Broken Toys

by Jackson Lear

  Daniel glanced towards Warrick and Ian as the weight in his stomach doubled.

  “These two are going to continue cleaning up my garden,” said James. “When you’re back here with your daddy’s whiskey you’ll finish cleaning up all the piss that you boys have done, then you can all fuck off. But if there’s no whiskey then I’m calling the police and telling them that you all need to go to jail for being thieves. And this one,” James pointed to Warrick, “will be stabbed with this pitchfork. You understand me?”

  Daniel nodded. His mind shot through a dozen ways that this could go horribly wrong, from being caught at home by his mum and not being able to get back to his friends in time, to Mr McIntyre actually stabbing Warrick in the guts just for the hell of it.

  “Be quick about it,” said James.

  Daniel nodded, then he slinked along the path while avoiding eye contact with Warrick or Ian. He cut to the left, across a set of rocks that helped him over the soft, muddy ground underneath. He reached their usual climbing tree, hoisted himself up onto the branches, climbed up onto the wall, and dropped to the other side.

  James turned back at Ian and sniffed with satisfaction. “Now then, you. You’re done there?”

  Ian nodded.

  “Good. Come over here and dump it in the bag.”

  Ian did as he was told and tried to keep as much distance between himself and James as possible.

  “Do you live close by as well?” James asked.

  Ian nodded.

  “Good. How about you run home and bring me something? Hmm?”

  “What do you want?” Ian asked.

  “How about a bottle of whiskey, for starters. You have a daddy like the other kid?”

  Ian shook his head.

  “That’s too bad. Killed himself out of shame, I expect.”

  Ian remained impassive and looked back at Mr McIntyre.

  “Is he dead or are you just stupid?” James asked.

  “He’s alive,” said Ian. “He lives in London.”

  “Probably tired of your mummy’s used up pussy. You have a mum, right?”

  Ian nodded.

  “Good. Then how about you get me a bottle of your mummy’s whiskey, then go to her purse and fetch me some money. Get me fifty pounds and a bottle of whiskey. You little shits have been stealing from me and I won’t have any of it. You’ll pay me back, or I’ll stab your friend here. Got it?”

  Ian nodded.

  “Good. Run along now. Bottle of whiskey and fifty pounds.”

  Ian turned and followed Daniel’s path up the tree and over the wall. Warrick leaned up from the ground, terrified that his friends had left him alone, and equally hopeful that James might actually let him go.

  “Not you, fat girl,” said James. “You’re staying here. If your friends don’t come back within half an hour this pitchfork is going straight into your guts and I’ll bury you where no one will find you.”

  17

  Daniel

  Daniel returned first. He peered over the wall into James’ backyard to double check if he was about to walk into a death trap. The garden was empty. A moment of delight swept through him as he hoped that Ian and Warrick had been released, that Mr McIntyre had given up and went back inside. Then again, it was just as likely that Mr McIntyre had killed Daniel’s friends and was busy burying them somewhere out of sight.

  Daniel jumped when he caught James staring back at him from a chair on the deck of his house. Warrick was there as well, sitting beside an old kitchen table with watery eyes and reddened cheeks. There was no sign of Ian. Daniel climbed over the wall and went to rescue his friend.

  “You brought back whiskey?” James asked.

  “Yes,” said Daniel. He slid off his backpack and pulled out a half empty bottle of Bushman’s Irish Whiskey.

  James took the bottle and didn’t look all that impressed. “You’ve been drinking from this?”

  “No sir.”

  “Then where’s the rest?”

  “That was the only bottle of whiskey my dad had,” said Daniel.

  James grunted and shook his head. “Fucking dumbass.” He took the cap off and sniffed inside. “You didn’t piss in this, did you?”

  Daniel pulled a face of disgust, the kind of face that told James that Daniel had never even considered taking a piss in the bottle. “No sir.”

  James held the bottle out at an arm’s reach. “Try it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Take a drink.”

  Daniel took the bottle from James’ hand and swigged the whiskey like it came from a sports bottle. He swallowed, gasped, spluttered, and almost dropped the glass bottle as he doubled over.

  James laughed at the sight of Daniel’s first proper drink. “Yeah okay, you didn’t piss in it.” James took the bottle back and looked over to Warrick, who hadn’t said in word since Ian left. “Your turn. Take a drink. A big ol’ mouthful.”

  Warrick shook his head. “I’m not supposed to.”

  “But you will,” said James. “I’m not drinking this until I see that your friend didn’t piss in it.”

  “I didn’t,” said Daniel.

  James dangled the bottle in front of Warrick. “This is better than that piss weak beer you’ve been drinking. You want real stuff? This is it. This is what men drink.” He tapped Warrick’s forehead with the bottle.

  Warrick squirmed in his chair.

  “DRINK IT!”

  Warrick flinched, took the bottle and swigged it. He too gasped and spluttered, providing James with a roaring laugh.

  “Ha, you boys are funny. Dumbasses, but funny.” James gulped from the bottle and sighed, showing the kids how it was done.

  Daniel tried to glance inside James’ house but the windows were too dirty to see through. “Where’s Ian?”

  “Who’s that?” James asked.

  “My friend.”

  “Oh, the other one. He left. He’ll be back soon. In the mean time, take a seat, I’m not done with you boys yet.” James pointed Daniel to one of the deck chairs. As Daniel sat next to Warrick he got the sense that Warrick had not had a pleasant time listening to James’ rants and torments. James got up and went inside, leaving the two boys alone on the deck.

  “What took you?” whispered Warrick.

  “I was as quick as anything,” Daniel whispered back.

  Daniel leaned forward as he tried to see where Mr McIntyre had gone to.

  “He can see us,” said Warrick.

  “No he can’t.”

  “We’re not allowed to leave. He said he’ll call the police.”

  “He doesn’t know who we are.”

  “He said we’re not allowed to leave.”

  “But we can get out of here,” said Daniel.

  “Ian doesn’t know that.”

  “We’ll wait for him by the wall.”

  “He said he’ll call the police.”

  Daniel leaned back in the chair, unimpressed with Warrick’s lack of bravery. If it was just himself and Ian sitting on that deck, Ian would have agreed to run for it and wait for Warrick by the wall. Even if Mr McIntyre did actually come around the street to chase them off, beat them up, or call the police, there were bushes for Daniel and Ian to hide in as they waited for Warrick to saunter back with a bottle of whiskey. But that was not to be, so Daniel had no other choice but to sit on James McIntyre’s deck and wait for Ian to return.

  James kicked his back door open and brought out four mismatched glasses. He thumped them down onto the table and poured a shot of whiskey into all but one. “Drink up. You drink this and you’ll never be caught with beer again.”

  Daniel and Warrick stared at the glasses of whiskey and didn’t make a move.

  “DRINK IT!”

  The two boys reached forward, took a glass and, remembering their previous encounter with whiskey, sipped it as lightly as possible.

  “No, no, you slam it down,” said James. “Like men. You’ve seen them in movies, right? They slam it down, breathe out, and t
ake another. If men can do it you can do it.” James threw his head back and nailed the shot of whiskey in one gulp. He sucked the air in afterwards as he stared back at his captives. “You’re not leaving until you do it properly.”

  Daniel stared into his glass. He wasn’t sure why it tasted so awful or why it created such a reaction, but he had seen people on TV drinking it like James had. Maybe doing it quickly meant that it tasted better. He took a small gulp and gasped, pulled a face like he had sucked on a lemon and held one eye closed.

  “In one hit,” said James. “Or else it doesn’t count.”

  Daniel finished the rest of the whiskey and felt his stomach pull itself inwards.

  “This stuff helped build England,” said James. “Get enough whiskey into a man and you can get him to do anything.” He stared back at Warrick. “Your turn.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Tough shit. You can either drink that or drink all the piss you boys have been pissing onto my garden. And I’m sure there have been other kids here as well, so it’ll be all of your friends’ piss as well.”

  “Just drink it,” whispered Daniel.

  Warrick swivelled the whiskey around in his murky glass and felt his stomach brace itself. The fumes were strong enough to make his eyes water, but if Daniel was able to cope then so could he. He guzzled the whole thing and regretted it immediately. He spluttered the whiskey out through his cheeks and up his nose, layering his tongue and teeth with a fine film of booze. The fumes hit the back of his nostrils and made him dizzy in an instant. He swallowed and the second wave was worse than the first.

  It took another twenty minutes before Ian returned. Like Daniel, he peered over the wall and felt a swirling sense of nausea in the pit of his stomach when he didn’t see Mr McIntyre, Daniel, or Warrick. Then he heard James laughing on his deck and found where they had moved over to. Ian climbed over the wall. With his lungs burning from the run to his home and back he approached James with a bottle of McInnes Whiskey.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said James. “Here, look, at least this one brings a full bottle, not like you,” James said, turning a gnarled finger from Ian to Daniel and back again. James snapped the bottle out of Ian’s hand, poured four glasses’ worth of whiskey, and shouted at them to drink it if they knew what was good for them.

  Daniel led the way, certain it was better to get it over and done with than to suffer the old man’s wrath later on. Ian sipped his, felt James’ scorn and sculled the rest, before he staggered backwards as the alcohol burned his throat.

  “You three are a long way off being men, you know that?” said James. “But don’t think this makes us even for all the shit you’ve been pulling in my garden. All the beer you drank, all the magazines you’ve been showing each other. I should still call the police. You’ve done a lot of wrong in this place. A lot of wrong. It’s going to take a lot to make up for it.” James stared back into his house for some time. At last he stood and pointed a shaky finger at his guests. “You boys wait here until I’m done with you.” James headed inside, leaving the door to clang against the frame as he left Daniel, Ian, and Warrick alone on the deck.

  “I feel sick,” murmured Warrick.

  Ian peered through the windows. “We should run.”

  “We can’t,” said Warrick.

  “He doesn’t know who we are,” said Ian.

  “When you were gone he told me how he would find us,” said Warrick. “There’s only one school here and he knows we go there.”

  “You told him?” Ian asked, looking as though Warrick had just betrayed their greatest secret.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” said Warrick. “He knows the teachers.”

  “No he doesn’t,” said Daniel. “Listen to how he talks. He doesn’t know any teachers. And there’s more than one school here, dumbass.”

  “He knows we’re old enough to go to St. Bart’s,” said Warrick.

  “I can’t believe you told him,” said Ian, shaking his head.

  “He knows our names. He kept pointing at you two and saying, ‘Which one are you.’ All he has to do is go to school and say, ‘I’m looking for two thirteen year olds and a twelve year old by the names of Warrick, Ian, and Daniel.’ Yeah, I’m sure it won’t be too hard for him to figure out who we are.”

  “He’s not going to any school,” said Daniel, as he shook his head.

  “Then he’ll go to the police. Either way he’ll find us.”

  Daniel looked around the deck and checked under the table. “Where’s my bag?”

  “He took it,” said Warrick.

  Daniel leaned back in his chair and blew out a jet of whiskey breath. “Great.”

  Inside, James waited to see how long those boys would sit still for. He poured himself another glass of whiskey and glugged it down, gasped over his sink and listened out for what the kids were saying about him. He figured they would stay still for at least ten minutes before working up the courage to slip away. They would stay simply because they hadn’t grown the balls to man up and deal with a situation themselves.

  James looked over the two bottles of whiskey. It was nowhere near enough retribution for what those little shits had done to his garden, nor for what they might have done there in the future. They had fucked with him and his house. Two bottles of whiskey would never make up for that.

  It took twelve minutes before Daniel got to his feet and peered in through the window. James took that as his cue to barge outside and shock some sense into them. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” James asked.

  “Nowhere. I was just seeing where you were.”

  “Well here I am. Now you can see me. Sit back down.”

  Daniel did as he was told and was the only one to look James square in the eye.

  “How many packs of cigarettes do you think you’ve smoked here? I counted six empty packs, plus Christ knows how many I’ve been picking up after you over the last couple of months. And the lighters. How much do you think that all adds up to?”

  Daniel shrugged.

  “Do you even know how much a pack of cigarettes costs?”

  “No.”

  “What about the beer? How much do you think you’ve stolen and drank in there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?”

  Daniel didn’t answer but he drifted towards a mental fuck you.

  James smirked. “I know what you’re thinking, kid. I’ve seen that look before and I’ve given it myself. If you’re going to think it you might as well say it.”

  Daniel’s face dropped before looking away.

  “So you don’t even have the balls to tell me to fuck off to my face? I bet your mummy and daddy have slapped that language out of you, and they use it all the time to fuck each other’s brains out.” He narrowed in on Warrick. The other two would no doubt shout at him afterwards. That alone made James smile. “You three go to St. Bart’s. I’ll find you if you run off.”

  Warrick squirmed in his seat. The others tried not to notice.

  James pointed at Warrick. “You. These two went home and got me a bottle of whiskey. You’re gonna go home and get me ... fifty pounds, out of your daddy’s wallet or your mummy’s purse. You got it? You’ve smoked at least that and thrown it around my garden. You’re going to repay it and then some. Then we’ll figure out how much beer you’ve wasted and I’ll charge you for littering in my garden.”

  “I don’t live nearby,” said Warrick.

  “Luxford isn’t big enough for you to get lost in. You can run.”

  Warrick sat where he was and felt another heave of guilt run through his chest.

  “Ah shit, you’re gonna cry again, is that it? You’ll cry like a fat girl over her ice-cream after some dipshit broke up with her? For fuck’s sake, is there anything you can do that doesn’t involve crying?”

  Warrick wiped a tear away from his eye and stared at his feet.

  “Fine. You know what? I don’t give a fuck about an
y of you three. I do give a fuck about my garden and what you little shits did to it. Of all the places you had to choose, you fucking well chose mine. There are dozens of empty houses in the area and you chose mine. Hell, I could point you to the derelict houses and tell you to go crazy in there, let you drink your piss and jerk each other off, but no, you opted for my garden. So you get off on sneaking into someone’s property and then watch them while they’re in the kitchen? Or when they’re watching football? And don’t think you’re the first geniuses to do what you’ve been doing. I bet you were even throwing rocks at trains, probably even smoking down there as well.”

  Warrick’s eyes widened with fright. James caught the look.

  “You’re not the first kids to think you’re getting away with it. Your parents were down there, smoking away, drinking themselves stupid, long before you were a glint in their eye. Hell, the amount of pussy I got down by those tracks ... you know half of the check-out bitches in the supermarket sucked me off when they were learning about real men. You know Penelope whats-her-face? The solicitor on Clifton Road? Yeah, she’s a good wholesome girl now, not so much when she was seventeen, bouncing her arse up and down in the back of my Citroen.”

  James watched it go all over their heads. “Yeah, fuck you three as well. And fuck you for coming into my garden and disrespecting it. So here’s what you’re gonna do. Tomorrow you three are going to come back here, each with fifty pounds. I don’t care how you get it. You each give me fifty pounds and I’ll give you your black bag, which is right now full of beer cans, porno, and cigarette butts. If I don’t get your money I’m keeping the bag and showing your parents exactly what’s inside. Then you’ll wish you gave me that money. So you’re going to buy that bag from me. Tomorrow, you got it?”

  Each boy looked away so James slammed his hand against the table. He pointed at Daniel. “You. You understand?”

  “Yes,” said Daniel.

  James turned to Ian. “You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Finally, he turned to Warrick. “And you, butter tits. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “The three of you. Fifty pounds tomorrow. Each. Or else you won’t ever know what hit you. Now fuck off.”