I slowly open the door and look both ways. ‘Nate?’
Nothing.
As I creep down the corridor, I hear rattling at the back of the house. It gets louder as I reach the kitchen.
A dark figure appears in the bevelled glass of the back door. It could be Nate or it could be Bill Green . . .
I hide round the side of the fridge.
The glass smashes with an ear-shattering crack.
Not Bill then.
‘Fuck it,’ hisses Nate.
A black-clad arm reaches in through the broken window, unlocking the door. The door swings open and he steps in, trying to avoid the broken glass on the floor.
I step out from behind the fridge.
Nate jumps. A sweet little jeté like the seven-year-old girl he is. ‘How the hell did you get in?’
One to Frankie.
‘The bathroom window was open.’ I look down at the broken glass at his feet. It crunches as he shifts his weight.
‘Key was in the lock so I couldn’t pick it,’ he says. ‘Wait,’ he narrows his eyes, ‘didn’t I tell you to stay outside?’
‘And I did, for a whole five seconds until I remembered that I don’t have to take orders from you.’
‘So who’s keeping a lookout?’
‘Neighbourhood Watch.’
Nate opens his mouth to argue but I walk away. ‘Relax, will you.’ I head down the corridor. ‘This way.’
__________
We find Xavier’s room at the back. It’s not much of a bedroom. There’s a mattress on the floor, unwashed sheets, dirty clothes, smelly sneakers and that’s it.
The room stinks of boy. The window is shut and the heavy blinds are pulled across, keeping the light and fresh air out.
‘I think he just crashed here every once in a while,’ says Nate.
There’s a stack of papers beside the mattress including a few books: a school library copy of The Call of the Wild and a couple of exercise books. I sit on the edge of the mattress and flip through them, looking for something. Anything.
Nate leans against the wall, hands in pockets. ‘You’ve met his old man,’ he says. ‘I wouldn’t stay here much, would you?’
I open Xavier’s English workbook. He’s got even worse handwriting than Nate. Of course, in the entire book there’s only about three written lines so it’s hard to tell. Most pages are filled with drawings – his name in graffiti, sketched faces – I think the pig-woman with the knife through her head is probably his English teacher. Apparently he didn’t like her very much.
‘Let’s look elsewhere,’ he says.
‘We’re here to find clues, and that involves more than a boy look.’
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Clue away.’
I scan the room – dirty laundry, no photos, cobwebs – ew. There are little brown watermarks all over the ceiling. I wonder if Xavier tried to make pictures out of them – join the dots. But it’s not a clue. Not unless joining the dots spells out something. Maybe Marzoli would know what to look for. Witty observations dripping with sarcasm are about all I’m good for.
But I have to find something because Nate is watching me and he’s starting to shake his head.
‘All right, Sherlock,’ I say, ‘why would Xavier choose to live in a zombie-rat infested squat over a safe, warm house? Yeah, I’ve met Bill Green but I’ve also been to your place.’
Nate’s obviously too overawed by my astute observational skills to speak.
I dump the papers. ‘Why did he stop living with his mum? Apparently those two were thick as thieves.’
See? Check out my sarcasm and weep, Marzoli.
‘I wouldn’t know, Watson,’ says Nate. ‘But I reckon being impossible to spend more than five minutes with is a Vega family trait. So maybe that explains it.’
Touché.
He uncrosses his arms and sits on the edge of the mattress. ‘Anyway. He hardly ever mentioned your mum,’ he says. He keeps his head down, fingers drumming a nervous pattern against his thigh.
‘Yeah, well, he wasn’t real good with telling people the truth.’
‘You know where I met him? Galaxy.’
‘That’s sort of broad. Could you narrow it down to a country?’
‘Galaxy is an arcade. Games and shit. I was there and I lifted a few wallets but by the time I got outside everything was gone. Someone had picked me. I turn around and there’s your brother. Got my whole stash in his arms and he’s grinning.’
‘You bonded over him robbing you?’
He shrugs. ‘We didn’t bond. I just figured a kid like that would be useful to keep around. And I guess he’s not so bad.’
I laugh. ‘Obviously. Why else would you be helping me look for him?’
‘Yeah . . .’ He picks a thread from his jeans and flicks it onto the floor.
‘So we don’t care about forensic evidence?’
He nods at Xavier’s things. ‘Found anything?’
‘No. I mean, I don’t think so.’ I wave at the table. ‘Help yourself.’
He reaches over me to grab the books. Chlorine, smoke and the lingering stench of public transport. His arm brushes mine.
He mumbles an apology as he pulls back and dumps the papers into his lap. ‘So clues, right? Well, I can tell you right away he was failing pretty much everything.’ He waves a report card at me.
‘Unless his school kidnapped him to help maintain their averages I doubt that’s important.’
As I look around I realise this is not what I was expecting from my brother’s room. Shouldn’t it be rotting and full of creepy-crawlies or something? I mean, why else would he choose a squat over this?
Nate is sifting through papers, his face screwed up in concentration.
‘How come you live in a squat?’ I ask. I lean back, stretching out my legs.
He keeps his head down, eyes on the papers. But he surprises me by actually answering. ‘My father got sick.’
Sick? As in Tate McClelland Hospice sick? Nate scrutinises Xavier’s Maths book, nose scrunched up, like understanding algebra is going to nab him a date with a supermodel or something.
‘Really sick. He died two months ago.’
‘Sorry.’
He flips a page. ‘Don’t be. He was shitty and he died. Gambled everything we had. Left me with nothing.’
‘So how come –?’
‘Quit prying.’
‘You’re an arsehole.’
‘So are you.’ He lets the books fall into his lap and rubs his face. ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t call you that.’
‘I’ve been called worse. Why do you think I gave Steve a new nose?’
‘Your sore point is your mum so I’m guessing whoever Steve is, he said something about her.’
He looks at me, waiting to be proved right. ‘What would you know, LaBeouf? You got a mum?’
He flinches. ‘Nope. Just a shitty dad.’ Those blue eyes take a wander around my face. Assessing, questioning. The tip of his boot rests against my ankle as his eyes settle on mine and, for once, I don’t look away.
‘You’ve got . . .’ He reaches out, hesitating, stuttering, his hand inching to the side of my head, fingers brushing through my hair.
I freeze for the longest three seconds of my life until he draws back his hand, a leaf pinched between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This was stuck in your hair,’ he says. ‘You going to make a wish?’ He holds the leaf in front of my lips.
‘That’s eyelashes,’ I say. The leaf dances with my breath.
His eyes shift to my lips.
I stand. ‘Besides,’ I say, too loudly. ‘You already know what my wish would be. I just want to find Xavier so I know he’s okay, and so I can yell at him, punch him and tell him to get the hell out of my life.’
Nate drops the leaf; it floats to the ground. He watches it the whole way. ‘You’re really looking for Xavier so you can tell him you don’t want to see him again?’
I kick a pair of Xavier’s jeans across the room. ‘I
like to get the last word, okay.’
Nate looks up at me. At first he frowns. But then he laughs. Really laughs. A deep, throaty, free sound that catches me by surprise.
Nate plus boisterous laugh equals topsy-turvy world.
‘Are you serious?’ he asks when he’s done laughing.
‘I’m glad I amuse you.’
There’s a little bit of laser in his eyes as he smiles at me. ‘You have no idea.’
__________
We head to the lounge when we’ve searched everywhere else. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. A signed confession? An if-you’re-watching-this-then-the-worst-has-happened video?
‘I’m sorry I made you break the law again for nothing.’
‘No worries.’ Nate’s eyes go straight to the massive TV on the far wall.
Aside from the TV, there’s a red leather couch, a coffee table that so came from one of those Italian furniture stores in Footscray, empty takeaway boxes and scattered beer cans. This is clearly the room where Bill Green spends most of his time. Slouched on the couch watching footy in his jocks.
‘Xavier did that last job with you because he needed cash fast, right?’
Nate drags loose change to the edge of the coffee table with his finger. He counts it in his hand then pockets it. There’s an MP3 player and he grabs that too. He stops, just as he’s shoving it in his pocket, and looks up.
‘I . . .’ he starts.
Our eyes meet but he doesn’t say anything more. His cheeks shine leather-couch red.
I sink back into the surprisingly comfortable cushions. ‘I’ll pretend it’s not happening,’ I say.
Nate pushes the MP3 player deep into his pocket and looks around for more. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘This is mine.’
He bends over and when he reappears he’s holding a candlestick. Seriously. A silver candlestick. Something that might be used as a murder weapon in a Miss Marple book but not something a homeless burglar would have any use for.
‘There’s no way that’s yours.’
‘It was mine after I stole it,’ he snaps. But then his brow creases as he weighs the unlikely object in his hands. ‘Hang on.’
Nothing happens except for more frowning and more silence. ‘I’m waiting.’
‘I stole this from your neighbour.’
‘And?’
‘I gave it to Xavier. It was part of his cut.’
I look at the candlestick. Have we just entered Cluedo? ‘You’ve lost the plot.’
‘I’m a genius.’ He waves the candlestick at me. ‘This means that Xavier came here before going to Ted’s. It means he paid off Bill with stolen goods before he went missing.’
I sit forward. ‘It means Bill lied.’
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Shit because I’m sitting uninvited in the house of someone who beats up kids, and shit because it was Nate who found the clue.
I pull out my phone. ‘We need to call the police.’
‘And say what?’ Nate tosses the candlestick; it lands with a muted thud on the cushion beside me. ‘Hi, I’ve noticed that my missing brother’s dad has a stolen candlestick. How do I know? Because I broke into his house and I know it’s stolen because the guy who originally stole it helped me break in.’
‘You didn’t help me break in, Nate.’
‘Do you want to get arrested?’
Shit.
He’s right of course but shit anyway.
I throw myself against the back of the couch and close my eyes. I want everything to fade – to not hear Nate rustling through Bill’s belongings, to not have the image of Xavier being beaten to a pulp by his dad stuck in my head, to not hear a car door slamming out front, to not hear the old lady next door yelling . . .
‘You’re in Australia. Speak English,’ shouts Bill, right outside the front window.
I spring off the couch; Nate grabs my arm. ‘Out back. Quick.’
The front door opens as we reach the kitchen. There’s a clear line of sight from the front door to the back of the house so it doesn’t surprise me when I hear Bill’s gruff voice shouting, ‘Hey!’
Whatever he’s carrying goes crashing to the ground and then all I hear is thump, thump, thump as the big hairy yeti-man comes bounding after us, quicker than a man his size should be able to move.
My boots crunch through broken glass as I run out the back door.
I turn left but Nate grabs my arm and pulls me to the right. We don’t get far before Bill dives and tackles Nate and both of them go flying to the ground.
It’s crazy but I’ve got just enough sense to notice that despite the mess of his front yard and the rest of his house, Bill Green’s backyard is immaculate. Cut lawn, decking, a barbecue and a DIY area with neatly hung tools and a wood bench. There’s even a garden gnome and a rockery. Who is this guy?
Nate and Bill roll around on the grass laying punches into each other. Bill’s slow, but he knows how to box. Nate’s fast, but Bill’s got about a hundred pounds on him. Pretty soon Bill’s straddling him.
I grab the first thing my hand touches and swing it round in front of me.
‘Oi!’ I yell, running up to Bill, brandishing what I think is a welding gun. ‘Unless you want your head welded to your arse I suggest you get the hell off him.’
With his fist raised, ready for the next blow, Bill turns to me. He looks from me to the welding gun in my hand.
‘That thing ain’t even on, love,’ he says.
‘Then I guess I’ll just have to have a think about where I can shove it.’
He screws up his brow, remaining brain cells finally kicking into gear. ‘Hey, I know you . . .’
I wiggle the welding gun at him. ‘Get. Off. Him.’
‘You want money? Is that it? Because I haven’t got any.’
‘How come? Xavier paid you back, didn’t he?’
‘This again,’ says Bill, sucking on his teeth. Nate’s trying to wriggle free but Bill is sitting on him. ‘You broke into my house because of my shitty kid? Man, that kid’s been nothing but trouble this whole year.’
He mutters, something about Juliet and women in general.
‘Just get off him and we’ll talk.’
He scowls but starts to lift himself off Nate anyway. As soon as Nate gets the smallest amount of breathing space, he slides out from under Bill. He scrambles to his feet and straight off tries to take a swing at Bill; I grab his t-shirt and he lets me pull him back.
Bill raises both hands and grins. ‘Don’t shoot.’
‘Tell me everything you know,’ I say. ‘Did you hurt Xavier?’
He sighs, lowering his hands. ‘He came by Friday last week. Said he had a load of silverware to pay me back with but there’s no way it was worth what he owed. So I taught him a lesson. Then I told him to get the hell out and only come back when he had the full amount. In cash. I let that kid under my roof – I didn’t have to – and he repays me by stealing from me. I’m sick of him and I’m sick of you. Any kid that came from Juliet Vega is a piece of scum – you suck on her tit and you catch it.’
Red blots pool in my vision.
My breathing is shallow.
He can’t say that about me. He can’t say that about Xavier. It’s not our fault.
He beat up his own son. He doesn’t even care that Xavier is missing; he only cares about his money. He’s a racist prick. He’s the guy my mother chose over me.
And he’s calling me scum.
I swing the welding gun, but I’m not really sure what happens next. I think I get a good crack across Bill Green’s face. Maybe there’s blood but I’m already seeing red so who knows.
Nate grabs me before I can swing again. But it doesn’t stop me trying, doesn’t stop me fighting him.
Nate’s dragging me away – I can hear myself screaming, cursing Bill Green. I pitch the welding gun. I think Bill ducks but maybe it clips him because he howls.
Have I killed him? I don’t care. I’m screaming at Nate to
let go. I want to hit Bill again. I want to make him pay.
But mostly I hear Nate shouting at me. ‘Come on,’ he yells, fingers digging into my skin. ‘Come on!’
Nate screeches to a halt outside the Emporium, double-parked.
I loosen the seat belt but don’t get out. This isn’t the inconspicuous return I’d hoped for. Speeding? In a stolen car? Officially a burglar?
‘Your anger is off the grid,’ says Nate. He’s gripping the wheel, white-knuckled.
This is the first thing he’s said to me since we left Bill’s. The anger hasn’t really left me yet – I’m still breathing hard, the red clinging to my vision.
‘So get a compass.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t joke. It’s messed up.’
I turn to him. ‘I’ll try to be more polite next time you’re being sat-on-to-death.’
‘Screw you. Don’t blame me for this.’
I try to think of something really cutting. Smart too. But I just call him a twat and it all kicks off.
‘You just don’t get it, do you, Frankie?’
‘What’s to get? Something terrible has happened to my brother and I was this close, Nate. This close to finding out what.’
‘He told you everything. He had the silverware, Frankie. You saw it. He wants his money back – he needs Xavier. He doesn’t know where he is.’
‘He was lying.’
Nate bashes his hands against the wheel. ‘You cannot be that stupid.’
‘You’re a waste of space, Nate. You ruin everything!’
I fumble with the door handle but it won’t open. I bash my fist on the armrest. ‘What the fuck is wrong with this door?’
He tries reaching over me but I push him away. I wind down the window and open the door from the outside. By the time I get it open, I’m so desperate to get out, I fall.
Shit.
I scramble to my feet. Lucky I’m never going to see Nate again otherwise I’d be pretty embarrassed right now.
‘Just stay away from me.’ I slam the door.
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Vega. I wouldn’t want to catch crazy.’
‘Well, at least I’m not a crappy burglar with shit hair and nowhere to shower.’
Nate flips me the bird. I kick the passenger-side door.
Frankie Page 20
