Marked

by Denis Martin

  Jed took matters out of my hands. “What about Bullyboy? You find out anything more about him?”

  I shook my head. “No.” But the pause had been too long and he knew I was lying.

  “Hey, I don’t know what’s going on. You don’t need to bullshit. Not to me.” He took one hand from the wheel and tapped his chest. “If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?”

  I glanced at him, but I couldn’t meet his eye. “I promised … she’s scared,” I muttered at last. “Reckons it’s dangerous.”

  “Cully, that’s why you’ve got to share it.” He spoke slowly, seriously. Not like Jed at all. “You can’t carry stuff like this on your own. Something’s up, isn’t it?

  I didn’t know what to do. If I told him what I knew, I’d be ratting on Kat. And I could still see the fear in her eyes. She’d been desperate – and I had promised, hadn’t I?

  But I owed Jed something too. I’d involved him in this, and he was right – if I couldn’t trust him, who could I trust?

  In the end I told him everything, and he drove in silence, listening, his face bleak as a polar ice cap. “Shit!” he said at last. “So he’s a kind of bodyguard? And you were right about the gun too.”

  “Looks like it. She reckoned he probably carries one.”

  He didn’t speak again for a while, shaking his head to himself, thinking about it. “I’m buggered if I know what to do.” We turned into the car park and stopped. “Nothing I suppose. Stay out of it.”

  The ferry was getting ready to leave, and I leaped from the cab, slamming the door. Then I poked my head through the open window. “Keep it quiet though. Don’t let on I told you.” Racing across to the jetty, I felt guilty as hell, but at the same time I was glad I’d put him in the picture. Kat was on the ferry but she was surrounded by other kids, and I didn’t get a chance to speak to her.

  The whole school was buzzing about the fight. A bit like that film Gladiator – everyone psyched into blood lust, revelling at the thought of guts and gore spread across the arena. Sticky dark stuff. And all of it was going to be mine. I reckon I was the only kid in the whole school not looking forward to it.

  In English we were still sorting out the benefits of sport for next week’s debate, but I wasn’t a lot of use to our group. My thoughts were elsewhere, grappling with doom and darkness. Then I heard Simon mention my name.

  “Cully mightn’t be much of an asset,” he said. “Once Burger’s finished with him, he might find it a bit hard to stand up and tell us how sport is really good for you.” He gave me a cheeky grin.

  “Eh?” I was struggling to push the shadows from my mind. “How d’you mean?”

  “Well, if you’re still on crutches, covered in bandages and all that. Not exactly a picture of health.”

  One of the girls turned on him in disgust. “That’s gross!”

  “Jeez, Angie. I was only joking. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Simon shrugged apologetically.

  Angie was our team leader. A good speaker too, though she didn’t get on too well with Simon. But after a moment her expression softened and she nodded. “Anyway, boxing’s not a sport. It’s just thuggery. It’s–” She broke off, listening.

  We all were. It was the town siren, an eerie wail calling volunteers to the fire station.

  “So they’re at it again,” said Simon. “Firebugs.”

  “What? In broad daylight?” I gave him a pitying look. “Even firebugs aren’t that stupid.”

  The other two obviously agreed, but Simon was reluctant to let it go. There hadn’t been any arson attacks for a while and lots of kids were missing the excitement.

  “Well, maybe …” Then he stopped, tilting his head. Another siren, this one a thinner note and more highly pitched, rising and falling. Simon looked at me. “You’re right. That’s the ambulance now. Must’ve been an accident somewhere.”

  Then we heard the fire-engine as well, and listened as both sirens gradually faded into the distance, drawn towards someone’s misery. But at least they’d taken my mind off the boxing … and Kat.

  It was nearly midday, and the school was positively drooling at the prospect of watching the school bully reduce Cully Dalfour to burger meat. As spectacles go, it wasn’t one that I wanted Kat to see. But I needed her to be there.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I was nervous, much more than I’d expected to be. I couldn’t stop my knees trembling, and I knew that as soon as I got out there in the ring, I’d want a pee. Could already feel it. I was worried about Kat too. There was a fair crowd, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.

  “Here. Just flex your wrist a bit.” Mr Parton was binding my hands before lacing me up. Supposed to prevent injury, but I couldn’t imagine anyone ever hurting themselves with these big gloves. Massive things, much bigger than I’d been training with. Like wearing a bagful of soft custard on each fist.

  “Now, I don’t want to see you playing the hero.” He was my second and seemed to be taking his job seriously. “If you’re hurting, or if you take a blow to the head, I want to know about it.”

  I nodded and rested my elbow against my thigh to stop my knee shaking. A few metres away Burger was also getting gloved up. He was grinning at me, lolling back on his stool. Draped over his shoulders was a satin gown, dazzling blue – a bit like the ones title fighters wear on telly for their brag sessions. Mrs West was his second and she smiled across at me encouragingly. Or maybe it was pity.

  “Now, lift your head.” Mr Parton slid a padded headgear over my ears and pulled the chinstrap tight. “About three minutes. You feel okay?”

  Again I nodded. Better than an outright lie. If anything, the headgear was worse than the gloves. Dad’s old sparring headgear was a lightweight pad that covered my forehead and ears, with a strap under the chin. This thing was like a pair of horse blinkers – a full helmet of heavy nylon padding with massive flanges on each side to protect the cheeks. If Burger was wearing one of these, I didn’t think I’d be able to see his nose, let alone hit it.

  “Two minutes.” A scratchy loudspeaker voice.

  I wished like hell I’d gone to the gym for some of the lunchtime boxing sessions. Then, at least, these stupid gloves and headgear mightn’t have been such a surprise.

  Where’s Kat?

  “One minute.”

  The headgear was hot against my forehead. It was sticky and stank of ancient sweat. Like pressing your face into someone else’s pillow – decaying BO and the stink of dried saliva.

  Still couldn’t see Kat. I knew she was at school because I’d seen her in class.

  “Boxers to the ring!”

  Mr Parton held the ropes for me, and I clambered in. Looked up just in time to see Burger prancing around in the centre, arms held high for the crowd. He’d primed his greasy support crew and they cheered obediently. You’d have thought he was Muhammad Ali there in the centre, posing in his shimmering gown. He turned slowly so we could all see the writing across his shoulders. Big white letters. It read KING.

  I was still wearing an old T-shirt. Nothing written on the back. I moved towards the centre, jigging up and down on the spot. If I stopped moving, my knees might start shaking again. Just wanted to get on with it now, but we had to wait while the ref went through the rules.

  “… and no clenching. When I call ‘break’, both boxers must take one full step back …”

  Why isn’t Kat here?

  “If either boxer is down, his opponent must retire to a neutral corner.”

  The ref seemed to go on forever, but suddenly he stopped. “Now, shake hands.” We touched gloves awkwardly. Burger’s mouthguard gave him a row of plastic teeth, grinning and confident, and a wave of cheap deodorant swept over me. He must’ve emptied the whole can over himself.

  I forced myself to smile. “I like the nightie,” I said, running my eyes over the silky folds of his gown. “Your sister’s?”

  It’s hard to scowl with a mouthguard, but Burger gave it his best shot. The ref gave me
a strange look and shook his head, but I thought he was trying not to laugh. “To your corners.”

  Mr Parton passed me my mouthguard, and I slid it into place with the thumb of my glove.

  I moved out on the bell, but I didn’t go right to him. I was on my toes, dancing, the way Dad had shown me – and watching Burger. He took centrestage, standing flat-footed and turning to follow me as I circled. Jed had been right about him – he was a brawler. Heavy on his feet, with hardly any movement. Aiming to finish me off with a few king hits. And he wasn’t planning to suffer any pain from me.

  But for the moment, nobody was suffering pain because no punches were being thrown. I was playing the out-fighter, staying just out of reach as Burger shuffled around to keep me in his sights. The crowd started jeering, and I could see it was getting to him. He had his image to think of.

  Nothing happened for ages. Maybe half a minute. Finally, Burger lost it and let fly with a punch that would’ve flattened the Himalayas. Only it didn’t flatten anything, because he signalled it with his eyes, then he drew his right glove back almost out of sight to get a good swing and then he stepped forwards to get his balance. And then he threw the punch.

  I ducked under it and moved back. Dad was right. It was like being attacked by an angry tortoise. But I was so chuffed at the way things were going, I missed a really good chance. Didn’t get in a counterpunch while he was off balance. I hadn’t landed a blow yet, and his nose was still as good as new. Next time I’d be ready for him.

  Burger pulled away to his full height, and we began circling again. Or rather I circled. He was just a lazy Susan, revolving on the spot. I saw his lips mouthing wanker. It’s hard to talk with a mouthguard – and it came out more like thwanker. Lost a bit of its impact.

  There were still a few jeers. Most of them probably at me because I hadn’t done anything yet – but I didn’t mind. They’d only make Burger even wilder and more likely to chance his arm.

  Again, his eyes warned me to expect a haymaker. Again, the fist was drawn back, and his front foot slid forwards. I ducked beneath it again. This time I was awake and came up hard. I pivoted onto my front foot and drove my fist into the side of his rib cage. It felt good.

  Oomph! He staggered as the air was shunted from his lungs. He’d been off balance anyway, and for a second I thought he was going to fall. I was beginning to wilt a bit too and a compulsory count would be great. If the ref had to stop the fight for ten seconds so poor Burger could recover, at least it’d give me a breather. Dancing makes you tired.

  But he didn’t fall. He spun towards me, catching me by surprise and crowding me against the ropes. His eyes were only centimetres from mine and his breath in my face stank of fish. Stronger even than his deodorant. My arms were pinned to my chest by his elbows while he pounded my shoulders with both fists. They might’ve been soft heavy things, those gloves, but they still hurt.

  “Break!” The ref came to my rescue. “Break!”

  The pounding stopped with a final vicious jab at my upper arm.

  “Step apart.”

  I eased myself out from the ropes and backed away. So did Burger. The plastic grin had reappeared and his eyes seemed strangely bright. Almost glittering. I wondered what he was on, but the bell sounded and the round was over.

  Back in my corner I sank onto the stool and tried to get my breath back while Mr Parton wiped the sweat from my upper body with a towel. My arms felt numb from the pounding they’d received, but even so, I didn’t feel too bad. I’d landed the only real punch and it was good to see Burger rubbing his side as he sat down.

  “That went pretty well.” Mr Parton lifted my chin and checked my eyebrows for damage. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay, I guess. Didn’t enjoy that last bit.”

  “The clinch? No. Watch out for that. He’ll try it again.” He wiped a damp cloth across my forehead. “One thing though, you’ve been ducking under him every time he throws one at you. He’ll be ready for that now and his second will be giving him plenty of advice. You need to keep him guessing. Use your left more, jabbing. Make him watch it, and then hit him with the right.” Almost as if he’d been listening to Dad.

  If Mrs West was giving Burger good advice, he was pretty slow taking it on board. The second round was a close copy of the first. I circled and stayed out of range, while Burger turned on the spot with the occasional wild lunge at my head. Each time he let fly, I ducked under him and tried to catch him while he was off balance. I managed to belt him on the ribs twice more – and I thought he was probably hurting. I hoped so because I was starting to sag. The spotlights they’d rigged up felt like radiant heaters, and I was sticky with sweat. It was only the second round.

  The bell sounded again and as I stumbled back to my corner I caught sight of Kat. She waved. My lungs were running on empty, my arms were aching and every muscle was screaming for a rest – but suddenly I felt great.

  Mr Parton didn’t seem quite so impressed. “You’re too predictable. He’s starting to follow you.” I nodded, trying to get my breath back, and then took a swig from my drink bottle. “But he’s tiring a bit too. Start taking it to him. You’re still not using your left. Move him about a bit.” He punched at the air, quick jabs, demonstrating. “Feint, feint and then hit him with a couple of quick ones.” Exactly what Dad would’ve been telling me, but I was only half-listening. Thinking about Kat. I’d been worried she might’ve slipped away from school. Worried she’d already left town.

  The bell sounded. Two rounds down, two to go. I stepped back into the ring, wondering if I could keep this up for another three minutes. But I didn’t have to. Dad was right. A punch on the nose, a splattering of blood, and the referee ended the fight on a technical knockout.

  Problem was – it was my nose.

  I walked right into it. Either Burger got lucky or he’d been listening to Mrs West. The first time I ducked under one of his haymakers, he followed me down and smacked me. Right on the beak.

  The ref awarded the fight to Burger, and I stumbled back to my corner, plonking myself on the stool. I was really pissed off with myself, and my nose hurt like hell.

  Mr Parton stripped off my gloves and sponged the blood from my face. “I warned you about that,” he said cheerfully. “But it doesn’t look too serious. Pinch your nostrils – it’ll stop the bleeding.” He was still bending over me when his wife appeared – the office beauty queen.

  She’d come to see me. “Cully, your dad phoned. He can’t get home tonight. Wants you to ring him back.” She paused, eyeing me doubtfully. “Are you okay with that?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, you don’t look very okay. Thought you’d be too intelligent for this sort of stupidity.” She flung her husband a quick smile and left.

  “Boxing’s not her favourite sport.” He grinned apologetically as the referee came across to our corner.

  “You put up a really good show out there,” he said, squatting beside me. “How’s the nose?”

  “Okay, I think. Just a bit sore. The bleeding’s almost stopped.”

  “Good,” he said. “I think he got lucky. If it had gone the full course, I think you’d have won.”

  Mrs West smiled over his shoulder. “Probably a good thing it didn’t then.” And she winked. But if the way the fight ended was a good thing, it was the last good thing that happened for quite a while.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “How’s your nose?” asked Kat. “Doesn’t look too bad.”

  “Nah, it’s just a bit sore. Needs someone to kiss it better.” I looked at her, carefully keeping a straight face. “Come to think of it, my mouth’s a bit sore too.”

  She smiled. “I was being serious.”

  “So was I.”

  She gave me a jab on the arm, where Burger had pummelled it earlier.

  It hurt like hell, and I winced, but even so, it felt wonderful. “A kiss might’ve been better.”

  “Sorry. That hurt, didn’t it?”

  “No.
It’s okay.”

  She shook her head, a show of mock sympathy. “Love and tenderness for the wounded – not really my thing. Have to wait till you get home for that.”

  I grinned at her. “Fat chance. Dad’s staying over in Auckland. Won’t be back till tomorrow.”

  “So how are you going to manage?”

  “I’ll be okay. It’s not the first time he’s left me alone. Just as long as Mum never finds out.” A moment’s hesitation, and then I glanced sideways at her. “But what about you? Are you still leaving?”

  We were making our way through town towards the ferry, and she was walking head down, staring vacantly at the footpath in front of her. “Yes,” she said at last. “Far as I know.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Soon. Depends on Kreigler,” Kat answered.

  “Kreigler?”

  “The guy who’s looking after us. The one you thought was stalking me. Doubt if that’s his real name though.”

  “Are you coming back?”

  “Don’t know. I’d like to, but it depends.”

  “On what?”

  “There’s a court case coming up. In Sydney. Maybe when it’s over …” She gave me a hard look, frowning and then shook her head. “I’ve told you heaps too much already. Can’t tell you any more.”

  I remembered Jed’s words – a fine line between looking out for someone and poking your nose into their business. I took a deep breath and stepped over the line. “Is Blissy really your mother?”

  “What?” She jolted to a stop, facing me. Her jaw dropped and her eyes sharpened with anger. Or maybe fear. “How’d you …? Who’s …?”

  I reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away. “It’s just that Jed said he saw a photo … of you … and it looked like a family shot. With your parents.”

  “Bloody Jed! He’s been going through my things, the pervy bastard. That album was hidden in my drawer. I’ll kill him!”

  I thought she was going to bolt, but this time I managed to get a hand on her above the elbow. She jerked away, trying to free herself.