Give Me Hell

by Kate McCarthy

  He was the man who could do anything. At the age of four I spent a year refusing to go anywhere without my Superman cape. I was the hero sent from the planet Krypton and Dad was my Jonathan Kent. Between us, we were going to save the world. But everyone has to grow up sometime and as I got older, I realised he was just a man like any other. At least he was the good kind. The kind that raised me alone after my mother died giving birth. She didn’t survive the emergency caesarean.

  I know her only through photographs and stories from Dad. I have her laugh, and I have the same dimple that deepens my left cheek when I smile. I also have her eyes. Dad would look at me sometimes and flinch. Then he’d turn away, as if my image burned him. Some days I heard him talking to her. He would ask her what to do or tell her how I’d fallen off my bike that day and scraped my knee.

  Dad never had a girlfriend after she died. He’s only thirty-five now, and he never will. He’s an empty shell of his former self, and I’m stuck here in this shithole without him. It’s not a happy ending. Life has a way of ripping those out from underneath you and handing them to someone else.

  “They’re letting him leave the hospital.”

  “But … Does that mean he’s getting better?”

  Jenna’s tone turns sad. “No, honey. That’s not going to happen. I’m sorry.”

  My teeth clamp together as I fight the tears. I know that. I know. But accepting it is another thing altogether. “So where is he going to go? They can’t just kick him out!”

  “I’m afraid there aren’t many options. I’m trying to find a government-funded care facility that will take him,” she advises, her voice taking on a soothing tone in deference to my obvious panic. “We’ll work it out, okay?”

  “What kind of care facility?”

  There’s a long pause. Jenna is hesitating. It makes me fear the answer, but I need to know. “Please. Tell me.”

  “Jake, honey, there might be an aged care facility available, but I just don’t know. I think it’s only partly subsidised. I have to look into it a bit more.”

  “Aged care?” I bend over on myself, my chest tight as hot tears roll down my cheeks. “But he’s only thirty-five!”

  “I’m so sorry. The government won’t fund a private nurse and this might be all they have available. We tried to—”

  I can’t hear anymore. It’s too painful. I stand and jam the handset back in its socket ending the call.

  Moving down the unlit hallway, I find my way to the bathroom. I peel off my shirt in the dim light of the moon and face the mirror. My hair is mussed and my eyes red. Wet tracks mark my cheeks from the tears.

  I wipe them away and drop my gaze to the square white patch across my chest. With shaky fingers, I snag the corner edge and peel it back slowly. My tattoo reveals itself. Angry. Red. Perfect. I stare at it until my harsh breathing calms.

  “Do you miss her?”

  Mac asked me about my mother. We were on the sun lounger by the pool and her eyes were on Jenna as she watched her own mother weed the garden bed in the back corner.

  “You can’t miss what you never had,” I replied.

  Green eyes of confusion shot my way. “But you do have her.”

  “Do I?” I waved a hand around. Sarcasm made my movements jerky. “Where? I don’t see her, Mac.”

  Her expression was one of utter disgust, as if I’d just admitted to throwing little puppies off tall buildings. “You don’t need to see her. She’s in your heart, asshead.”

  I didn’t believe her at the time. I still don’t. Mac is the only one in there, and she takes up so much space it leaves no room for anyone else.

  After dumping the bandage in the trash, I make my way to my room. Put in this same situation, Mac wouldn’t sit back and do nothing. She wouldn’t let this happen. So neither will I. My father needs a care facility, and I need to find my way back to Sydney.

  “You ever need money, Romero, you come see me.”

  Leander Fox doesn’t mean a hand out. No way in hell. I’ll have to earn it, and the thought of how I’ll have to earn it makes me sick to my stomach but the only other choice I have is to sit back and let fate take its course. And as far as I’m concerned, fate can go fuck itself.

  JAKE

  Luke dumps my stuffed satchel on the queen-sized bed. It represents everything I own in the world. He turns and waves his arms in a grand gesture. “This is it. What do you think?”

  My eyes take in the room. It’s big, with an airy window and walls the colour of stone. The walnut timber furniture is finished in a rich gloss, and the white sheets are bright and crisp. The best part? When I reach over and flick on the light switch by the wall, a warm glow fills the room. “It’ll do.”

  The comment earns me a punch to the arm. “Get stuffed, Romero. This place is a palace.”

  In actual fact it’s a four-bedroom brick home with a granite kitchen, stainless steel appliances, and an outdoor spa that Leander has christened the ‘hot tub of love.’ I won’t be dipping my toes in it any time soon. God knows what lives beneath the dark, bubbling water, and he can keep that information to himself.

  I reach for my bag and slide the zipper open, my mind going to my first tattoo. The memory will remain forever clear. The buzz of the needle had been an annoying mosquito; the sharp point jabbed repeatedly into firm muscle until I ached for it to end. The heat of the afternoon had been relentless, the sheen of sweat dampening my palms. Afterward, we’d sat in the courtyard of the local pub listening to live music and eating thick, juicy steak burgers dripping with barbeque sauce. The sense of fullness after eating for the first time in days had felt incredible.

  Two, long hungry weeks later, I did what I had to do. I made the call and sold my soul to Satan. Now here I am, moving in to Luke and Leander’s house. The money Leander says I’ll earn is mind-blowing. I don’t have to rely on the hope of there being food to eat or clean clothes to wear. I have independence now, and it’s empowering.

  I left no forwarding address with my foster carers. Despite the Government doing random checks on my placement, I don’t believe they’ll track me down. There are thousands of kids like me. They don’t have the manpower to search out each and every one of us. To them I’ll just be another kid lost to the system.

  “Jake.”

  Luke’s tone is impatient as if he’s been calling my name more than once.

  I half-turn, pausing from tugging worn clothes from my bag and placing them onto the bed. “Thanks, Luke. I appreciate this.”

  “Don’t thank me.” His eyes take on a dark, grim expression that ruffles my nerves. “You have tonight to get through first.”

  Tonight my fall into the underworld will be complete. According to Leander, I can’t work for them until they’re sure I can be trusted. In order to do that, an initiation will take place. “Right.” I resume my task, removing the shaving kit and setting it on the bed. It’s black leather and had belonged to my father. “What did you have to do?”

  “I didn’t.”

  That’s cause for me to pause again. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t do for them what you’re about to do. Leander earns all the money. I just go to school.”

  The thought leaves me unsteady. I sink to the edge of the bed, a shirt bunched in my hands. The thought that at least Luke and I were in this together had bolstered my courage, but I’d thought wrong. I let out a shaky breath.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Luke says, standing over me.

  My head shakes vigorously. “I do.”

  “I can talk to Lee. We can work something else out.”

  There’s no talking to Lee. The deal is done. I’d rather walk out in front of an oncoming bus than face what’s coming, but I have to do this. My father needs me now. My throat tightens at the staggering responsibility on my shoulders. The new care facility bills are huge. And there’s no one to pay them. No one but me.

  I look up at Luke, my lips flat with determination. “There’s nothing to work out, Fo
x.” Standing, I toss my shirt on the bed and clap him on the back, forcing cheer to my voice. “Let’s go downstairs and get a drink.”

  “You’re gonna need one,” he mutters beneath his breath as he jogs down the steps behind me.

  “Ever fired a gun?” Leander asks as we stand in the kitchen later that night.

  My gaze falls on his outstretched hand. He’s holding one out toward me, his eyes zeroed on mine. Shit. Double shit. There’s a difference between saying I’ll work for Leander and actually working for Leander. “Once before. At a shooting range.”

  His expression is a smirk. “Well, now you get to do it again.”

  My heart pounds as I stare at the gleaming hunk of metal in his hand. I don’t want to touch it knowing its purpose is not to protect but to threaten and potentially maim. I don’t want to do this. My gaze lifts to Leander. “What do I need a gun for?”

  He shrugs. “We’re owed money and we’re gonna pay the man a visit.” He takes a step forward and shoves it at me. “Take it, Romero. It’s not gonna bite your face off.”

  I think of my father. Of him sitting in a wheelchair staring out the window without a nurse to care for him. And I think of Mac. Of her soft lips and how her sassy attitude sets my soul alight. And as I do, my hand closes around the deadly weapon. The steel is cool and heavy in my palm. It feels wrong. My stomach knots and my lips set in a grim line. I don’t want to do this.

  “You alright?” Leander asks.

  “Sure, it won’t bite my face off,” I tell him, holding the grip tighter to hide the trembling of my hands. It won’t do for Luke’s older brother to know that I’m shit scared. “It might shoot it off though.”

  Leander’s laugh is loud and hard. “You’ll be alright. Just don’t point it at your face.”

  “Right,” I tell him, watching as he grabs his own, checks the chamber like a professional, and tucks it into the front of his jeans. I’m not game enough to do that. I’d probably shoot my dick off. “I’ll be sure not to do that.”

  He jerks his head toward the door that connects the kitchen to the garage. “Let’s go.”

  I take a moment after he leaves to draw a deep breath of courage. When I go to follow, Luke rounds the corner of the kitchen and catches hold of my bicep, bringing me to a halt. “Romero,” he hisses urgently, his tone low. “It’s not loaded.”

  My brow creases as I stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

  Luke yanks me closer, his mouth pressing close to my ear. “It’s just a test. The gun isn’t loaded.”

  He shoves me at the door, disappearing as quickly as he appeared.

  We park in an abandoned driveway. It’s further down the street from the house Leander pointed out as the one we’d be visiting. There’s another vehicle parked in front of us, a plain black Mazda that looks like most other cars on the road. Average and indistinguishable.

  Leander instructed me earlier on the gang I’m about to get involved with. Or join if I satisfactorily pass the initiation. They’re named the King Street Boys. And they’re not just some minor-league street gang, they’re the biggest gang in Melbourne. The structure rivals a corporation. The hierarchy is extensive and has tentacles that wrap around the entire state including government members, political staff, and police. Leander tells me their reach is so vast they’re expanding into Sydney and beyond.

  Two burly guys alight from either side of the Mazda. After shutting their doors with mutual muted thunks, they walk toward us. Leander showed me photos so I recognise both. Ross is tall and bulky. His hair is short and golden brown with a slight curl, and his eyes a cold, hard blue. He’s twisting a ring that sits on the middle finger of his right hand. The action highlights the thick muscle of his forearm and a singular tattoo of three letters ‘KSB.’ He’s the gang leader.

  My eyes slide to Leander with surprise. I’m expecting to be nothing less than a lowly foot soldier, so why would that attract the likes of Ross? Leander doesn’t acknowledge my fleeting glance. His face remains blank. I pick up his silent cue and remove the expression of surprise from my face.

  The guy beside him is Boyd, head of security and recruitment. His black hair is buzzed so short it’s barely there at all, and eyes darker than night are busy taking me in without giving a single thought away.

  They stop in front of us. Ross tips his head at me. “You’re Jonah?”

  His voice is rough, like he smokes a thousand cigarettes a day, but there’s also a hint of surprise in it. I nod. The name change is for protection. Gang life gets dirty. I don’t want any of this to come back on me later, or anyone I care about.

  “You’re how old now?”

  I lift my chin, trying to hide the nerves. “Sixteen.”

  Ross doesn’t appear displeased at my youth and continues to study me carefully. “You’re a big boy for sixteen.”

  Bigger than both of them if they want to get technical. I shrug like it’s no big deal but to me it is. Having a size advantage gives me confidence I wouldn’t ordinarily feel otherwise. “I work out a lot.”

  “Eh … Good for you.”

  Boyd takes a slight step forward and his head tips a little to the side as he looks at me. “Why do you want in with the King Street Boys?”

  Money, for fuck’s sake. Why would anyone want to join a gang unless it was lucrative? But gang members are brothers just like bikers are, aren’t they? A unit. Mess with one, you mess with all. I could have had that once, with the Valentines, and I didn’t take it. The knowledge is painful.

  “Family,” I lie, knowing it’s what they probably want to hear.

  Boyd nods as though he understands. “You in the system?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Good. The system is fucking useless.”

  We’re in agreement on that. The system only gave me one thing. Mackenzie Valentine. And now I don’t have her anymore.

  Ross clamps a hand on my shoulder. The gesture is firm and brotherly but his voice is hard and does not allow disagreement or invite further conversation. “We’re your family now.”

  He lets go and Boyd looks between Leander and myself. “You both good to go?”

  Leander answers with a lift of his shirt. It bares the gun tucked in his waistband. Mine is on the passenger-side floor of the car. That’s where I’m hoping like hell it ends up staying.

  Boyd’s forehead wrinkles. “Where’s yours?”

  My lips press in a grim line, and I tuck unsteady hands inside the pockets of my jeans. Shit is getting real and my legs are five seconds away from hauling me the fuck out of here.

  “You leave it in the car?” Leander asks.

  “Yeah,” I mutter, as if it was an accident.

  “I’ll get it,” he tells me and makes a move to leave. Boyd slaps the back of his forearm against Leander’s chest, stopping him from going anywhere. After a shared glance with Ross, he says, “I’ll get it.”

  Boyd walks away and Ross turns his attention to me with a fold of his arms. “Jonah, you ready for this?”

  Not in the least. “I don’t know what this is.”

  Ross points to a red brick house further down the street. It’s nondescript—the type of house you’d never pick out from a line up two days later. “The man in that house is the worst kind of scum. A convicted paedophile. Instead of being locked up, he’s out here stealing our drugs and watching Boyd’s youngest sister from outside the school gates. We’re here to deliver him one hell of a warning.”

  Disgust makes my stomach churn. Paedophiles should never be free, let alone allowed anywhere near the gates of a school. It explains why both Ross and Boyd are both here tonight instead of someone lower in the hierarchy. This is personal.

  Boyd returns, gun in hand. He hands it to me, his dark brown eyes staring me down until I take it.

  “What kind of warning?” I ask Ross, the weapon a heavy weight in my hand.

  “The kind where we go in and rough him up, tie him to a chair, and you come in after and shoot him.”

&n
bsp; I jerk visibly. Shoot him? I don’t think so. I don’t shoot people, regardless of their criminal past. You can’t just take justice into your own hands. My eyes shift to Leander, needing to assess his reaction.

  “You can do this,” he reassures me in a firm voice as Ross and Boyd start toward the house.

  But I can’t.

  “It’s just a test. The gun isn’t loaded.”

  Is Luke telling the truth?

  If he is, then it means this whole scene is a setup. The man in the house must be a gang member and not who they say he is. And this so-called test is for me to shoot him. If the gun isn’t loaded, they’ll hear the click and that will be my passing grade—an acknowledgement that I’d been willing to do as they asked. Once over, my place in the King Street Boys will be cemented.

  But fifteen minutes later, I realise there’s an issue with my thought process as I stand in front of the man. Neither Ross nor Boyd told me his name, but he’s roughed up and tied to a chair like I was told he would be. Silver duct tape covers his mouth and his eyes are bugged out like a goldfish. His breathing is out of control. He doesn’t look like a man who knows he isn’t about to get shot. He looks like a man who knows he is.

  “It’s just a test.”

  Ross gives the order to shoot, his voice coming to me like I’m under water. I lift the gun, the move slow and painful. My heart thumps hard enough to pound its way from my chest as I look into the man’s eyes. The fear in them is a living, breathing thing between us. Wild, like an untamed animal. I turn my head to Leander. He gives me a nod. Do it, his eyes say.

  I aim for the right shoulder.

  “The gun isn’t loaded.”