by Tony Birch
‘Chris doesn’t look so tough,’ Sonny said.
‘You don’t think so? Don’t be fooled by the friendly old Greek. He gets round in his woollen cardigan, not saying much, smiling when he has to, playing the harmless wog. Just the way he likes it. And all the while he has the street in his hand.’
Brixey leaned back in his chair. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re in so much trouble anyway it’s time you heard a story for once that might actually teach you something. You remember the bloke they found dead in the waiting room on the railway platform last year?’
‘Yeah,’ Sonny said. ‘He was a debt collector and they say he got on the wrong side of Vincent and he was killed. Every kid in the shop knows that story.’
‘Well, they know nothing. Vincent had nothing to do with the murder.’
‘Who killed him then?’ Ren asked.
‘No one can say, for certain. Me in particular. And I wouldn’t be careless enough to make an accusation. But what I do know is the same fella had been dodging the Greek over a gambling debt for months. Big money. More than ten thousand dollars. I also know that a couple of nights before he was killed he’d been in the pub mouthing off that the wog can fuck himself. Then he showed up dead. There weren’t a lot of questions asked over that one. Even by the police. A debt collector paying for his own greed, having his throat cut. You could even call it an act of God.’
Ren put his hand to his throat and thought about the old man who’d been slicing cake for him each week.
‘Don’t worry, the Greek wouldn’t have done it himself,’ Brixey added, to Ren’s relief. ‘It could have been one of the others in the shop. Or maybe they pay a merchant seaman, in town on a Greek liner. Does the job for them, gets his pay and leaves port on the quiet. That’s how they like to work. No showboat stuff, the Greeks. Clean up any mess with a minimum of attention.’
The bell over the shop door rang. Rodney, Vincent’s offsider, was standing in the doorway.
‘Here you are, boys.’ He smiled, although it wasn’t much of a smile. ‘The boss has been looking for you. Sent me to collect. This is a work night for you, Sonny.’
Neither Sonny nor Ren moved. Brixey got down from his chair and walked around to the front counter.
‘I’m sorry, mate, but I can’t let them leave the shop just yet. The buggers haven’t cleaned up.’
Rodney clicked his fingers together. ‘Move your arse, Sonny. And you shut the fuck up, old man. Unless you want the heel of a boot shaving your chin.’
Brixey wasn’t prepared to back away. ‘Come on, mate. They’re only kids. Too young for this sort of business.’
‘What business?’ Rodney asked, like he didn’t have a clue what Brixey was talking about. ‘They don’t have anything to be worried about. I’ve been as good as an uncle to them. Haven’t I boys?’
Brixey put himself between the boys, Rodney and the front door. Rodney hit him so quickly in the stomach nobody saw it. Brixey fell to his knees.
‘Arsehole,’ he groaned.
Rodney leaned over him, stood on Brixey’s hand with a heel and drove it into the floor. Spike, who’d been watching the action from the back of the shop picked up a long wooden pole with a hook on the end. Brixey used it to pull the metal grill down over the front door of a night. Spike charged at Rodney, waving the pole like a long-blade.
‘Leave Brixey alone! Fucken leave him!’
Spike swung the pole at Rodney’s head, who snatched it in his hand, tore it away from Spike and almost speared him in the side of the head with it. Spike had enough commonsense in him to keep on running, out of the shop. Rodney snapped the pole over his knee and threw it to the ground. He dug the heel of his boot into Brixey’s hand one more time and looked down at him. ‘Do yourself a favour, old man, and don’t get up. Don’t follow us. And talk to nobody. Unless you’re ready for a Jewish stocktake in here. I’ll put a match to the joint with you tied to a fucken chair.’
Rodney grabbed hold of the boys, one under each arm, and dragged them across the street and into the pub.
‘Upstairs,’ he ordered.
Every drinker at the hotel looked away as Rodney marched the boys through the bar and pushed them up the stairs into the back room. Vincent was sitting at the desk, the telephone in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other.
‘I know,’ he spoke urgently into the receiver. ‘It was supposed to be last week. Of course you’re right, but that’s a whack and a half in one hit.’ Vincent looked across at Rodney and raised his eyebrows. Although the room was ice cold, Ren noticed that Vincent’s face was flushed and he was sweating heavily. ‘Let me sort something and get back to you.’ He slammed the phone down. ‘The fucken wog wants the lot tonight.’
‘You got it, Vince?’
‘You know I don’t have it. Now he’s talking extras for late payment. Thinks he’s running a fucken bank over there.’
‘He is. Sort of.’
‘Shut up!’
Vincent stood up, picked up the chair and threw it against the wall. It smashed into pieces. He yanked the refrigerator door open. Bottles of beer fell from a shelf and rolled across the floor. Rodney ran around picking them up while Vincent took a tin box out of the fridge. He sat on the couch, took a small key from his pocket, opened the box and took out a bundle of notes along with the pocketbook the boys saw him writing in each week. He offered Sonny a seat next to him.
‘You been avoiding me, Sonny. I haven’t seen you in the pub all week. Just when I have an important job for you to do. I shouldn’t need to send Rodney out looking for you. You’re on my payroll now, Sonny. And don’t you forget that you still owe me.’
Ren began shaking. He shut his eyes and concentrated hard, willing himself to calm down. He could hear Vincent counting the notes.
‘How much is there?’ Rodney asked.
‘Just on three thousand.’
‘You owe him almost twelve. You’re not even close.’
‘It’s worse than that. This is supposed to go to Foy. Only reason I’ve been holding on to it.’
‘Foy? How much is he into you for?’
Vincent looked over at Sonny and nodded towards the street. ‘That landlord, the one who did us the favour, out of the fucken blue he decided he wanted his money. I got Foy to have a talk to him. I still owe him the fee.’
Rodney looked a little insulted. ‘You should have asked me, Vince. I’d have done it for nothing.’
‘I needed a guarantee there’d be no comeback. There is none, once Foy knocks at the door.’ Vincent picked up the pile of notes and counted them again. ‘But he’ll have to wait. The old wolf across the road is howling louder.’
Vincent walked to the corner window and looked across the intersection and down to the Greek club. ‘I’ll pay what I’ve got in hand. It’ll be enough to keep him off my back for a few days. Then me and you will have to come up with a way to sort this out. I’m not paying any more. The old man will have to go away.’
‘We can’t do that. He does business all over town. We’d be fucked.’
‘We’re fucked anyway.’
Vincent opened the desk drawer and bound the money with a rubber band. He rifled through the drawer in agitation. ‘Where’s my fucken pen?’ He tore the drawer from the desk and threw it at the wall as well. ‘Go grab us some paper and a pen from downstairs,’ he barked at Rodney.
Once Rodney had left the room Vincent turned his attention to Sonny and Ren. ‘Let me give you some advice. Never get yourself in debt, not to anyone. It done your old man no good, Sonny. It has done you no good either. And look at me. I’m getting fucked harder than both of you.’
‘I’m still in debt,’ Sonny answered. ‘I owe you.’
Ren was silently praying that Sonny wouldn’t be stupid enough to start talking about the letter he’d received from his father and how Vincent had
lied to him.
‘Right. You are in debt,’ Vincent agreed. ‘But you can’t blame me for that. Your old man stuck you on the bottom rung, not me. And it’s up to you to find a way back up, for yourself.’
‘I am trying to find a way out,’ Sonny said, looking directly at Vincent.
Vincent emptied his glass, stood up and poured himself another. Rodney came back to the room with the pen and paper. He lit a smoke and stood by the window as Vincent sat at the table and began writing. He checked his words after every sentence. When he finished he folded the sheet of paper, tucked it inside the rubber band and ordered Sonny to stand up. He pulled the front of the boy’s jeans open, tucked the money inside and patted it.
‘Can you feel that wad against your balls?’
When Sonny didn’t answer, Vincent leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, ‘You fuck this job up and I’ll have them off you.’
As he felt for the money again Vincent noticed the corner of the cloth money bag poking out of Sonny’s pocket. He pulled it out, opened it and emptied the contents onto the couch. Notes and loose coins fell from the bag. ‘Look here, Rodney, a fucken bonus. Count that. Could be a couple of hundred there.’ Vincent stroked the side of Sonny’s face. ‘Good work, son. Now, it’s up to you to do this delivery for me. On top of the cash payment you’ve just made, I’d calculate that you’re close to walking away. What do you think, Rodney? We owed any more?’
‘Can’t be sure, Vince. I leave the sums to you.’
Sonny was shaking with rage. ‘You said that the first time I did a job for you. And that’s my money you just took. I’ve been saving it.’
‘Good boy. Be proud of yourself. Shows that you have initiative. I won’t forget that when I’m putting the money on a horse. Tell you what. If it gets up I’ll give you a sling for your trouble. Now get your arse downstairs and across the street.’
Vincent turned to Ren. ‘The warning goes for you too, pretty boy. If young Sonny here fucks this up, or thinks of doing something stupid, don’t forget you’re accountable for him.’
The minute they were out in the street Sonny headed for the laneway behind the pub. He pulled out the roll of money and unwrapped the note.
‘What are you doing, Sonny? He’ll be watching for us from the window. If he doesn’t see us he’ll send Rodney after us.’
‘Fuck Rodney. And fuck Vincent. He stole my money.’
Sonny stuck the roll in his front pocket and tore the written note to pieces without bothering to read it.
‘What are you doing?’ Ren shouted. ‘Now we’re really fucked.’
‘Vincent’s gonna be fucked this time, not us.’
‘How?’
‘Follow me.’
‘Where?’
‘To the club.’
‘Sonny, we can’t go in there without the money.’
It was raining again. Sonny pulled his jumper over his head. Ren grabbed him by the arm. ‘We can’t do this, Sonny. We won’t get out of the club alive.’
Sonny pushed him in the chest, almost knocking him over. ‘Well, fuck off then and leave me to do this on my own. I’m finished with Vincent.’ Sonny was out of control on account of the money he’d carefully saved being snatched by Vincent.
‘I’m not gonna fuck off on you,’ Ren said, hurrying to catch up with him.
Sonny lectured Ren as they crossed the street, the rain belting down on them. ‘You might be smarter than I’ll ever be. Up here.’ He tapped Ren on the side of the head. ‘But not out here,’ he gestured to the street. ‘I’ve got it all over you. You’re always telling me we gotta have a plan, Sonny. Well, I got one now.’
‘And when did you think of it?’
‘Just this minute.’
‘That’s great, Sonny. If Chris pulls that knife out and offers us a slice of cake, I’m running.’
Sonny stopped outside the door to the club and took a deep breath, working up his courage before knocking. Nikos opened the door and they followed him into the club. Chris was standing behind the counter, wearing his old blue cardigan over the top of a white shirt, and drinking a coffee. Ren looked at him more closely than he had before, trying to figure out if what Brixey had said about Chris being responsible for the dead body on the railway station could be true. But the old man looked no different. Ren couldn’t imagine him as a killer.
Chris waved at the boys to join him at the counter. ‘You have something for me?’
Sonny shuffled towards the counter. ‘We have nothing for you,’ he said, calmer than Ren would have thought possible.
‘Nothing?’
‘Vincent sent me and told me to give you a message.’
Chris looked puzzled. ‘But no package?’
‘Nah. Just the message.’
Chris took a step back from the counter. He didn’t look so friendly all of a sudden. He gritted his teeth and his eyes narrowed and darkened. ‘And the message? Tell me now.’
Sonny spoke as slowly and deliberately as possible. ‘He told me to let you know there is no more money coming.’
Chris stuck a hand behind his ear as if he hadn’t heard properly. ‘What do you say? Come closer.’
Sonny didn’t move. ‘He says there is no more money coming.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘He also said to tell you that if you’re not happy to let him know yourself. He said you’d know what that means.’
One of Chris’s eyes began twitching. He walked around the counter and rested a hand on each of Sonny’s damp shoulders and gently shook him. ‘Are you sure of the message? You must be sure.’
Ren felt that he was about to piss his pants again, just as he had done in the back of the police car.
‘I’m sure about all of it. He was talking with one of the others, the one who is always with him. Rodney, the one with the lucky card tattooed on his hand. They were counting some money together. A lot of money, and Vincent was telling Rodney he was going to put the money on a racehorse.’
Chris walked over to the door, parted the curtain and looked out into the rain. He called Nikos over and talked to him in Greek. While Chris spoke quietly into his ear, Nikos swore in a violent mix of English and Greek. Fuck! Dirty malaka!
Nikos walked to the back of the room, leaned into one of the old men at the card table and whispered something in his ear, before returning to Chris and relaying a message from the man at the table, again in Greek.
‘Wait. I will call,’ Chris said. He picked up the telephone and began dialling. Ren stared at the phone, realising that as soon as Vincent told Chris he’d sent Sonny across the street with more than three thousand dollars wrapped around his dick, and a note most likely explaining how the next payment would be made, Chris, or maybe Nikos, would take them into the back room and slice them open. Or maybe he’d deliver them back to Vincent and let him do it. Nikos grabbed the phone from Chris’s hand, slammed it down and hissed at him through his teeth. Chris listened closely and nodded his head in agreement.
Chris put an arm over the shoulder of each of the boys. ‘It is time for you to go. Home. I am busy now. Off.’
Sonny was about to say something. Ren wondered if he was crazy enough to ask for a piece of cake. ‘If you ever have work, any jobs done, I could do them for you,’ he offered.
Chris smiled at him. ‘You are good worker. One day, maybe I will see.’
As the boys were being led out the door by Nikos, Chris picked up the telephone again and dialled a number. Out in the street the boys stood under the shop awning. Sonny lifted one foot onto a bench and retied a shoelace, all the while looking up at the window of Vincent’s office.
‘So, where’s the plan go from here, Sonny? We’re dead. You know that, don’t you?’
If Sonny was as worried as Ren it didn’t show. He took a lot of time tying the shoelace. When he finished he started on the other one.
&n
bsp; ‘What the fuck are you doing? We have to split before Vincent catches up with us.’
‘Not yet. We’ll wait a bit.’
‘Wait? Are you crazy?’
‘Let’s cross the street. You’ll see, something will happen’
They ran across the road and ducked in the doorway of the butcher shop. Ren crammed into the doorway beside Sonny. ‘And what’s gonna happen?’
‘Not sure yet.’
It was cold and wet standing in the doorway. Ren was desperate to go home. Each time he opened his mouth to tell Sonny he was leaving he was told to shut it. ‘We’ll give it a couple more minutes. I promise, if nothing happens by then we’ll take off.’
They waited more than fifteen minutes before anything did happen. A car drove slowly along the street and parked in front of the club. The driver sat in the car and lit a cigarette. After a few minutes Nikos opened the cafe door, poked his head out and waved to the driver. The driver got out of the car and walked towards the cafe.
‘Fuck! It’s Foy,’ Sonny said.
‘Foy? Why would he be going to the club?’
‘No idea. But I don’t want him catching us here. Let’s take off before he comes back out.’
They didn’t stop running until they were almost home.
‘It might not be a good idea to sleep at home tonight,’ Sonny said.
‘Why’s that?’
‘That Foy. I can’t work out what he’s got to do with Chris, but I bet he’ll come after us.’
‘You should have thought about that before you stole Vincent’s money. You forgot to put Foy in your plan.’
‘It was never Vincent’s money in the first place.’
‘Not yours either.’
‘Some of it should be, for the work I did. And you. I’ll give you half the money. You gonna sleep out?’
‘I don’t want any of the money and I’m not sleeping out. Where you gonna hide?’
