The Whole Business with Kiffo and the Pitbull

by Barry Jonsberg

  ‘Keep an eye out. I’ll be ten minutes, tops.’

  And he was gone. He slipped into the dark, across the road and was through the Pitbull’s gate before I could say anything. I caught a quick glimpse of his small figure as it moved around the side of the house. I realised that I had been holding my breath and I let it go in a long, slow exhalation.

  To be honest I was panicking. It might sound like an easy job, just standing under a tree looking around, but I felt the eyes of the world upon me. What would I do if a police car pulled up? What excuse would I have for standing under a casuarina tree in a quiet residential area? I know it’s not a crime, but it’s a strange thing to do, isn’t it? I tried to get further into the shadow, but I was also conscious that I needed a clear view of the road both ways. I was starting to wish I had put on a different pair of glasses. Were these ones luminous? I couldn’t remember but they certainly felt like they were glowing. I could imagine curious neighbours ringing the police and saying, ‘Please come at once. The casuarina tree across the road is wearing glasses and it’s starting to spook me.’

  I needed to empty my bladder as well. Could I risk it here? Knowing my luck, I’d be caught with my knickers around my ankles and that would be a hard one to explain away. I swivelled my eyes from one side of the street to the other. The least movement made my head snap around. I was starting to get dizzy and I felt sick. How long was he going to be in there? I glanced at my watch and saw that he had been gone for exactly a minute! The whole concept of time was messing my head up. And then I froze. I couldn’t believe it. Around the corner, like a shaggy tank, appeared Slasher, followed in quick succession by the vast bulk of the Pitbull. My tongue spot-welded itself to the roof of my mouth and my legs turned to cottage cheese.

  What the hell was I going to do now? For one wild moment, I thought that maybe she had gone the wrong way and was simply re-tracing her steps to pass the house and go in the opposite direction. Yeah, right! The streetlights etched her face in sharp relief and I shuddered. She was coming back. God knows why, but it looked like walkies was finished for today. What was it Kiffo had said? An hour and a half. You could set your watch by it. What an idiot!

  The Pitbull was bearing down on me and I couldn’t think of anything to do. I tried whispering ‘Kiffo’ really quietly until I caught myself. We were in enough trouble with just one idiot around. Why hadn’t we brought mobile phones? The fact that I didn’t have one and neither did Kiffo was possibly one reason, but I was still faced with the problem of contacting him. And quickly. I had visions of the Pitbull opening her front door and finding Kiffo peeing on her pet galah or something. Think, Harrison. Think.

  There was only one thing for it. As the Pitbull approached the front gate, as she was reaching into her pocket and extracting her house keys, I rushed across the road.

  ‘Miss Payne!’ I yelled at the top of my voice. ‘Fancy seeing you here!’

  Slasher and the Pitbull both turned to face me, and I have to admit that I quailed. One of them growled but I’m not sure which. I tried a bright happy smile, like I was meeting my best friend, but it felt as if my face was moulded from durable resin. Miss Payne’s lip curled as she looked me up and down. Her expression was the same, I imagined, as if she had stood in something Slasher might have done on the pavement.

  ‘Miss Harrison,’ she said. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Goodbye.’

  She turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’ I yelled. ‘Please don’t go. I . . . I wanted to talk to you.’

  The Pitbull looked at me.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘And what do you think we might have to talk about at this time on a Friday evening?’

  I searched my brain.

  ‘The homework. The English homework. I wanted to ask for your help. I remembered what you said about my attitude, Miss Payne, and I just wanted to show you that I was making an effort with it. My attitude, I mean. And the homework, of course.’

  ‘I haven’t set any homework, Miss Harrison.’

  Crap!

  ‘Exactly, Miss Payne. I wanted some homework and I knew you hadn’t set any, not that I’m criticising or anything, I mean you must have your reasons for not setting homework, all that experience with teaching, I can tell you know exactly what you are doing, and so no homework is probably part of the big plan, something that is good for us, I mean, so I don’t want you to think that by asking for homework I’m being insubordinate or anything ’cause that is certainly not my intention Miss Payne, good heavens, no.’ I roared with laughter, shrieking at the top of my voice. Get the hell out of there, Kiffo! ‘It’s just that I love English, Miss Payne, and you make it so interesting that I felt it would be good, for me, I mean, to do some extra, it being Friday night and all and there being nothing I like better on a Friday than doing English homework, so I thought I’d ask you for some, homework, that is, and that’s the help I referred to earlier.’

  Miss Payne leaned forward so her face was within an inch of mine. Her breath smelled like a sumo wrestler’s jockstrap.

  ‘Miss Harrison, unless you go away now, I will call the police. Do I make myself plain?’

  I was tempted to reply that something had indeed made her plain, and that I, personally, was inclined to blame her parents. Fortunately, I resisted the temptation.

  ‘Well, to be honest, Miss,’ I said, ‘I’m not altogether clear on that point. When you say “the police” do you mean the regular . . . well, police, I suppose? Or do you mean something like the CIB?’

  I thought she was going to explode. A strangulated noise came from the back of her throat and her face filled with blood. In other circumstances, it would have been fascinating. I knew I couldn’t keep this up for much longer or she’d kill me, so in a flash of inspiration I dropped to my knees in front of her bloody great slavering hound. The way to a pet owner’s heart and all that.

  ‘What a beautiful dog!’ I said, peering into its bloodshot eyes. Its breath, I noticed, was almost as foul as its owner’s. ‘I just love dogs, don’t you, Miss Payne, so sweet and . . .’

  God knows how I would have carried on, but it was all academic since the dog, obviously mistaking me for some kind of huge doggy chew, made a lunge for my neck, its yellow fangs snapping shut with a sickening clack millimetres from my skin. I tumbled backwards and for a moment my life, such as it had been, flashed before my eyes. Take my word for it, it was no better the second time around. Slasher was straining at the leash, his eyes pinpricks of hatred. Only Miss Payne’s grip on the leash kept the beast from ripping into me. I glanced up and I swear that she was thinking about letting it go. I looked into her eyes and I know she was giving it serious thought. If it did get loose, I was done for. One of us would have to die and there was no way I could kill that thing. Unless I got stuck in its throat, of course.

  And then the moment passed. Miss Payne pulled back on the leash and raised her hand. Slasher instantly cowered. That made two of us. I leaped to my feet and tried the smile again. Even worse this time. Surely Kiffo would have had time to get out of there by now. I couldn’t be sure.

  ‘Anyway, Miss Payne, here I am prattling on about myself. That’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What do you think of me?’

  ‘Miss Harrison, I don’t know what game you are playing, but I have had enough.’ Her voice was calm, but saturated in venom. ‘You leap out in front of me and talk gibberish. If this is your idea of a joke, then I am afraid I don’t get it. I have already had cause to talk to you about your attitude and now you accost me outside my home, presumably for some stupid practical joke that shows I was right to question your behaviour in the first place. I don’t know how you found out where I live, but stalking is a crime and unless you leave now, you will be in more trouble than even your fertile mind could imagine. Now I am going in to my home. My home, Miss Harrison. I don’t expect to see you here again.’

  And that was it, end of audience. She turned to go in through the gate and it was then, over her should
er, that I saw the bedroom curtain twitch. That stupid bastard hadn’t got out yet! Was he deaf as well as stupid? I had been making enough noise to wake my Uncle Jack and he had been dead these last ten years. Maybe I should have left him to it. I think I had done enough, I’m sure you’ll agree. But it was another case of the mouth working while the brain was still having a lie in.

  ‘I love you, Miss Payne,’ I yelled. ‘I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  That stopped her. Bloody well stopped me, too. Suddenly I was out of words. The Pitbull turned and looked at me carefully. I tried to make a lovesick expression, but I think it just turned out sick.

  ‘Are you serious?’ she whispered.

  ‘Never more so,’ I found myself saying. ‘I love everything about you, the way you move, the way your hair sort of . . .’ I couldn’t think what her hair might do other than fall down like a rusty sheet of corrugated iron. ‘Everything,’ I finished lamely. ‘Perhaps we could talk about it. Perhaps we could go to a café and sit down and discuss it like adults.’

  Miss Payne raised her hand and pointed a finger at me. It was like a loaded gun.

  ‘Go home, Miss Harrison,’ she said. ‘I will be reporting this incident to the Principal first thing on Monday morning. You need help and I will not speak to you further about this matter tonight.’

  And that was it. She turned and, hauling the monstrous Slasher who looked as if he still had designs on the fleshier parts of my body, she disappeared into her house.

  I waited around for ten or fifteen minutes, well away from the house, of course, to see if Kiffo had made it out in time. Nothing. Either he had snuck out the back and legged it for home or he was stuck in there with the Pitbull. Whichever, there was nothing more I could do. I plodded home, feeling completely miserable. What had I done? Not only was I an accomplice in a serious crime – and if the Pitbull did catch Kiffo trashing her house then it wouldn’t take her more than a microsecond to see my pathetic attempts at distractions for what they were – but even if I did get away with that, I’d be labelled a pervert, a teacher molester. It was a mess, and no mistake. And why? Because of some misguided sense of loyalty, based on the flimsy premise that Kiffo and I shared some history. That there was a bond we were both forced to acknowledge. Stuff it! Kiffo was right. This wasn’t any of my concern. I resolved, there and then, to mind my own business in the future. I’d say that the whole thing was an attempt at a joke, a malicious joke intended to embarrass an unpopular teacher. I knew I’d be in deep trouble. The school authorities didn’t take kindly to that type of behaviour, but what else could I do?

  I was so deep in thought that I was home before I was aware of it. The Fridge, for once, was waiting for me and offered to heat up some soup, but I didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so I made an excuse and went to bed. She looked a little hurt and I guess I could understand why. I was constantly taking the piss out of the fact that she was absent all the time, and when she did get a chance to spend time with me, I could only slink off to bed. It was eight-thirty, for God’s sake! But I was tired.

  So much for my Friday evening! I fell into a deep but troubled sleep. The Pitbull’s face kept appearing before my eyes, then Slasher and finally Kiffo. What a nightmare. Even Stephen King couldn’t have dreamed up a more terrifying trio of ugliness.

  I was woken by a scratching sound. I raised myself up in bed groggily and looked at my alarm clock. It was 5.31 in the morning. I put my head back on the pillow and gathered the doona around me. The sound came again. It wasn’t scratching. It was gravel being thrown against my window. I thought I had had my full quota of sinking feelings, but it was with another that I made my way to the window and saw the balaclavaed, camouflaged figure of Kiffo in the front yard.

  Chapter 7

  Three conversations

  ONE

  Time: 5.35 a.m., Saturday

  Location: Calma’s front yard

  ‘Bloody hell, Kiffo,’ I said. ‘What time do you call this?’

  Kiffo looked tired and fed up. He shook his head.

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re safe. I had visions of you in a police lock-up, spilling your guts. I was half expecting the police to show up. What happened, Kiffo? How did you get out of there?’

  Kiffo sat down wearily on the grass.

  ‘I’ve been in there all night, Calma,’ he said. ‘I only got out about twenty minutes ago. Came straight here. It was a nightmare.’ I hadn’t been feeling too charitable towards Kiffo, as you can probably imagine, but the sight of him melted my resentment. He was trembling slightly and there were large bags under his eyes. He looked on the point of exhaustion. I made him wait outside while I crept back into the dark kitchen and made him a strong cup of coffee. More skulking around. If Mum woke up, she’d throw a fit. I couldn’t imagine her being too keen on early morning trysts in the front yard with camouflage-geared persons of dubious moral character. I slipped out the back door, banging my ankle on the door frame and spilling scalding liquid over my hand. Strangling yelps of pain, I forced the cup onto Kiffo. Only when he’d got himself outside of half a cup did he tell me what had happened.

  ‘I didn’t hear her come back until it was too late,’ he started.

  I hadn’t wanted to interrupt, but I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘What do you mean, you couldn’t hear? I was making enough noise outside to register on the Richter scale. The neighbours five doors down came out, for God’s sake. You must have heard.’

  Kiffo looked a little embarrassed.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m a little . . . well, deaf. Just in my left ear, you understand.’

  ‘You might have told me this Kiffo, before you had me as lookout for you. If I’d known that letting off a cannon would have been the only way of attracting your attention, I might have been a little less willing to get myself involved in this mess.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. Go on.’

  ‘It was horrible, Calma. I was in her bedroom, checking things out. I hadn’t done nothing at that stage. I was wondering whether I should pee over her pet galah, when I heard her coming up the stairs. I had no time to get away, so I hid in her walk-in robe. It was awful in there. She had all these . . . all these . . . woman things hanging up. You know, underwear things.’

  The image of Miss Payne’s underwear was not one I wanted to dwell on.

  ‘I had my face stuffed into something lacy with wires, Calma,’ he continued, his voice catching with emotion. ‘And a cocky was climbing up the insides of my trousers. The wardrobe was dark and smelly and I could hear her moving round. And then that bloody great dog started to bark. It was in the room with her. I thought that at any moment she would throw open the doors of the wardrobe and the dog would rip my throat out. If I’d known then that I would be spending the next nine hours surrounded by her . . . you know, things, . . . I’d probably have been glad if it had.’

  ‘Nine hours! But you must have had some chance to get out of there.’

  Kiffo shook his head.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘There were a good few hours when the Pitbull was downstairs, but every time I went to open the door that bloody hound kicked up a helluva noise. She got really suspicious. Came upstairs about five or six times to check the place out. I could hear her growling. Her and the bloody dog. Could be relatives, them. The worst bit, though, was when she went to bed.’

  Kiffo’s face drained of colour and for a moment I thought he wouldn’t be able to go on. He looked in need of one of those disaster counsellors they have – you know, for victims of landslides and bushfires. He was about as traumatised by his experiences as anyone could be. To his credit, though, he swallowed and carried on.

  ‘I could hear her undressing, Calma.’His voice shook.‘It was horrible. That must have been about eleven-thirty. And by that time the cocky was nesting in my bal— trousers and I couldn’t move and I wanted to sneeze and I couldn’t do that and my nose was really itching where her thingies were han
ging against my face and . . .’

  ‘Calm down, Kiffo. You’re safe now.’

  He took a few deep breaths and swallowed the rest of the coffee. Suppressing the shudders, he carried on in a calmer tone.

  ‘I could hear the bed creak as she got into it. Must be a helluva bed that one. Reinforced, I reckon. And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get no worse . . . it did.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘She had a CD player by the bed. I’d checked it out earlier. You know, one of the things I was going to trash. And she put on a CD. For, like, an hour.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It was that Irish dickhead. You know, the one who stamps about on stage, feet wiggling all over the place, but the rest of him all stiff like he’s got a metal bar up his arse? That one. It was really gross, Calma. All those fiddles and accordions and things. I thought I was going to die.’

  I could see his point. It did seem unnecessary torture.

  ‘But what about when she went to sleep? You must have had a chance then.’

  ‘She lets the dog sleep with her. Poor bloody thing. What with her and all the Irish music it has to listen to, you can’t blame it for being a vicious bastard. So there was no chance. I tried a few times, when I could hear her snoring, but as soon as I made a move, the dog would do this low growling bit and I’d have to stay dead still. I tell you, standing still for near on nine hours is not something I want to do again in a hurry.’

  ‘Poor Kiffo. It does sound appalling. So how come you got out when you did? Don’t tell me she gets up at 5.00 a.m. to go for a ten k run?’