeeze past a group of people wearing nightwear, some also in everyday clothes. Above the chatter of the crowd a boy was screaming, “He killed my brother!”

  Sarah came to a standstill in front of a stocky policewoman, who was blocking her way. “Please stay back, miss,” the officer said.

  Sarah took a step back and looked around the scene, desperate to find her father. Instead, she saw two medics transfer a large boy dressed in a red and black check shirt onto a stretcher. He wasn’t moving, the white sheet they pulled over his face confirming he was dead. She recognised him. It was Mick Talich from her high school. He was in the year above her, one of the popular kids.

  Her gaze flicked to the dead boy’s brother as Jackson strained against a policeman. He looked so small in the officer’s grasp, but was still fighting him will all his might, his grief-stricken gaze locked onto his dead brother as the medics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance. He was in the year below her, someone her best friend had spoken to in an attempt to get information on his other brother. It had been a total failure, Jackson getting annoyed that Gin had been after Kane, not him.

  An old woman muttered behind Sarah with a strong Pommy accent, “Why the ’ell is that copper hugging that little thug?”

  Although the officer was big, he was having trouble controlling Jackson. A Polynesian policeman went to cuff the boy. The officer who was trying to get Mick’s brother under control shook his head at his colleague, his expression just as grief-stricken as Jackson’s. Sarah recognised him too. The policeman was the stepdad of one of Mick’s friends. Officer Johnson had given a talk at her school on why drugs were bad. At the time, Sarah had been more interested in how he’d gotten the nasty scar on his chin than his lecture.

  The Polynesian officer said something, then held out the cuffs again.

  Officer Johnson’s expression darkened. “I know him, so back off!”

  With her dad nowhere in sight, Sarah wondered whether this had nothing to do with him. These kids weren’t thugs. They dressed nicely and went to her church, well, Mick’s brother always dressed nice. Mick was a bit sloppy, but he wasn’t bad or anything. Maybe a gang had attacked the brothers. She wouldn’t be surprised since gangs did frequent her neighbourhood. Abbey Road was one of the worst streets in her suburb, if not all of Auckland, only Pleasant Parade worse. Her parents had wanted to move, but couldn’t afford to, their jobs low paying. Every cent went on bills and keeping what little they owned looking nice.

  Her gaze drifted over the rest of the scene. Off to the side, sitting on the kerb in front of a police car, was a teenager with dreadlocks. Sarah’s breath hitched, instantly recognising her and her friends’ crush. Kane Talich. Unlike his brothers, he was dressed messily, in jeans and a dirty hoodie. He was rocking back and forth as a female cop spoke to him. Gin constantly talked about his pierced tongue, going on and on about how she’d love to feel it on her body, especially below, which embarrassed Sarah no end. Unlike Gin, Sarah hadn’t even kissed a boy let alone had sex with one, though she’d hoped that her first kiss would be with Kane. She’d been besotted with him ever since she first saw him. He’d been walking down the school corridor with Mick and his mates, laughing, his smile so infectious she’d fallen head over heels—literally. She’d tripped over from not looking where she was going, too busy staring back at him as he disappeared into the crowd of students. Gin had laughed at her, laughing even louder when Sarah had professed her love for Kane. Her friend had told her that she couldn’t fall in love that quick, that it was just lust. Gin was probably right, because it had been Kane’s looks that had transfixed her, plus she’d never spoken to him, only slipping an anonymous letter into his locker a couple of weeks later. In it, she’d poured out her heart, telling him how much she would love to be his girlfriend and if he was interested to meet her behind the gym. He didn’t show.

  A sudden realisation hit her, the gossip about Kane being a tagger coming back. She’d chosen to ignore the rumours, refusing to believe them. Her friends had sided with her, Gin even declaring that Kane was too good-looking and popular to be a tagger, that only losers did stupid things like that, like drugs and stealing. Even though what Gin had said sounded stupid Sarah had still agreed, not wanting Kane to be the one wasting away her father’s weekends. But the facts were now glaring her in the face, telling her that she’d been fooling herself, had always been fooling herself, and all because she liked how Kane looked. Which meant that the rumours were true.

  Kane was a tagger...

  ...and he’d been tagging her property.

  Sarah started scanning her surroundings again, now desperate to find her father. When she couldn’t find him, she turned to the woman behind her. Like most of the crowd, the woman was wearing a dressing gown. She was old, with curly grey hair and a harsh face. She was watching the scene as though it was her favourite TV show, a live viewing of Cops.

  “Was there a man involved?” Sarah asked. “He’s fifty-six, with brown hair and glasses.”

  The old woman removed the cigarette from her mouth and blew smoke to the side. Sarah tried not to wrinkle her nose, willing to put up with the smell for information on her dad.

  “My son had to pull that thug offa ’im.” The woman pointed at Jackson with her cigarette. “He was bashing ’im with a bat.”

  In a state of shock, Sarah started shaking her head.

  The woman placed a hand on Sarah’s arm. “What’s wrong, darling?”

  “He’s my dad,” Sarah cried, tears quickly welling up in her eyes.

  The woman’s face dropped. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear.” She reached past her, looking like she was going to tap the policewoman on the shoulder, but instead retracted her hand, probably thinking better of it. “Officer, I need your help,” she said loudly.

  The policewoman turned to look at her.

  The old woman indicated to Sarah. “This is the injured man’s daughter. Can you please take her to ’im?”

  The word injured shot through Sarah’s head, but instead of doing damage, hope sprung up.

  Her dad wasn’t dead!

  The policewoman nodded and indicated for Sarah to follow, taking her to the furthest ambulance. Kane looked up as she passed by, his expression devastated. After the policewoman had a few words with one of the medics, Sarah was ushered inside the ambulance, a gurney taking up most of the space. That was when she saw her dad, and it was a sight that made her eyes widen. Another medic, a chubby woman with a friendly expression, was wiping the blood off his face, his nose a mess. Nasty cuts peppered the skin around his eyes, one of them closed, his glasses missing.

  Sarah edged down the side of the gurney, the space tight. “Dad,” she said, so happy to see him despite his injured face.

&
nbsp; He startled at her voice. “Sarah?” he asked, turning his head her way, probably only seeing a blur, his eyesight bad without his glasses.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  He went to get up.

  The medic placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Please stay still, sir.”

  Sarah wiped her eyes and took hold of his hand. This was her fault. She’d sent her dad out when she’d alerted him to the taggers. If she hadn’t done that, he would’ve been safe at home.

  “Dad... I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Her father gripped onto her fingers and started crying. “I killed him.” His voice hitched. “Oh God, I killed him.”

  Sarah shook her head even though she knew who he was talking about.

  Mick Talich.

  The words sounded surreal coming out of her dad’s mouth. She shook her head again, not wanting to believe her own father had killed a boy from her school.

  He closed his uninjured eye, his face utterly devastated. “I just wanted him to stop.” His voice was nasally, his speech affected by his smashed in nose. “I don’t know why I did it, all I saw was this big person. I didn’t realise he was a kid like the others, didn’t even recognise him from church. I was so angry, so mad, it was almost as though I was blinded with rage, even more so when he refused to stop, so I—”

  Not wanting to hear it, Sarah went to cry out ‘No!’ but someone else said it first. She let go of her dad’s hand as more cries sounded outside, then screaming started up. She moved to the end of the ambulance and looked out as Jackson slipped free from the scarred policeman’s grasp. He ran for the other ambulance as it closed its doors. Officer Johnson grabbed him from behind.

  The kid tried to break free, screaming, “Mick needs me, he needs me!”

  Officer Johnson held tight onto Jackson, who stopped struggling as the ambulance drove off. Sarah watched as the boy broke down in the officer’s arms. The man directed him into one of the police cars. Sarah’s gaze moved to Kane as he walked quietly towards the same car with another officer. Just before he got there, Jackson tried to jump out. The officer behind Kane shoved him forward, blocking Jackson’s avenue of escape, ordering Kane to get in. He did. Through the window, Sarah could see Kane wrapping his arms around Jackson.

  A medic with a goatee closed the ambulance door, blocking Sarah’s view of the brothers. She turned back to her father as he continued to weep.

  3

  Kane

  Disbelief, tears, and hugs had followed after his dad and stepmum collected him and Jackson from the police station. The phone had gone off continuously throughout the days shadowing Mick’s death, with people popping over to give their support, turning up with food, flowers, hugs, and condolences. It had eventually gotten too much for Kane. He’d retreated to his room with Jackson, only coming out when it was necessary. He wished he could cry himself to sleep like his li’l bro, but all he could do was cry, especially after Mick’s funeral. He was exhausted, grief-stricken, and feeling like he was in a constant state of shock, what had happened last Saturday still too surreal to process.

  Kane leaned his back against the wall and stared across at Jackson. His brother was lying under Mick’s covers, his blocked nose causing him to snore. Jackson usually slept on the bunk above him, while Mick had the single bed, too big for the bunks. They’d shared the same room for the past eight years after Kane had moved in with them. The two-bedroom flat was a bit small for five people, but still way better than living with his mum, who had lost custody of him due to neglect.

  Kane sniffed, his nose blocked too. He’d never lost anyone this close to him before. One of his grandfathers had died ten years ago, but he hadn’t known him that well since his tupuna had lived in Niuē, his mother rarely travelling back to the island. A couple of other relatives had also died, but again, he hadn’t been close to them. Mick was the first person he’d lost that he loved, and he wasn’t prepared for the intense grief that came with it. But he deserved to feel all of it after what he’d done. He was responsible for Mick’s death. If he’d just walked past that fucking fence, Mick would still be alive, but like always, he couldn’t bloody resist the temptation.

  The cops had warned him what would happen if he tagged again, told him he’d be sent away to a youth boot camp, but he rarely thought about the consequences. It was only graffiti, nothing serious, a game to boost his ego, a calling card amongst taggers. It was never meant to harm anyone. It was just paint, something that could be covered over without a second thought—not something you’d kill over.

  Plus, only the nasty types who were violent and did drugs went to those camps, and he wasn’t nasty, nor did he do drugs... Well, not the heavy stuff, because pot didn’t count. It was nothing like coke or meth. He wouldn’t touch those with a bargepole, not like his mate Josh, who did anything he could get his hands on.

  On the other side of the wall, crying started up again, slamming more guilt into him. His stepmum, who was also his auntie, must’ve woken. At the funeral yesterday she’d looked unsteady on her feet, as though she was going to collapse at any moment, but she’d kept strong for him and Jackson. Until they’d gotten home. After that, she’d locked herself in her bedroom, the sound of sobs only broken by short periods of sleep.

  Kane couldn’t listen to it anymore, especially knowing he was responsible. He pushed off the bed and opened the door, poking his head around the corner, hoping he could slip out of the house without his grandmother or dad catching him. Although he’d been banned from leaving, he needed to be alone, which he couldn’t exactly do at home. Or maybe he could go see his mate. Josh might be able to help him escape in a different way. Just this once he could accept what his mate had to offer, anything to stop thinking for a few minutes, a few hours. Josh said his stash of drugs always perked him up when he was on a downer, and really, what difference would it make? People thought he was on the hard stuff anyway. With the exception of his mate’s stepdad, all the other cops had looked at him like he was a criminal, someone who popped pills like lollies or did crack even though he had perfect pearly whites. All they saw were his dreads, piercing and hoodie, not the person underneath it all. A thug, nothing more. But he wasn’t a thug. He never picked fights and his only vice was his art and some harmless puffs of weed. So, why couldn’t he try the harder stuff just this once? A bit of self-medication for his grief. What was it to them? It was none of their business as long as he didn’t hurt anyone. Or maybe someone would get hurt.

  Himself.

  With the way he was feeling right now, he’d more likely trip out than escape into a blissful oblivion. He grimaced, knowing it wasn’t worth it, even though he wished it was. Maybe he could go to the beach instead, looking out at the sea, remembering the good times he had with Mick, not the last moments of his life. And they had had a lot of good times, so many moments that made him smile and laugh like when Mick had tried to surf. His bro had broken their cousin’s surfboard in half, his weight too much, making Ash curse at him and everyone else burst out laughing.

  Wanting to do just that, Kane stepped out of his room, carefully closing the door behind him. The lounge was far too quiet for this time of day, eerily so. Him and his brothers always played Xbox after school, arguing over whose turn it was or scrambling to grab the last biscuit or handful of chips off the coffee table before Mick ate everything. There also should’ve been backpacks dumped just inside the door with boots lying wherever they’d been kicked off, but instead the lounge looked spotless, nothing out of place...

  ...and it felt wrong.

  The phone started ringing in the kitchen, someone picking it up. Kane could just make out his dad’s voice, though barely, not catching much since his hearing was shite. But what he did catch made him swallow hard, his dad talking to Josh’s stepdad. Hoping it was a personal rather than a police-related call, he tiptoed over to the kitchen door, straining to hear his dad’s side of the conversation.

  “But he’s suffered enough as it is,” his
dad said to Officer Johnson. “He needs to be with family at a time like this.” His dad swore, his voice rapidly rising, making it easier for Kane to hear. “This is wrong, you know it’s wrong.” He paused for a moment. “Fuck, Chris, I understand you have orders but can’t—” He went quiet, giving the impression Josh’s stepdad had cut him off. “Fine! Come! I can’t stop you like I couldn’t stop that bastard from murdering my son!”

  Kane’s heart stuttered, the pain in his father’s voice slicing into it. He blinked rapidly, willing himself not to cry. He’d cried so much over the past days, he was surprised he had any more tears left in him, but they just kept coming, kept tormenting him, reflecting the memories of that night.

  “Oh, mali,” Baba Sonja’s heavy Croatian accent broke the silence, his grandmother calling his father little even though he was six-foot-one and thirty-nine. Or more accurately, it meant little boy, the dječak not needing to be said. Still, it wasn’t meant to be a direct translation, his baba using mali as an endearment, a hidden I love you. Kane could imagine her pulling his dad into a hug, doing her best to comfort him, even though she was usually the one upsetting people rather than comforting them, his baba a battle-axe.

  “What did your police friend say?” she asked his dad.

  “They’re coming to get him now.”

  His baba spat out something in Croatian but all Kane could hear was the rapidly rising beat of his heart, because he knew what they were talking about—or who they were talking about.