Crossfire

by James Moloney

  ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I don’t have enough for a sweatshirt this time, either. It was the gun, you see. I needed every penny I could lay my hands on. As it is I’ve barely enough left for a few beers.’

  ‘Too right, Luke,’ volunteered Danielle. ‘I had to lend him the last fifty, or he wouldn’t have that thing locked up in the back of the van.’

  Luke shrugged. The winter was half gone. A sweatshirt wasn’t much use on the beach in thirty degree heat.

  ‘Look mate, I’m sure to have enough next time we come. No sweat.’ The smile returned to Wayne’s face with such confidence and charm that Luke just had to grin in reply. He would have felt better, though, if those last words of his father’s had not been identical to his promise of four weeks before, right down to calling him ‘mate’.

  Wayne marched on, leaving Danielle and the boys to follow. He led a weaving path between the pockets of spectators which had formed and grown like crystals as more people chose the best vantage point and sank down on rugs and cushions upon the hard concrete. The three stragglers had just caught up with Wayne when he called out to a group of men and women a few metres distant. His greeting was returned by a rowdy cheer and a barrage of friendly insults.

  ‘Aldo, where you been!’

  ‘Your shout, Wayne!’

  A moment later they all spied Danielle and Luke and welcomed them in the same way. There was roughly a dozen men and women in the group, each man with an open can of beer at his feet. One of the girls called to Danielle and made a space for her to sit down. They were immediately in conversation, another of the women moving to join them. Luke was left standing for a moment until Wayne decided which of his raucous mates he would sit next to, and then he beckoned for Luke and CT to squeeze in beside him.

  ‘Hey, Jacko!’ shouted Wayne when he was settled with his feet crossed on the lower step of the terracing. ‘I’ve got a new toy for the trip.’ As he sought out the face of his friend along the line of bodies, a long arm reached down from the row above, handing him a can of beer. Wayne took it with murmured thanks, his fingers automatically finding the ring pull and opening the can with the familiar metallic snap and sigh.

  ‘Yeah, what did you get then?’ inquired one of the men seated farther along the row. He had to lean forward so that he could see Wayne’s face. The sun bore straight into Luke’s eyes as he strained to be part of the conversation. He recognised the tight woolly hair of his father’s best mate, Jacko, who always seemed to be three days from his last shave, though he never bothered to give up altogether and grow a beard.

  ‘Winchester thirty-thirty,’ announced Wayne proudly.

  ‘You’re joking! The lever action job?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Hey, guys,’ shouted Jacko to everyone and no one in particular. ‘Wayne here thinks he’s a cowboy. Going to save the wild west from feral pigs —’

  ‘And anything else that moves,’ interjected a voice to great laughter.

  A thought occurred to Jacko. ‘This is not just Wayne, fellas. This is John Wayne Aldridge.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Armalite Aldridge, you mean.’

  More laughter.

  This gave the stage to Wayne, who regaled the entire gathering with the tale of how he had acquired the gun. He told the story in more detail than he had in the back of the van.

  ‘I saw the ad in this morning’s paper, see. But the price seemed ridiculous, so I rang up just to make sure. ‘Yes,’ says the bloke. ‘The newspaper was correct.’ Well, I knew the bargain wouldn’t last long once a few others saw it, and there wasn’t time to sell my old gun to get the cash I needed, so I flew down to the autoteller and grabbed every penny I had. Danny lent me the rest. I shot over to this old codger’s place and there it is, perfect condition.

  ‘Why do you want to sell it?’ I asked. Poor bloke. His face goes all white and I swear he was just about in tears. Then he tells me that he had an accident with the gun, shot his own dog.’

  Wayne roared with laughter at this and the others joined him.

  ‘Anyway, he loved the dog so much, he couldn’t bear to have the weapon that killed it in his house one more day, and he just about begs me to take it. I tell you, I could have offered to take it for nothing and he would have agreed. He just wanted it out of his sight.’ Wayne laughed again at the memory.

  When he revealed the price, a couple of men who were listening more intently than the others gasped and began to cry Wayne down, calling him a liar and a cheat, all in good fun.

  ‘Sounds like you got diddled at that price,’ said Jacko, a wicked, cheeky grin covering his face. ‘I’ll take it off your hands for the same money, just because I’m your mate. Can’t be fairer than that.’

  ‘Get lost, Jacko. Call yourself a mate!’ replied Wayne with a grin to match. ‘D’you hear that, Luke?’ He turned to Luke in mock complaint. I unearth the best deal in town and he wants to muscle in on it.’

  Luke filled his face with an equal portion of mock contempt and said nothing. He knew that he was being used as the wall off which his father bounced his playful remarks. This was often the way and he loved every moment of it.

  ‘If you beg a little, Jacko, I’ll let you shoot a few trees with it when we go out west. That’s about all you could hit last time we went.’

  Jacko was about to reply to this insult with a barrage of his own, when a more pressing problem crossed his mind. ‘Speaking of going out west, you all set for tomorrow night? You were havin’ a bit o’ trouble getting the time off wasn’t you.’

  ‘Yeh, but it’s no problem.’

  The two men sitting directly behind Wayne leaned forward to be part of the conversation. They’d been the two most interested in the story of Wayne’s bargain buy.

  ‘If you need to change the date I can go any time. My partner just takes over,’ one of the men said. Luke knew the voice. This was Dave, who painted houses for a living. His hands were always faintly streaked with white paint. Luke wondered if he specialised in white — or maybe white was more difficult to remove from the skin.

  ‘Well, any time suits me,’ remarked the man next to Dave.

  The others turned on him immediately and began to cackle. Dave grabbed his upper arm and gently shoved him backwards. Above the friendly derision Jacko shouted, ‘Yeah. And we all know why that is, don’t we, Doggy. The unemployed are always on holiday.’

  The man they called ‘Doggy’ sat up again smiling, happily swatting aside the jeers and faked punches directed at him. His real name was Kieran Doggitt, and he revelled in the nickname ‘Doggy’, which he’d acquired in his schooldays: days shared with Dave and Wayne Aldridge and later with Jacko. With Doggitt for a surname, he’d been called a lot worse, but none of it penetrated his thick skin and ready smile.

  ‘Yeah, speak up if you want us to change the date, Wayne,’ said Jacko. ‘My boss is pretty good. I could still put it off a week or two if I ring him tonight.’

  ‘No, Jacko, don’t put it off. It’s all right. Don’t worry.’

  They were all looking at Wayne now, which was not a situation Wayne disliked. He made a show of appearing thoughtful for a moment, then, winking at Luke and CT, he said: ‘Might have to be seriously ill for a day or two.’

  ‘Geez, Luke, I tell you what,’ said CT, not being one to keep his ideas to himself. ‘You could go too, seein’ that you don’t have to go to school this week.’

  Naturally enough, this didn’t make sense to Wayne and the others. The topic of Luke’s suspension had not been raised all afternoon but that seemed about to change. There was a reprieve, though, for the moment at least, because Jacko shot Wayne a glance which from the stony set of his jaw and his darting eyes sent an unmistakable signal to Wayne. It read: ‘Don’t you saddle us with this kid of yours, Aldridge.’

  Wayne received the message as though it was written in the cigarette smoke that lingered around the group. He turned to his son and quickly put the notion to rest. ‘Sorry, Luke. This is big blokes
only. Perhaps when you’re older,’ he offered. As long as the things he didn’t want to deal with were shoved into the future, Wayne could be comfortable. It was a pity though—he’d vaguely thought about taking Luke along with him on one of these hunting trips. Still, Jacko was probably right.

  Wayne hadn’t counted on Dave and Doggy, however. From the row behind, Dave urged, ‘Go on, Aldridge, bring him along. He’ll have a great time. We’ll make a man out of him.’

  ‘Yeah,’ echoed Doggy. ‘Teach him how to shoot, Wayne. He won’t have to work hard to be better than Jacko over there.’ Laughter all round. Encouraged, Doggy added, ‘Come to think of it, once he’s learnt, he can show Jacko how to shoot. He’s the man who can miss a roo even when he’s close enough to shake hands with it.’

  They all laughed again — everyone except Jacko.

  Wayne Aldridge thought he’d better come to the rescue of his mate Jacko. It was, unfortunately, true he was a poor shot. But he did own the four wheel drive which they used on their hunting trips, and despite the ribbing he received, he was undoubtedly the keenest member of the group. So Wayne deepened his voice, trying to sound like a preacher delivering a sermon. ‘Guns are a serious business,’ he declared.

  Before he could go further, Dave and Doggy shouted him down.

  ‘Listen to it, would you! You should know how serious they are, Wayne. You’re the one who shot a hole in the roof of Jacko’s truck!’

  The crowd around were roaring and rocking with laughter now, at Wayne’s expense rather than Jacko’s. Wayne’s face set tight and hard, the odd man out amongst all the beaming faces. He did not like having that tale recalled. It had happened, of course. A simple accident. One of the group’s favourite stories, which need just be mentioned to set off the entire crowd. Wayne’s discomfort lasted until a hand forced a fresh can of beer into his fist; then, to take attention away from his own former disgrace, he turned to Luke. ‘How come you don’t have to go to school this week? It’s not holidays, is it?’

  Luke was embarrassed. ‘Not exactly,’ he began tentatively.

  ‘Not exactly,’ laughed a voice beside him. ‘That’s a joke, Luke. You and I are suspended, or did you forget.’

  Luke had almost forgotten that CT was sitting next to him. He was gripped by sudden alarm. Any second now, one of the listeners was going to ask why they were suspended, and CT was going to tell them the truth. He had to act quickly.

  ‘Yeah, we got suspended. Smoking,’ he said, and as he spoke he dug his elbow ferociously into CT’s ribs and turned towards him with an equally ferocious snarl on his face that clearly said, ‘Don’t give the game away’

  Then came the strangest revelation of all. From behind them, Kieran Doggitt commented, ‘Taking after your mother, are you, Luke?’

  ‘You mean his father, don’t you?’ said Jacko.

  ‘No, no. I mean his mother, Alison. She used to get suspended from high school all the time. It was a standing joke.’

  ‘You’re the one who’s joking,’ chided Jacko. ‘From what I’ve heard about Luke’s mum, I can’t imagine she’d ever get thrown out of school.’

  Luke was flabbergasted that Doggy should say such a thing. As far as he was concerned, he was with Jacko. Alison would never do anything wrong, never break any rules. Luke glanced across at his father, who said nothing. His mother and father had been at school together, had been childhood sweethearts. Surely he would know that Doggy was deceiving them all. It couldn’t be right.

  But Doggy was insistent. ‘Look, dead set. I was at school with Alison and Wayne and I’m telling you, she was a real tearaway. Spent more time in the Principal’s office than the classroom. I bet she still holds the record for the number of suspensions. How she wasn’t expelled, I’ll never know.’ He turned towards Wayne for confirmation. ‘Come on, mate, tell ’em it’s true. You were the one so proud of Alison’s record.’

  All eyes gravitated towards Wayne Aldridge, whose own eyes found his son while he debated whether to give Doggy’s story the stamp of proof. He wasn’t worried that Luke would find out something disreputable about his mother and think less of her for it. But to Wayne’s way of thinking, his former wife’s rebellious behaviour at high school was a badge of distinction and he didn’t want Luke to find that his mother had outscored his father in such an outrageous manner. But he couldn’t think quickly enough to come up with a smart crack that would get him off the hook. He blew out his cheeks and turned towards Doggy. ‘Yes, Alison was a wild one. She was suspended plenty of times.’ He tried to sound casual.

  So it was true. Luke was stunned. His mother, the dragon, the tyrant, the woman who hit the roof if he so much as thought about breaking a rule was a legend amongst her old school mates for just such behaviour! It didn’t make sense. Why does she run my life so strictly? he asked himself. Surely, she should understand …

  To change the subject, Wayne had started on an old story about Dave, which everyone had heard before but yearned to hear again, and in the midst of this and the revelations about Alison, the issue of whether Luke could join the men on their shooting trip became lost and forgotten. Forgotten by all except Luke, of course.

  The stories and the banter and the trips to the bar for another shout of beers continued until cheers and commotion at the centre of the grandstand signalled the arrival of the players. The game got under way. Up there on the terraces, amongst the rowdy huddle where Luke sheltered happily next to his father, avoiding the touch of the winter breeze, the game provided a handy new focus. Until now, they had swapped amongst themselves the outrageous insults and savage mockery which the group always seemed to generate. All this could now be directed at the players who sweated and cursed on the field. For Wayne and Jacko and their mates, the real game was to make everyone else laugh. They were all very good at it. Luke enjoyed the jeers, the wise cracks, the shamefully biased abuse of the referee as much as he took delight in the home team’s victory. And victory it was.

  As the players disappeared into the bowels of the grandstand, the men and women around Luke rose, stretched languidly and began to gather their possessions: the cushions, blankets and umbrellas which made them look like a tribe of nomads breaking camp. ‘Where do you reckon we should go for the taxi?’ asked a voice from amongst the melee.

  ‘Oh God, yes! The taxi. With a mob like this about, we’ll be all night getting a ride,’ worried another.

  ‘Why don’t we wander up and wait for a cab in the pub on the corner,’ suggested a third. This seemed to meet approval amongst many in the group.

  ‘Who’s going with Joanne and me?’ called Dave above the noise. ‘Have to warn you, though. Joanne’s driving.’

  ‘Doesn’t the wife let you drive, Dave?’ teased a tired companion.

  ‘Not after a few beers she doesn’t,’ answered Joanne on her own behalf. A few of the others decided to take their chances and strolled over to fall in behind Dave and Joanne.

  The streams of people converged on the crowded exits then spilled out onto the street. Wayne grabbed Danielle by the hand and ushered her and the boys across the road between the stationary traffic, shouting a brief farewell to his mates. They waved back weakly and disappeared in the crush of bodies.

  As Wayne unlocked the doors at the rear of the panel van, Danielle suggested: ‘Wayne, why don’t I drive?’

  ‘Why?’ said Wayne, surprised.

  ‘Well, you’ve had as many beers as Dave. Joanne’s driving him home,’ Danielle pointed out.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Dan. Dave’s a maniac behind the wheel at the best of times, and the beer makes him ten times worse. Even he admits it. But not me. I’m not like that, am I?’

  Danielle looked doubtful. ‘Look, I’m not really worried about your driving, Wayne. It’s your licence that concerns me. If the cops are out this arvo and pull you over — ’ She didn’t get the chance to finish.

  ‘Oh shut up, Danielle. You worry too much. Come on.’ Wayne climbed into the back of the panel van, leavin
g his girlfriend with her arms crossed on the footpath. She frowned at Luke, then relented, shrugging her shoulders. ‘He’s an idiot sometimes, your father,’ she muttered as she heaved herself through the narrow doors with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Luke didn’t know who to support in this argument. He trusted his father, but he suspected that Danielle had a point. And the police did buzz around like flies after major football matches. He’d seen them many times before. But Luke did know one thing to do at times such as this. That was to keep his mouth shut.

  Climbing through the back section of the van to reach the front seat, Luke again detected the hard shape of the rifle hidden beneath the blankets. When he poked his head through into the driving compartment, he found Danielle had retreated up against the passenger door and folded her arms in disgust. The atmosphere was frosty. Luke decided to stay in the back of the van with CT, where it was decidedly warmer.

  The going was slow through the crush of traffic close to the stadium. It was some time before they could pick up speed heading for home. But after only a few blocks on the main road away from the city centre, Wayne muttered, ‘I have a funny feeling the cops are about tonight.’ He manoeuvred his way into the left-hand lane and turned off the highway again.

  ‘What are you doing Wayne?’ Danielle protested.

  Luke had no idea what his father was about either. ‘Yeh, Dad, this road’s the quickest way home, even in heavy traffic.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ countered Wayne, far from annoyed. There was a cheeky smile on his face. ‘But up ahead a mile or so is a favourite spot for a random breath-testing trap. I’ve been stopped there myself once, and Jacko was tested there as well, only a fortnight ago.’ As he spoke, he threaded the van along a series of back streets which he seemed to know well. Wayne worked as a driver for a courier company; like taxi drivers and others who spent much of their time on the road, he carried a map of these inner suburbs in his head. Now he was putting his knowledge to a more personal use.