The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  Fun with drugs, easy girls, and even easier money will always win out over books, knowledge, and home baked cookies.

  “Mornin’,” I greet Freddie’s wife, Martha when I see her out the front.

  Quickening my pace so I can get in front of her, I prop the door open with my back and take the oversized box she’s juggling out of her hands. She swats at me, clucking her tongue in annoyance, although she doesn’t try to take it back.

  “Good morning, Angelo,” she says with a warm smile. With her chin, she gestures to the other boxes lining the closest. “Just set it down there. My Freddie’s down the basement trying to set up the Ping Pong table.”

  I arch an eyebrow and grin. “Ping Pong, hey? I didn’t know libraries had sports.”

  Her smile widens. A glimmer of calculation lighting her eyes. “What those snobs in Northern Sydney don’t know won’t hurt them. They might think they’ve fundraised for a normal library. What they don’t know is here in good, old Western Sydney, we have all sorts in our libraries.”

  Her ensuing cackle makes the funk that dealing with my parents left hanging over me this morning dissipate. I move close enough to kiss her rough cheek, then dance out of Martha’s reach when she tries to slap me. We’re both laughing—this is typical for us. I niggle at her and she pretends to be annoyed with me.

  The normalcy of our interaction puts a spring back in my step, and I jog off toward the basement where Freddie is no doubt struggling to erect the Ping Pong table.

  “Yes, run along now. You should be ashamed. Messing with an old lady’s emotions like that. Imagine the doldrums my poor Freddie would end up wallowing in if you ever managed to turn my head.”

  Martha’s affectionate ribbing follows me down the stairs. I find Freddie in all sorts of trouble, stuck between the bent up ends of the table. Biting back my laughter, I pry each side down and lock the struts into place while he pretends that he had it all under control and trails after me to double check my handiwork.

  And by double check, I mean watch me to learn what to do next time.

  “You’re early,” he grumbles once I’ve finished locking everything into place.

  “Couldn’t sleep.” My excuse sounds thin to my own ears and I allow that to goad me into offering an even weaker explanation. “Think it’s a full moon out. That messes with everyone.”

  Freddie wanders around the basement, moving bits and pieces around, and dusting other things off. I fall in behind him, ignoring the silence that dominates the wide room, and unpacking the various sports equipment that’s at least a decade too old and destined to be ignored despite everyone’s best intentions.

  Like I said, the allure of the mafia holds strong in these parts.

  “Gio find his way home?” Freddie’s quiet question bounces off the walls. When I remain silent, seemingly intent on unpacking a bunch of cricket gear, he continues, “Heard he’s been at Marco’s spouting off about all the money he’s made on your fights. Was worried that mess might find its way home to you and little Maria. You know, knowing your story and all.”

  I scoff, rolling my eyes while I continue unpacking.

  Everyone in our suburb knows the story of my family.

  My father is the eldest son of the current Don of the Carlucci Clan. Right now, he should be getting groomed to take over the family from his father. Instead, he wallows in his own filth in our local bars. A disgrace. A former Made Man. The son who betrayed his legacy for a low-level street whore and an easy pay day.

  Gio Carlucci further compounded his misdeeds by knocking up said whore then marrying her. He paraded her, fat belly and all, at family events until his much larger sin came home to roost.

  The embarrassment of a half-Italian baby could be ignored. God knows, it had been done before. It was his other offence that could not. My father sold out his family’s connections at the Ports for a cut of the new profits their main rival, the Imbruglia Syndicate, would bring in with unfettered access to what had previously been Carlucci turf for two generations.

  Of course, the Imbruglia’s took what they wanted, then sold him down the river. They refused to honour a deal cut with a rat, and my father, mother, and myself were banished to the very edges of Carlucci turf. Out of sight, but never out of mind. A living reminder of a betrayal that almost brought a dynasty to its knees. A barely functioning testament to the restraint a father manages when he actually loves his son.

  A calloused hand lands on my shoulder. I jerk away from Freddie’s touch. It’s an automatic response born of a lifetime of not knowing if the hand that reaches for you is going to hug you or hurt you. Grinding my teeth, I meet Freddie’s eyes. Understanding clouds his when he reads the apology in mine, and he returns his hand to my shoulder.

  “I think Hayden’s coming in first thing this morning. How’s about I set you two up in the ring? We all enjoy watching you work out your frustrations on his yuppy face.”

  The tension that had grown within the basement disappears when we both laugh. Hayden Harvie is the alliteratively named alien who arrived at Freddie’s one day with a brand-new pair of sparring gloves, a loud request to be taught MMA, and the aforementioned, incredibly punchable, yuppy face. No one knows why he comes to Freddie’s, however we all know without a doubt that he’s not one of us by virtue of birth or circumstance.

  “I could go a round or two,” I reply quickly.

  Freddie inclines his head in a simple nod. “What’s mine is yours, son. If there’s ever anything more I can do for you, let me know.”

  “I’m good,” I interrupt him before he heads off on his favourite tangent. “Maria’s good. Everything’s good.”

  His Adam’s apple works in his throat, and he all but swallows his tongue in his efforts to avoid voicing what I know he wants to say.

  Martha and Freddie have offered me and Maria a room in their house and a chair at their dining table more times than I can count. I appreciate their offer, but I won’t bring my misery to their doorstep.

  We end up in an awkward stare off, with my silently pleading with him not to say it, and Freddie mutely begging for me to reconsider. Eventually he blinks, and I win once again.

  It’s not a victory that comes with any prize. I’m only protecting my pride and Maria’s wish to stay with Mama until she can talk her into leaving with us. Since you’ll find me wherever my sister is, our circumstances won’t change until Maria gives up on our mother or I force her hand once she’s sixteen and the system won’t take her from me.

  Freddie nudges my shoulder with his when he heads back upstairs. I trail him behind him silently until we find Martha humming to herself as she packs a long line of shelves with tattered books. We both stop and help her until the latest delivery of second-hand books is unpacked.

  Looking at the ragged books sets my teeth on edge. The reopening of the library is the brainchild of some rich bitch and her charity in North Sydney. They’ve held fundraisers and donation drives for us poor plebs in the outer ‘burbs. I’m pretty sure some of them are even journeying out here next week to make sure we properly appreciate their hand-me-downs.

  It’s all a bunch of superiority dressed up like sympathy. Something for them to toast themselves for while they quaff their champagne and decide which of their ten cars they’ll take out on their Sunday drive. Quite frankly, it pisses me off to see their old shit being palmed off on us. They could easily afford to equip this library with new stuff without so much as blinking, except that wouldn’t do.

  The rich get the cheese while the rest of us fight for their mouldy crumbs.

  “Time to open the gym, already?” Martha inquires when Freddie stands.

  “Yeah,” Freddie replies.

  They exchange a loaded look before Martha turns to me. She fusses with the hem of her dusty shirt. “I was thinking Miss Maria might like to help me out down here during the school holidays. It won’t pay much, but it has to be better than sitting over at Freddie’s watchin’ you
louts beat each other senseless all day. She’s a sensible girl. She’d be a great help to me.”

  Listening to her wrap her generous offer in excuses pokes at the hard shell surrounding my heart. It’s a huge favour. One that I know comes from a good place, yet it still grates on me. My life shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t be forced to rely on the generosity of an elderly couple to keep my sister safe during the school holidays. Maria should be able to stay in her own home if she wants. She should be able to have her girlfriend’s over and watch MTV on our tiny TV.

  But, I’m stuck in this life for now, and I’m equal parts embarrassed and grateful to have Martha and Freddie looking out for us in their own quiet way.

  “That’d be great,” I murmur as evenly as I can. “Maria would love that.”

  Freddie and Martha look at each other, relief playing over both their faces, then Freddie gestures with his head toward the main exit. “It’s time to get to work. My gym won’t run itself.”

  Martha pats my arm as I go to leave. “Send Maria over here after school today. We’ll discuss details then.”

  “I will.”

  Together, me and Freddie cross the street. There are already a dozen boys lined up out the front of Freddie’s gym which is nothing unusual when you know that what waits for them at home is similar to the monster I’m escaping. Any local boys who aren’t caught up by the Carlucci’s yet congregate here during the day. It’s air conditioned. Freddie makes sure to keep the tap water icy cold and Martha sends homemade sandwiches, cupcakes, and cookies over at lunch time. It’s our home away from home. A place where we know we’re safe.

  I know I’d be lost without this haven in the middle of the Hell we exist within.

  Me and Freddie direct the younger boys to set up the boxing gloves and wraps while we set up the rings. We’ve almost finished setting up the equipment when Hayden Harvie saunters in. He’s as out of place here as I would be in a swanky restaurant, yet he’s slowly but surely earning our respect by showing up every day and paying his dues on the bag and in the ring with the older guys. I don’t know his story—what I do know is it must be bad if he chooses to come here.

  I guess fancy clothes and a decent car can’t keep you safe from a dysfunctional family.

  “Hayden,” Freddie greets him. “Warm up, then grab your gloves. You’re keeping Angelo occupied this morning.”

  Looking between me and the exit, Hayden’s shoulder slump. He closes his eyes, crossing himself, then he sighs. “All right. Just as well I have no plans until Monday. I’m gonna be busy icing my damn face all weekend.”

  The other boys who’ve been trickling in since the doors opened all breathe a sigh of relief before they start teasing Hayden. Good natured ribbing bounces off the concrete walls. Hayden ignores them all and concentrates on warming up. Since my fists have a reputation of their own around here, and no one willingly volunteers to be my victim each time I train, I’m used to their unique brand of hero worship wrapped in begrudging respect.

  I push myself through my warmup. Relishing the hot need to hurt someone that begins to build within me, I’m more than ready to go and find it hard to keep still while one of the boys helps me with my wraps.

  “All right. Time for the ring,” Freddie announces once we’re gloved up.

  I meet Hayden in the middle of the main ring. Holding our hands level, Freddie reads us the riot act. Something about following his rules and respecting our opponent, yada yada yada. I’m too keyed up to hear the actual words, although I should probably already know them by heart by now.

  “Keep it cordial, boys. This is just a sparring session,” Freddie locks eyes first with Hayden then with me before he drops our hands in the universal sign to begin. “And, fight.”

  Hayden starts dancing around me. I move from one foot to the other, sizing him up, and appreciating the new confidence in his step. We feint with the other a few times until a commotion at the front door captures our attention.

  “Hold.”

  At Freddie’s command, we drop our hands. I head straight for the side of the ring when I spot Maria pushing her way through the group of girls whose noisy arrival interrupted our fight. Her eyes are puffy from crying and her dark hair has been hastily tied back. With her school bag lazily slung over one shoulder and her posse of girlfriends arranged at her back like an avenging army, I can’t decide if she’s upset or angry.

  “What is it?” I demand. Freddie holds me back when I try to vault over the ropes to the floor. “I told you to call, not run the bloody streets without me.”

  Before Maria can answer, Hayden comes up behind me and whistles. It’s a low, leering sound that sets my teeth on edge. He further compounds it by nudging me with his elbow then pointing at my sister.

  “Who’s the hottie with the body?”

  Every ounce of worry flees my mind and I react on autopilot. Turning his way, I pull my right arm back and hit him straight in the nose.

  “That’s my sister, asshole,” I tell him as his knees buckle and he hits the canvas. Stepping over his prone form, I point my index finger in his face. “It’d do you well to keep your eyes and your thoughts to your fucking self if you’re in anyway attached to that pretty face of yours.”

  He nods, spitting blood.

  While a chorus of dismay and confusion fills the gym, I pull the velcro grips for my gloves open with my teeth and storm toward Maria with white hot fury racing through my veins. Dropping my gloves on the floor as I go, I wrap my hand around her upper arm and separate her from her giggling gaggle.

  “What. Happened?” I enunciate each syllable with precision. “Why are you here?”

  Maria’s throat works and she blinks fast. I’m too far gone to temper my rage in the face of her fear. I force my fingers to loosen their grip on her. It’s the only concession I’m capable of as I realise that the dread in her expression isn’t from my behaviour. She’s terrified to tell me what drove her from her home and onto the streets at seven in the morning.

  “Kiddo.” Her nickname is said in a tone that conveys both worry and warning.

  After dragging in a deep breath, Maria empties her lungs in a rush and announces the last thing I ever thought I’d hear in my lifetime.

  “The Carlucci’s are at the house.” I stare at her as the room spins around me. “Grandpa wants to see you and he said he’s not leaving until you come home.”

  Her pronouncement rings in my ears. A topsy turvy wave of emotion hits me as I try to make sense of what she’s just said. How easily she calls the man who abandoned us ‘grandpa’ when I can think of half a dozen more accurate descriptors.

  Starting with merciless mobster and elevating in level of sin from there.

  “You have to go, Angie,” Maria whispers urgently. She looks around her, then focuses her attention on me. “I called all my friends to walk with me, but no one gave me a second glance when they saw who was following us.”

  When she shoots a wary look at the exit, the gravity of the situation hits me.

  At least one Made Man waits on the outside of Freddie’s.

  He’s here to make sure I do as I’m told. One way or another.

  I can’t let the darkness that burdens my last name infest the only haven many of us have from the world they’ve created outside these walls.

  Thinking on my feet, I push Maria in Freddie’s direction. She tries to fight, climbing me like a unruly monkey so she can go with me, but I don’t heed her protests. Her shoes squeak as I drag her across the floor until I’m close enough to hand her off to Rafe, one of the older boys I know I can trust.

  “Go to Freddie. Tell him what’s happened and that I’ve said he needs to keep everyone inside until I return. Don’t go to school today. It’s too dangerous.” I urge my sister to listen with pleading eyes. She refuses to meet my gaze and my stomach sinks to my shoes at the thought of leaving her alone. Turning to Rafe, I pierce him with dagger eyes. “I’m leaving her under
your protection. If one of these boys so much as breathes in her direction, it’s on your head.”

  My warning is harsh. I have no regrets, though. My sister is the most precious person in my life. I wouldn’t survive if something happened to her. Rafe gets it. He meets my eyes with an unblinking gaze that silently tells me that he’ll go above and beyond to keep her safe.

  The urgency in my voice must penetrate Maria’s good sense. She lets go of me and pulls herself to her full height.

  “I’ll be fine,” she declares. “Me and Freddie will look after everyone.”

  “Good.” I run for the exit, only stopping when it hits me what today is. Twisting around, I tap my fingers over my heart to spell out ‘I love you’ then point at Maria. “Happy birthday eve. I’ll be back before you know it to celebrate properly.”

  Maria yells, “I love you, too.”

  I let her words cloak me like a shield as I step outside and face the men my so-called grandfather sent to escort me. The quietness of the street hits home how rare the current circumstances are in our neck of the woods.

  It’s not every day the Don of the Carlucci Clan comes to our neighbourhood.

  Even less frequent is his request to see his illegitimate grandson.

  Chapter Four

  Jennifer

  Throughout my workout and even as we begin my early morning clothes fitting, Phyllis’s second condition echoes around my head. I can’t think of anything outside of sex that would induce Desmond McMahon to lie for me. And since willingly sleeping with him is not on the cards—at least not until I get rid of my dreaded V-card before I find myself engaged to him via some backroom deal between him father and mine—I can’t stop trying to come up with a lie plausible enough to make Phyllis believe that he’s on board with my deception.

  To say my mind is elsewhere would be an understatement. At one point, I become so absent minded that I manage to stick a stiletto heel through the lace underskirt of one of the expensive dresses and fall on my arse in front of the seamstress and her team. In my underwear. With my legs splayed open.